Soliloquies of Mahinda Vito

8/8/2019 Soliloquies of Mahinda Vito

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The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ, Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit shall lure it back to cancel half

a Line, nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it. O, but they say, the tongues of dying men enforce attention, like

deep harmony: where words are scarce, they are seldom spent in vain: for they breathe truth, that breathe their

words in pain. he, that no more must say, is listened more than they whom youth and ease have taught to gloze;

more are mens ends marked, than their lives before: the setting sun, and music at the close, as the last taste of

sweets, is sweetest last; writ in remembrance more than things long past. And thus I clothe my naked villany with

odd old ends stolen out of holy writ; and seem a saint, when most I play the devil.

SOLILOQUIES.Of Mahinda Vito


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SOLILOQUIES of Mahinda Vito

I

Hello world

Hope youre listening

Forgive me if am young

For speaking out of turn.

Heard you could see your future

Inside a glass of water

Or even fish the moon out of it.

Heaven bend to take my hand

And lead me through the fire.

Truth be told Ive tried my best

But somewhere along the way

I got caught up in all there was to offer.

I messed up, sunk so low, better I should know

But dont come round here and tell me I told you so.

We all begin with good intent,

Believing we could change ourselves,

The past could be undone.

We carry on our backs the burden,

The wound that would not heal,

Its the bitter taste of losing we hold so dear.

Im lost to all those I though were friends,

To everyone I know.

Heaven bend to take my hand,There is nowhere left to turn.


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II

Some cost a passing bell, some a light sigh,

Some merry and sad to tell.

If there were dreams to sell, what would you buy?

I remembered you with my soul clenched

In that sadness of mine that you know

Never say I was false of heart

All men fault, and even I in this.

Loathsome canker lives in the sweetest bud

Roses have thorns, and silver fountains mud

In sweet silence I summon memories past,

I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought,

Drowning my eyes, moaning a vanished sight.

Shall I look upon myself and curse my fate?

Desiring that mans this, and the others that.

A disgrace with fortune and mens eyes,

How soon we forget, the pen was lifted and the ink has dried.

So let those in favour with their stars boast,

In themselves their pride lie buried,

I hope and pray that a sweet thing turn not sour by my deeds


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III

Leave me my blamer

For the sake of the love that unites your soul

With that of your beloved one.

Go and leave me to my own.

Leave me to sail in the ocean of my dreams,

For tomorrow is free to do with me as he wishes.

I have a little heart within me,

And I like to bring him out to my palm and pour out his secrets.

So aim not your arrows lest he takes fright.

I want to free myself from the quilted slumber of wrong.

Do not detain me, my blamer.

Cavil me not by mention of the lion in the forest

Or the snakes of the valley, for my soul knows no fear of earth.

Sit not up high and point your finger,

For calamities have opened my heart,

Tears have cleansed my eyes,

Errors have taught me the language.

Talk not of banishment, for conscience is my judge

And he will justify me,

And protect me if I am innocent, and deny me if I am criminal.

Disturb not my contrition, my blamer, let me walk.

Relate not the tales of wealth and greatness,

For my soul is rich with bounty, and great with Gods glory.

Speak not of kingdoms, for the whole earth belongs to God,

And from Him we come, and verily is our return.

Go from me, my blamer.


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V

Whatever you do, you need courage.

Whatever course you decide upon, there is always someone to tell you

That you are wrong. There are always difficulties arising that tempt you to

Believe your critics are right. To map out a course of action and follow it

To an end requires some of the same courage that a soldier needs.

Peace has its victories, but it takes brave men and women to win them.

- MY EPIPHANY (CHIRI) 01.07.09


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VI

A crowd is not company,

And faces are but a gallery of pictures,

And talk but a tinkling cymbal, where there is no love.

Friend after friend depart, who hath not lost a friend?

There is no union here of hearts that finds not here an end.

But my friend is my needed answer.

The field upon which I sow with love, and reap with thanksgiving.

He is my board, my fireside.

Doubles my joys and cuts my grief into half.

I came to him with hunger, and seek him for peace.

When he speaks his mind I fret not the nay in my mind nor do I

withhold the ay.

In silence I cease not to listen, for even without words, all is shared, with

joy unacclaimed.

When I part from him I grieve not, for that which I love the most in him

is clearer in his absence.

He is but for the deepening of my spirit, for my best is for my friend.

He knows the ebb of my tide, and so its flood as well.

For what is your friend that you seek him with hours to kill?

Seek him with hours to live. For it is his to fill my need, and not my

emptiness.

In the sweetness of friendship there is laughter, there is pleasure,

For in the dew of little things, the heart finds its morning.


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VII

I am not sorry for my soul, that it must go unsatisfied,

Eternity is deep and wide, for it can live a thousand times.

But o my body, back to a drift of dust it must go without knowing the joy

It longed to know. Could you believe this is the body of one that loved?

Well, wishing and the crime are but one, says the abbot, heaven punishes

Desires as the deed were done. If wishing damns us, you and I are damned

To all our hearts content, coffers filled with tears when heaven repels our

Prayers.

With all my will, much against my heart, we must part.

My very dear, our solace is the sad road that lies ahead so clear,

It need no art, with many a tear in our opposed paths to persevere.

Despite it all, its not merely the frost or the heat spell that determines

Which trees grow on the mountain. So remember to help goals reach the

People for one or two wills will interest all though not for all. I have no

Secrets to confide, I dont know what to tell you, just dont lose that

Smile.

When skies are gray and you are blue, remember to give thanks, its the

Secret to success as you travel your mile.


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VIII

Chasing pleasure, running away from pain i learn. In tears, deep inside it

Fed me only to starve me, what can i do but paint my smiles, and light

Fools. Some have been running, probably all their lives, but if you ask me,

Nobody gets to escape their pain. Its there when you brush your teeth at

Night, its there before breakfast, it will come piercing and sharp, recline

On you, blunt and heavy. I have learned the subtle difference between

Holding a hand and chaining a soul. That love doesnt mean leaning and

Company doesnt mean security. That kisses arent contracts and presents

Arent promises. slowly you begin to accept your defeats with your head

Up and your eyes ahead, with the grace of an adult, not the grief of a

child, and the most you can hope for is one good day, because on a good

day you get to tell yourself I can fix this, today something might be

different, today something might change Then you learn to build all

your roads on today because tomorrows ground is too uncertain for

plans, and futures have a way of falling down in mid-flight. Am i living

For pain? Is it all Ive got, do i stay up afraid it will slip away? Keeping me

up from my dream! Thereafter you learn that even sunshine burns if you

get too much. So pleasure helps you to forget, but pain, pain forces you to

hope, you tell yourself this cant last, today could be different, today

something just might change So you plant the garden in your soul,

instead of waiting for someone to leave you flowers. Slowly you

adapt,endure; become strong, you learn your worth. And you learn, and

you learn With every glance in the crowd, with every smile, with every

goodbye you learn.


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IX

Anyone who imagines that bliss is normal is going to waste a lot of time

Running around shouting that he has been robbed. The fact is that most

Putts dont drop, most beef is tough, and most children grow up to be just like

People, most successful marriages require a high degree of mutual

Toleration and most jobs are more often dull than otherwise. Life is just

Like an old time rail journey ... delays, sidetracks, smoke, dust, cinders,

And jolts, interspersed only occasionally by beautiful vistas and thrilling

Bursts of speed. The trick is to thank the God for letting you have the

Ride. Cultivate the habit of being grateful for every good thing that comes

Your way, and to give thanks continuously. And because many a thing

Have contributed to your advancement, you should include all things in

Your gratitude. I'm making a list, I'm making a list of things I must

Say For politeness, and goodness and kindness and gentleness Sweetness

And rightness: In the end, though, maybe we must all give up trying to

Pay back the people in this world who sustain our lives. In the end,

Maybe it's wiser to surrender before the miraculous scope of human

Generosity, and goodwill and just keep saying thank you, forever and

Sincerely, for as long as we have voices, for we can only be said to be alive

In those moments when our hearts are conscious of our treasures. So I

won't grieve for what doesn't come. Some things that don't happen keep

Disaster from happening. I won't complain, I wont explain. Giving

Thanks for abundance is sweeter than the abundance itself. For the good

Deed usually done by those on whom I have no claim I forever remain

Grateful, I would thank you from the bottom of my heart, but for you my

Heart has no bottom. (Gratitude)


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X

A beautiful heart is a joy forever

Its loveliness increases

And into nothingness never passes.

A sleep full of sweet dreams,

For a loving kindness was the great mans fame.

Of the souls you left behind still, one teaches us to find you,

Of the sorrows you turned to joy,

Spites to passion, Shames to glory.

Though wisdom fled away, you taught better.

So I sit and ponder in silence,

Raising the present on the past, for him I sing.

But the hours are long, sore and heavy to the heart

Since that last breathe rocked you to sleep.

Dreams of joys to part, waking leave me broken hearted.

But thou was to me a beloved,

For which many did pine, a dream too bright to last.

The rest of the days are trances,

And all nightly dreams are where your eye glances.

Unnumbered souls breathe out a still applause

For once the soldier all men adored.

Your pains who to express? Toll on your passing bell,

Ring out my woeful peal,

O this cruel hap, I must taste this misery.

I must go, uncertain of my fate,

In circles I shall return, in a time not so far follow your party,

A word, a look, will never be enough for the tears of joy that stream

down my face. Think of me, left in the light,

From the endless calm of your dawnless night.

I keep your memories close at heart

Proud to behold you in your countrys eyes

Till long life over, I too depart,

To the dreamless sleep where you keep thoughts of me,To the soft infinite night where you are.

Farewell my beloved. Farewell (Unforgotten)


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XI

Many, if not all believe that the main aim in life is to follow a plan. Never

asking whose plan is it. They accumulate experiences, memories, things,

other people's ideas, and down the road, right about the bend, they forget

their dreams. How many do you know or heard say: I've never done what

I wanted? Well, at some point, they must have known what it was that

they did want. As for life, let it not be just a story that other people tell us

about the world and about how we should behave in it. It must be borne

in mind and spirit that the tragedy of life doesnt lie in not reaching your

goal. The tragedy lies in having no goal to reach. It isnt a calamity to die

with dreams unfulfilled, but it is a calamity not to dream. It is not a

disaster to be unable to capture your ideal, but it is a disaster to have no

ideal to capture. It is not a disgrace not to reach the stars, but it is a

disgrace to have no stars to reach for. Success is never final nor failure

fatal, but low aim is sin. How terrible is it a thing to be happy? Howpleased we are with it! How all-sufficient we think it! How, being in

possession of the false aim of life, happiness, we forget the true aim, duty!

Like all else we have a hierarchy of values; pleasure is at the bottom of

the ladder, and you speak with a little thrill of self-satisfaction, of duty,

charity, and truthfulness. You think pleasure is only of the senses; the

wretched slaves who manufactured your morality despised a satisfaction

which they had small means of enjoying. You would not be so frightened

if I had spoken of happiness instead of pleasure: But I will speak of

pleasure, for I see that men aim at that, and I do not know that they aimat happiness. It is pleasure that lurks in the practice of every one of your

virtues. Man performs actions because they are good for him, and when

they are good for other people as well they are thought virtuous: if he

finds pleasure in giving alms he is charitable; if he finds pleasure in

helping others he is benevolent; if he finds pleasure in working for

society he is public-spirited; but it is for your private pleasure that you

give two coins to a beggar as much as it is for my private pleasure that I

drink and eat some more. I, less of a humbug than you, neither applaud

myself for my pleasure nor demand your admiration. The fact remainsthat getting people right is not what living is all about anyway. Even

worse are those people who say: I'm happy because I'm sacrificing my life

for those I love. And do you think that the people who love us want to

see us suffering for their sakes? Fight your superficiality, your

shallowness, so as to try to come at people without unreal expectations,

without an overload of bias or hope or arrogance. Well, many a time


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People aim for the stars, and they end up like goldfish in a bowl. I

wonder if it wouldn't be simpler just to teach children right from the

start that life is absurd. I know not if this earth on which I stand is the

core of the universe or if it is but a speck of dust lost in eternity. I know

not and I shouldnt care if at all. For I know what happiness is possible to

me on earth. And my happiness needs no higher aim to vindicate it. My

happiness is not the means to any end. It is the end. It is its own goal. It is

its own purpose.


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XII

Roads Go Ever On, over rock and under tree, by caves where never sun

has shone, by streams that never find the sea; over grass and over stone,

and under mountains in the moon, the Roads go ever on. Under

cloud and under star. Down from the door where it began.

Now far ahead the Road has gone, and I must follow, if I can, pursuing it

with eager feet, until it joins some larger way, where many paths and

errands meet. But who can say what's best? That's why you need to grab

whatever chance you have of happiness where you find it, and not worry

about other people too much. My experience tells me that we get no

more than two or three such chances in a life time, and if we let them go,

we regret it for the rest of our lives.

The Road goes ever on and on Down from the door where it began. Now

far ahead the Road has gone, and I must follow, if I can, pursuing it with

weary feet, until it joins some larger way, where many paths and errands

meet. And whither then? I cannot say. The Road goes ever on and on Out

from the door where it began. Now far ahead the Road has gone. Let

others follow, if they can! Let them journeys new begin. But I at last with

weary feet will turn towards the lighted inn, my evening-rest and sleep

to meet. Still round the corner there may wait a new road or a secret

gate, and though we pass them by today Tomorrow we may come this

way and take the hidden paths that run towards the moon or to the sun.

Home is behind the world ahead and there are many paths to tread

Through shadows to the edge of night until the stars are all alight then

world behind and home ahead Well wander back to home and bed Mist

and twilight, cloud and shade Away shall fade! Away shall fade! Fire and

lamp and meat and bread and then to bed! And then to bed! Half the

night I waste in sighs, Half in dreams I sorrow after The delight of early

skies; In a wakeful dose I sorrow For the hand, the lips, the eyes, For the

meeting of the morrow, The delight of happy laughter. The sweet smell

of a great sorrow lies over the land plumes of smoke rise and merge into

the leaden sky a man lies and dreams of green fields and rivers but

awakes to a morning with no reason for waking


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XIII

In times of grief and sorrow I would hold her and rock her

And take her grief and make it my own.

When she cried I cried and when she hurt I hurt too.

But in her eyes was a silence, a most frail gesture that enclosed me,

Which I could not touch.

Love, anger, sadness, promise, and fear, whirling together.

Does she want me to be happy? But if she could, would she?

But what can I do, a slave, to my fate is shackled

For when love beckons to me, I but follow him,

Though his ways are hard and steep,

I marvelled at the softness of her skin,

The gentleness I saw in her eyes.

Keep your secrets; Keep your silence dear heart

It is better a gift than truth

Upon dreary rainy nights I pondered, weak and weary,

over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore.

I try to hold back the tears and despair,

But I can listen no longer in silence.

As she pierce my soul with agony and hope.

I thought of her, called her an angel.

Painted her image with colours celestial.

Made her into a vision so beautiful that it can only live in the mind.

The way her breath escaped her lips when touched.

How her eyes close and her jaw tightened as she gave pleasure a home.

If only these thoughts could save a life

So sad that we will never And this too shall be gone forever.

...And then I felt sad because I realized that I was broken

Never be fixed.


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XIV

Years steal Fire from the mind as vigour from the limb, and life's

enchanted cup but sparkles near the brim. We say we love the truth, but

in reality we want to believe that which we love is true. We live our lives

on a ledge. Surprisingly it takes little to push us over, but Never let

success hide its emptiness from you, nor achievement its nothingness, toil

its desolation. And so...keep alive the incentive to push on further, that

pain in the soul which drives us beyond ourselves. Some have too much,

yet still do crave; little have I, and try to seek no more: They are but poor,

though much they have. Am I rich with little store? When we're

incomplete, we're always searching for somebody to complete us. When,

after a few years or a few months, we find that we're still unfulfilled, we

blame our partners and take up with somebody more promising. This can

go on and on until we admit that while a partner can add sweet

dimensions to our lives, we, each of us, are responsible for our own

fulfilment. Nobody else can provide it for us, and to believe otherwise is

to delude ourselves dangerously and to program for eventual failure. For

When we are mired in the relative world, never lifting our gaze to the

mystery, our life is stunted; we are filled with yearning for that paradise

that is lost when, as young children, we replaced it with words and ideas

and abstractions of merit, of past, present, and future - our direct,

spontaneous experience of the thing itself, in the beauty and precision of

this present moment. Well, Stories, they point you in the right direction

but they can't take you all the way there, because people crave the beauty

of not-knowing, the excitement of suggestion, and the sweet tragedy of

mystery as it glimmers in the night sky. Identification is why the reader

reads and why the writer writes. We all want to identify with a

character, so that we can, in turn, identify with ourselves. Do you have

yourself all figured out? Is your self-knowledge so complete? We delight

to praise what we enjoy because the praise not merely expresses but

completes the enjoyment; it is its appointed consummation. It is not out

of compliment that lovers keep on telling one another how beautiful they

are; the delight is incomplete till it is expressed. Do you know yourself sowell that you'll never do anything stupid or make a fool of yourself?

When it comes to knowing ourselves, we are incomplete, lacking, and

deficient. Each of us is our own ongoing problem until the day we die. If

there is a state where the soul can find a resting-place secure enough to

establish itself and concentrate its entire being there, with no need to

remember the past or reach into the future, where time is nothing to it,


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where the present runs on indefinitely but this duration goes unnoticed,

with no sign of the passing of time, and no other feeling of deprivation or

enjoyment, pleasure or pain, desire or fear than the simple feeling of

existence, a feeling that fills our soul entirely, as long as this state lasts,

we can call ourselves happy, not with a poor, incomplete and relative

happiness such as we find in the pleasures of life, but with a sufficient,

complete and perfect happiness which leaves no emptiness to be filled in

the soul.


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XV

I glanced at her and took my glasses off

They were still singing.

Her voice belled forth, and the sunlight bent. I felt the ceiling arch.

Dark burly hair and the breathtaking eyes,

Her inquiring glance that left me undone

"I am your own way of looking at things," She whispered.

"When you allow me to live with you, every

Glance at the world around you will be

A sort of salvation." and I took her hand.

(Sigh!) The day I met my muse.

But time does not bring relief; you all have lied

who told me it would ease me of my pain!

I miss her in the weeping of the rain;

I want her at the shrinking of the tide

But that last bitter loving must remain

Heaped on my heart, with old thoughts abide.

A hundred places I fear to go

So with her memory they brim.

And entering with relief some quiet place

where never fell her foot or shone her face

I say, 'There is no memory of her here!'

And so stand stricken, so remembering her.

And the dead leaves lie huddled and still,

No longer blown here nor there;

the last lone flower is gone;

the heart is still aching to seek,

But the feet question 'Where?'

Ah, when to the heart of man

was it ever less than treason

to go with the drift of things,

to yield with a grace to reason,

and bow and accept the endof a love or a season?


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XVI

These bloody days have broken my heart,

my lust, my youth did them depart.

For your wit alone many men would bemoan,

and since it is so, many still cry aloud.

It is a great loss that you are dead and gone,

a time you had above your poor degree,

before whereof your friends may well bemoan,

a rotten twig upon so high a tree has slipped your hold

and you are dead and gone.

These bloody days have broken my heart,

my lust, my youth did them depart.

And blind desire of ambitious souls,

who haste to climb, seeks to revert and about the throne

the thunder rolls.

These bloody days have broken my heart

- THOMAS WYATT

XVII

Seven times I have despised my soul:

The first time when I saw her being meek that she might attain height.

The second time when I saw her limping before the crippled.

The third time when she was given to choose between the hard and the

easy, and she chose the easy.

The fourth time when she committed a wrong, and comforted herself

that others also commit wrong.

The fifth time when she forebode for weakness, and attributed her

patience to strength.

The sixth time when she despised the ugliness of a face, and knew not

that it was one of her own masks.

And the seventh time when she sang a song of praise, and deemed it a

virtue.

- KHALIL GIBRAN


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XVIII

They flee from me that sometime did me seek

with naked foot stalking in my chamber.

I have seen them gentle, tame, and meek,

That now are wild, and do not remember

That sometime they have put themselves in danger

To take bread at my hand; and now they range,

Busily seeking with a continual change.

Thanked be to Fortune, it hath been otherwise

Twenty times better; but once in special:

In thin array, after a pleasant guise,

When her loose gown did from her shoulders fall,

and she me caught in her arms long and small,

Therewith all sweetly did me kiss

And softly said, "Dear heart, how like you this?"

It was no dream, -I lay broad waking.

But all is turned, thorough my gentleness,

Into a strange fashion of forsaking:

And I have leave to go of her goodness,

And she also to use new-fangledness.

But since that I unkindly so am served,

I would fain know what hath she now deserved.

- THOMAS WYATT


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XIX

Only once in your life, I truly believe, you find someone who can

Completely turn your world around. You tell them things that youve

Never shared with another soul and they absorb everything you say and

Actually want to hear more. You share hopes for the future, dreams that

Will never come true, goals that were never achieved and the many

Disappointments life has thrown at you. When something wonderful

Happens, you cant wait to tell them about it, knowing they will share in

Your excitement. They are not embarrassed to cry with you when you are

Hurting or laugh with you when you make a fool of yourself. Never do

they hurt your feelings or make you feel like you are not good enough,

but rather they build you up and show you the things about yourself that

make you special and even beautiful. There is never any pressure,

jealousy or competition but only a quiet calmness when they are around.

You can be yourself and not worry about what they will think of you

because they love you for who you are. The things that seem insignificant

to most people such as a note, song or walk become invaluable treasures

kept safe in your heart to cherish forever. Memories of your childhood

come back and are so clear and vivid its like being young again. Colours

seem brighter and more brilliant. Laughter seems part of daily life where

before it was infrequent or didnt exist at all. A phone call or two during

the day helps to get you through a long days work and always brings a

smile to your face. In their presence, theres no need for continuous

conversation, but you find youre quite content in just having themnearby. Things that never interested you before become fascinating

because you know they are important to this person who is so special to

you. You think of this person on every occasion and in everything you

do. Simple things bring them to mind like a pale blue sky, gentle wind or

even a storm cloud on the horizon. You open your heart knowing that

theres a chance it may be broken one day and in opening your heart, you

experience a love and joy that you never dreamed possible. You find that

being vulnerable is the only way to allow your heart to feel true pleasure

thats so real it scares you. You find strength in knowing you have a truefriend and possibly a soul mate that will remain loyal to the end. Life

seems completely different, exciting and worthwhile. Your only hope

and security is in knowing that they are a part of your life.

- ROBERT NESTA MARLEY


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"Forgiveness is not about forgetting. It is about letting go of

another person's throat......Forgiveness does not create a

relationship. Unless people speak the truth about what they

have done and change their mind and behavior, a relationship of

trust is not possible. When you forgive someone you certainly

release them from judgment, but without true change, no real

relationship can be established.........Forgiveness in no way

requires that you trust the one you forgive. But should they

finally confess and repent, you will discover a miracle in your

own heart that allows you to reach out and begin to build

between you a bridge of reconciliation.........Forgiveness does

not excuse anything.........You may have to declare yourforgiveness a hundred times the first day and the second day,

but the third day will be less and each day after, until one day

you will realize that you have forgiven completely.


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XX

Ah, love, let us be true to one another! The world, which seems to lie

Before us like a land of dreams, so various, so beautiful, so new, Has

Really neither joy, nor love, nor light, nor certitude, nor peace, nor help

For pain; on the surface, I was calm: in secret I was waiting for

Something. Her return. How could I have been waiting for that? So must

One be resigned to being a clock that measures the passage of time? Must I

Go on living here then, among the objects we both had touched, in the air

She had breathed? In the name of what? In the hope of her return? I

Hoped for nothing, and yet I lived in expectation. Since she had gone,

That was all that remained. I did not know what achievements, what

Mockery, even what tortures still awaited me. I knew nothing, and I

Persisted in the faith that the time of cruel miracles was not past, when

Life was sweet because you called it sweet. O my brethren Love is a fire,

But whether it is going to warm you or burn you, one can never tell. It

Takes courage to love, the world is indeed full of peril and in it there are

Many dark places. But still there is much that is fair. And though in all

Lands, love is now mingled with grief, it still grows, perhaps, the greater.

So be not afraid of pain that you shut yourselves up like clams in a shell

And, giving out nothing, receiving nothing and therefore shrink until life

Is a mere living death. It is a decision, it is a judgment, and it is a promise,

Not only a feeling. For if it were there would be no basis for the promise

To each other forever. A feeling comes and it may go. How can I judge

That it will stay forever, when my act does not involve judgment and

Decision? If only it were possible to love without injury fidelity isnt

Enough: many a time you will be faithful and yet injure another. The

Hurt is in the act of possession: we are too small in mind and body to

Possess another person without pride or to be possessed without

Humiliation. Always, everywhere, there is some voice crying from a

Tower. In secret we meet, in silence we grieve, that our hearts could

Forget, and our spirits deceive, but we are born to love as we are born to

Die, and between the heartbeats of those two great mysteries lies all the

Tangled knots of our tiny lives. There is nowhere to go but through. AndSo we walk on, lost, and lost again. So be with me always - take any form

- drive me mad! Only do not leave me on this endless street, where I

Cannot find you! Oh, God! It is unutterable! I cannot live without my life!

I cannot live without my soul


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XXII

What is family, If not the people who claimed you? In good, in bad, in

parts or in whole, they were the ones who showed up, who stayed in

there, regardless. It wasn't just about blood, but something wider,

something bigger. I have had many families over time. Of origin, one I

created, and the groups you moved through while all of this was

happening: friends, lovers, sometimes even strangers. None of them

perfect and I couldn't expect them to be. I couldnt make any one person

my world, but only take what each could give and build my world from

it, so forgive me if I am not an angel, I am just a small boy in a big world,

please dont tell me where I want to go, not just any road will lead me

there. I could will myself to earn my bread without dignity and hope, or I

could earn my bread like a man who commanded respect. But I have a

vision that will live forever; they were my family, and God my punisher,

some will groan over their sins, but I accept mine. What is obvious to a

child is that life is simply a collection of little lives, each lived one day at

a time. That each day should be spent finding beauty in flowers and

poetry and talking to animals. That a day spent with dreaming and

sunsets and refreshing breezes cannot be bettered. But most of all, I

learned that life is about sitting on benches with my hand on her knee

and sometimes, on good days, for falling in love. But well, some things

don't last forever, but some things do. Like a good song, or a good book,

or a good memory that you can take out and unfold in your darkest times,

pressing down on the corners and peering in close, hoping you still

recognize the person you see there. But o, what a wicked world it is that

drives man to sin.

(Che cosa la famiglia, se non la gente che vi ha sostenuto? Nel bene, nel

male, in parte o in tutto, erano quelli che si present, che rimase l, a

prescindere. Non stato solo di sangue, ma qualcosa di pi ampio, qualcosa

di pi grande. Ho avuto molte famiglie nel corso del tempo.D'origine, ho

creato uno, e dei gruppi si spostato attraverso mentre tutto questo stava

succedendo: amici, amanti, a volte anche sconosciuti. Nessuno di loro

perfetta e non potevo pretendere che siano. Non ho potuto fare una sola

persona il mio mondo, ma solo ci che ciascuno possa dare e costruire il

mio mondo da esso, quindi perdonatemi se io non sono un angelo, io sono

solo un ragazzino in un grande mondo, per favore non dimmi dove voglio


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andare, non solo ogni strada mi porter l. Potrei verr a me stesso di

guadagnarmi il pane, senza dignit e la speranza, o potevo guadagnarmi il

pane come un uomo che incuteva rispetto. Ma ho una visione che vivr per

sempre, erano la mia famiglia, e Dio mio Punisher, alcuni gemito per i loro

peccati, ma accetto la mia. Ci che ovvio per un bambino che la vita

semplicemente un insieme di piccole vite, ognuno ha vissuto un giorno alla

volta. Che ogni giorno dovrebbero essere spesi trovare la bellezza nei fiori e

nella poesia e parlando con gli animali. Quel giorno trascorso con il sogno

e tramonti e di brezze rinfrescanti non pu essere migliorato. Ma pi di

tutto, ho imparato che la vita di circa seduti sulle panche con la mia

mano sul suo ginocchio ea volte, nei giorni buoni, per innamorarsi. Ma

anche, alcune cose non durano per sempre, ma certe cose fanno. Come unabuona canzone, o un buon libro, o una buona memoria che possibile

portare fuori e si sviluppano in tempi pi oscuri della tua, premendo sugli

angoli e peering in stretta, sperando di riconoscere la persona che si vede

l. Ma o, quanto un mondo malvagio che spinge l'uomo al peccato.)


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XXIII

Life moves on, whether we act as cowards or heroes. Life has no other

discipline to impose, if we would but realize it, than to accept life

unquestioningly. Everything we shut our eyes to, everything we run away

from, everything we deny, denigrate or despise, serves to defeat us in theend. What seems nasty, painful, evil can become a source of beauty, joy, and

strength, if faced with an open mind. Every moment is a golden one for him

who has the vision to recognize it as such. The consolation of fairy stories,

the joy of the happy ending; or more correctly, the good catastrophe, the

sudden, joyous "turn" (for there is no true end to a fairy tale); this joy, which

is one of the things that fairy stories can produce supremely well, is not

essentially escapist or fugitive. it is a sudden and miraculous grace, never to

be counted on to reoccur. It does not deny the existence of sorrow and

failure, the possibility of these is necessary to the joy of deliverance. Giving a

fleeting glimpse of Joy, Joy beyond the walls of the world, poignant as grief.

We who fight for our dreams suffer far more when it doesn't work out,

because we cannot fall back on the old excuse: 'Oh, well, I didn't really want

it anyway.' We do want it and know that we have staked everything on it.

When we first begin fighting for our dream, we have no experience and

make many mistakes. The secret of life, though, is to fall seven times and to

get up eight times. So why is it so important to live our personal calling if we

are only going to suffer more than other people? Because, once we have

overcome the defeats--and we always do--we are filled by a greater sense of

euphoria and confidence...If you believe yourself worthy of the thing you

fought so hard to get, then you become an instrument of God, you help the

Soul of the World, and you understand why you are here. But along the way

you will be required to do wrong no matter where you go. It is the basic

condition of life, to be required to violate your own identity for the struggle

is always worthwhile, if the end be worthwhile and the means honourable;

foreknowledge of defeat is not sufficient reason to withdraw from the

contest, but there is suffering in life, and there are defeats. No one can avoidthem. But it's better to lose some of the battles in the struggles for your

dreams than to be defeated without ever knowing what you're fighting for.

Well, the future of the world no longer disturbs me; I leave that to God. Not

that I have acquired more confidence and faith in human wisdom; the

contrary is true. Life is atrocious, we know. But precisely because I expect

little of the human condition, man's periods of felicity, his partial progress,


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his efforts to begin over again and to continue, all seem to me like so many

prodigies who nearly compensate for monstrous mass of ills and defeats, of

indifference and error. Catastrophe and ruin will come; disorder will

triumph, but order will too, from time to time. Peace will again establish

itself. The biggest defeat in every life is to forget, especially the things thathave done you in, and to die without realizing how far people can go in the

way of crumminess. When the grave lies open before us, lets not try to be

witty, but on the other hand, lets not forget, but make it our business to

record the worst of the human viciousness weve seen without changing one

word. When thats done, we can curl up our toes and sink into the pit. Thats

work enough for a lifetime when Narcissus died; the Goddesses of the

Forest appeared and found the lake, which had been fresh water,

transformed into a lake of salty tears. "Why do you weep?" the Goddesses

asked. "I weep for Narcissus," the lake replied. "Ah, it is no surprise that youweep for Narcissus," they said, "for though we always pursued him in the

forest, you alone could contemplate his beauty close at hand." "But..... Was

Narcissus beautiful?" the lake asked. "Who better than you to know that?"

the Goddesses said in wonder, "After all, it was by your banks that he knelt

each day to contemplate himself!!" The lake was silent for some time. Finally

it said: "I weep for Narcissus, but I never noticed that Narcissus was

beautiful. I weep because, each time he knelt beside my banks, I could see, in

the depths of his eyes, my own beauty reflected."


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XXIV

Did you ever, as a little child, endure your parents warnings, only to wait

for them to leave the room? When you were big enough to cross the street,

did you ever wait for a signal, hear the frenzied approach of a fire truck andfeel like stepping out in front of it? When you were almost grown, did you

ever wonder if the expected rush might somehow fail you? And now, do you

ever dangle your toes over the precipice, and dare the cliff to crumble? I

never thought but, for you, and for any dear to you, I would do anything. If

my career were of that better kind that there was any opportunity or

capacity of sacrifice in it, I would embrace any sacrifice for you and for those

dear to you. So try to hold me in your mind, at some quiet times, as ardent

and sincere in this one thing. The time will come, when new bonds aroundyou shall be formed about youties that will bind you yet more tenderly and

strongly to a home you will so adornthe dearest ties that will ever grace and

gladden you, with the little picture of a happy fathers face looking up in

yours, when you see your own bright beauty springing up anew at your feet,

think now and then that there is a someone who would give a life, to keep

the life you love beside you!


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FROM THE CORNER OF HIS EYE

Not one day in anyones life is an uneventful day, no day without profound

meaning, no matter how dull and boring it might seem, no matter whether

you are a seamstress or a queen, a shoeshine boy, or a movie star, arenowned philosopher or a Downs-syndrome child. Because in every day of

your life, there are opportunities to perform little kindnesses for others, both

by conscious acts of will and unconscious example. Each smallest act of

kindnesseven just words of hope when they are needed, the remembrance

of a birthday, a compliment that engenders a smilereverberates across

great distances and spans of time, affecting lives unknown to the one whose

generous spirit was the source of this good echo, because kindness is passed

on and grows each time its passed, until a simple courtesy becomes an act ofselfless courage years later and far away. Likewise, each small meanness,

each thoughtless expression of hatred, each envious and bitter act, regardless

of how petty, can inspire others, and is therefore the seed that ultimately

produces evil fruit, poisoning people whom you have never met and never

will. All human lives are so profoundly and intricately entwinedthose

dead, those living, those generations yet to comethat the fate of all is the

fate of each, and the hope of humanity rests in every heart and in every pair

of hands. Therefore, after every failure, we are obliged to strive again for

success, and when faced with the end of one thing, we must build something

new and better in the ashes, just as from pain and grief, we must weave

hope, for each of us is a thread critical to the strengthto the very survival

of the human tapestry. Every hour in every life contains such often-

unrecognized potential to affect the world that the great days and thrilling

possibilities are combined always in this momentous day.

- D.K


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XXVI

Why can't we get all the people together in the world that we really like and

then just stay together? I guess that wouldn't work. Someone would leave.

Someone always leaves. Then we would have to say good-bye. I hate good-byes. I know what I need. I need more hellos. Good-byes always hurt,

pictures never replace having been there, memories good or bad always

bring tears, and words can never replace those feelings, So Promise a kiss on

my brow when I am dead. For we laughed until we had to cry, we loved

until we said goodbye, and to say goodbye is to die a little. But if you never

stop when you wave goodbye you just might find, if you give it time, you

will wave hello again. Well as you trod along dont concern yourself with

being right in others eyes. And dont secretly hope that their lives will fallapart so that your opinion will be vindicated. Instead, concentrate on

obeying God in your own life and, when possible, helping others to obey

Him as well. You dont have to prove others wrong to continue on your

course. This is not a goodbye, my darling, this is a thank you. Thank you for

coming into my life and giving me joy, thank you for loving me and

receiving my love in return. Thank you for the memories I will cherish

forever. But most of all, thank you for showing me that there will come a

time when the world shall throw us apart and afar, and someday I can

eventually let you go, and I shall have to plant my own garden and decorate

my own soul instead of waiting for someone to bring me flowers. I close my

eyes, thinking that there is nothing like an embrace after an absence,

nothing like fitting her face into the curve of my shoulder and filling my

lungs with the scent of her. In time, in time they tell me, I'll not feel so bad.

I don't want time to heal me. There's a reason I'm like this. I want time to set

me ugly and knotted with loss, marking me. I won't smooth you away.Gather the stars if you wish it so, the songs and keep them, the faces and all

the years, for I can't say goodbye.


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THE DREAM

A man lay on his bed at the end of his life waiting to die.

His dream came to pay his last respects

and bid farewell to the man who had never used it.

As it entered the room the man looked down in shame.

Why did you not realize me? the dream asked.

Because I was afraid, the man said.

Afraid of what, said the dream.

I was afraid I would fail.

But havent you failed by not attempting to use me?.

Yes I did, but I always thought there would be tomorrow.

You Fool! said the dream Did it never occur to youthat there was only ever today? The moment that you are in right now?

Do you think that now that death is here

that you can put it off until tomorrow?.

No, said the man, a tear gently rolling down his cheek.

The dream was softer now, because it knew that there were two types of

pain,

the pain of discipline and the pain of regret,

and while discipline weighs ounces, regret weighs pounds.

Then the dream leant forward to gently wipe away the tear and said,

You need only have taken the first step

and I would have taken one to meet you,

for the only thing that ever separated us

was the belief in your mind that you couldnt have me.

Then they said goodbye and they both died.

- MARK BAKER


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XXVIII

White lines that never fade

she live here in a photograph

No sound and no regrets

She lies down alone but she don't mind

Questions that never breathe

She makes herself at home

God it's better than her place

She loves the little things

God we all need something,

Walking Through a hallway with a broken light

I can't relate to a world that only knows her by her face

Shell marry the night Dance with the pain, she doesnt mind.

More footsteps to hold onto and corners to be turned

like weeping violins, she trembles and she shakes.

She talks in her sleep like there's nothing more to lose.

Late again Guilt free in the middle of the pouring rain

Hair's a mess she said would you mind if I spent the night alone?

Cause she cant dwell on the future for its miles away,

A long hallway with a broken light.

She takes her clothes off and she saysis it alright if I stay the night?

I don't remember what I said, is it alright?

It must been around midnight, There's a ghost at the door

She said please go slowly because we've all been here before.

3am she's upset, its not you and it never was packs her things she's gone where?

That place I'll never know, I awake to a letter, saying everything was a mistake.

It's never alright to push away, and I'm tired of all that is

and I know that this time it's not all in my head,She look a little unhappy, 'bout the way the world is turning

is there anything I could do to take your mind off

your troubled hearted kind? And she whispered maybe, just maybe.

'Cause I understand, I could tell everything's not fine

The colours on the wall, are all faded And all that's left is a hope for another day.


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XXIXListen to the mustnt, my friend. Listen to the don'ts. Listen to the shouldnt,

the impossible, the wont. Listen to the never haves, then listen close to me...

Anything can happen, my friend. Anything can be. There is neither

happiness nor unhappiness in this world; there is only the comparison of one

state with another. Only a man who has felt ultimate despair is capable of

feeling ultimate bliss. It is insane but somewhat necessary to have wished for

death in order to know how good it is to live, the sum of all human wisdom

will be contained in these two words: Wait and Hope. You have brains in

your head. You have feet in your shoes. You can steer yourself any direction

you choose. You're on your own. And you know what you know. And you

are the one who'll decide where to go, for there is no greater agony than

bearing an untold story inside of you. As for success and failure, we all are

well conversant with the tale of the man and his dream. Success is not final,

failure is not fatal: it is the courage to continue that counts. Well, if you

think you are a failure, you probably are. What's wrong with that? In the

first place, if you've any sense at all you must have learned by now that we

pay just as dearly for our triumphs as we do for our defeats. Go ahead and

fail. But fail with wit, fail with grace, fail with style. A mediocre failure is as

insufferable as a mediocre success, and as for I, I only dare to fail greatly to

ever achieve greatly. And if you're very, very lucky, there are a very few

blazing hot little pains you feel when you realize that you are standing in amoment of utter perfection, an instant of triumph, or happiness, or mirth

which at the same time cannot possibly last - and yet will remain with you

for life. Everyone is down on some pain, because they forget something

important about it: Pain is for the living. Only the dead don't feel it. Do your

utmost, for it is a part of life. Sometimes it's a big part, and sometimes it isn't,

but either way, it's a part of the big puzzle, the deep music, and the great

game. Pain of struggle does two things: It teaches you, tells you that you're

alive. Then it passes away and leaves you changed. It leaves you wiser,

sometimes. Sometimes it leaves you stronger. Either way, it leaves its mark,and everything important that will ever happen to you in life is going to

involve it in one degree or another, but dont be like So many people who

walk around with a meaningless life. They seem half-asleep, even when

they're busy doing things they think are important. This is because they're

chasing the wrong things, so Go forward in life with a twinkle in your eye

and a smile on your face, but with great purpose at heart, for The purpose of


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life is to live it, to taste experience to the utmost, to reach out eagerly and

without fear for newer and richer experience. I was always of the mindset

that whatever will be, will be. We can only just try to control our own lives,

that because our lives are so hopelessly entangled in the choices of others,

we can never have full control over our destiny or fate or purpose orwhatever you want to call it, We plan our lives according to a dream that

came to us in our childhood, and we find that life alters our plans. And yet,

at the end, from a rare height, we also see that our dream was our fate. It's

just that providence had other ideas as to how we would get there. Destiny

plans a different route, or turns the dream around, as if it was a riddle, and

fulfils the dream in ways we couldn't have expected. So my friend, unto the

giver of life, the Owner of the day, pray for strength, for a straight back and

clear eyes, so when life fades, as the setting sun, your spirit may come to

Him without shame


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XXIX

How can I lose faith in the justice of life, when the dreams of those who

sleep upon feathers are not more beautiful than the dreams of those who

sleep upon the earth? Advance, and never halt, and do not fear the thorns inthe path, for they draw only corrupt blood. Bake not bread with

indifference, for you bake bitter bread that feeds but half mans hunger, for

what are your possessions but things you keep and guard for fear you may

need them tomorrow. You often say, I would give, but only to the

deserving. The trees in your yard say not so, nor the flocks in your pasture.

They give that they may live, for to withhold is to perish. Surely he who is

worthy to receive his days and his nights, is worthy of all else from you. And

he who has deserved to drink from the ocean of life deserves to fill his cup

from your little stream. Oftentimes have I heard you speak of one who

commits a wrong as though he were but a stranger unto you, an intruder

upon your world?

But I say that even as the holy and the righteous cannot rise beyond the

highest which is in each one of you, so the wicked and the weak cannot fall

lower than the lowest which is in you also.

And as a single leaf turns not yellow but with the silent knowledge of the

whole tree, so the wrong-doer cannot do wrong without the hidden will of

you all. Like a procession you walk together you are the way and the

wayfarers. And when one of you falls down he falls for those behind him, a

caution against the stumbling stone. We came not into this life by exile, but

we came as innocent creatures of God. You have been told that, even like a

chain, you are as weak as your weakest link; this is but half the truth. You

are also as strong as your strongest link. To measure you by your smallest

deed is to reckon the power of ocean by the frailty of its foam. To judge youby your failures is to cast blame upon the seasons for their inconstancy. I

have learnt silence from the talkative, tolerance from the intolerant, and

kindness from the unkind; yet strange, I am ungrateful to these teachers. So

my friend, I am not what I seem. Seeming is but a garment I wear, a care-

woven garment that protects me from your questionings and you from my


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negligence. The "I" in me, my friend, dwells in the house of silence, and

therein it shall prefer to remain, unperceived, unapproachable.

I would not have you believe in what I say nor trust in what I do.

Oftentimes we call Life bitter names, but only when we ourselves are bitter

and dark. And we deem her empty and unprofitable, but only when the soul

goes wandering in desolate places and the heart is drunk with over

mindfulness of self. Life is deep and high and distant; and though only your

vast vision can reach even her feet, yet she is near; and though only the

breath of your breath reaches her heart, the shadow of your shadow crosses

her face, and the echo of your faintest cry becomes a spring at her breast,

Life is veiled and hidden, even as your greater self is hidden and veiled, but

When she sings, the deaf hear and are held; and when she comes walking,

the sightless behold her and are amazed and follow her in wonder and

astonishment.


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XXX

It is the mission of each true knight...

His duty... nay, his privilege!

To dream the impossible dream,

To fight the unbeatable foe,To bear with unbearable sorrow

To run where the brave dare not go;

To right the unrightable wrong.

To love, pure and chaste, from afar,

To try, when your arms are too weary,

To reach the unreachable star!

This is my Quest to follow that star,

No matter how hopeless, no matter how far,

To fight for the right

Without question or pause,

To be willing to march into hell

For a heavenly cause!

And I know, if I'll only be true

To this glorious Quest,

That my heart will lie peaceful and calm

When I'm laid to my rest.

And the world will be better for this,

That one man, scorned and covered with scars,

Still strove, with his last ounce of courage,

To reach the unreachable stars!"

- Miguel de Cervantes (Don Quixote)


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XXXI Remember, Remember

Remember, remember, the Fifth of November, the Gunpowder Treason and

Plot. I know of no reason why the Gunpowder Treason should ever be

forgot... But what of the man? I know his name was Guy Fawkes and I know,in 1605, he attempted to blow up the Houses of Parliament. But who was he

really? What was he like? We are told to remember the idea, not the man,

because a man can fail. He can be caught, he can be killed and forgotten, but

400 years later, an idea can still change the world. I've witnessed firsthand

the power of ideas, I've seen people kill in the name of them, and die

defending them... but you cannot kiss an idea, cannot touch it, or hold it...

ideas do not bleed, they do not feel pain, they do not love... And it is not an

idea that I miss, it is a man... A man that made me remember the Fifth ofNovember. A man that I will never forget.

Sex and Race, because they are easy, visible differences, have been the

primary ways of organising human beings into superior and inferior groups

and into the cheap labour on which this system still depends. We are talking

about a society in which there will be no roles other than those chosen, or

those earned....

Beneath this mask there is more than flesh. Beneath this mask there is an

idea, and ideas are bulletproof.

We're oft to blame, and this is too much proved, that with devotion's visage

and pious action we do sugar on the devil himself.

But on this most auspicious of nights, permit me then, in lieu of the more

commonplace sobriquet, to suggest the character of this dramatis persona.


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Voil! In view, a humble vaudevillian veteran, cast vicariously as both victim

and villain by the vicissitudes of Fate. This visage, no mere veneer of vanity,

is a vestige of the vox populi, now vacant, vanished. However, this valorous

visitation of a by-gone vexation, stands vivified and has vowed to vanquish

these venal and virulent vermin van-guarding vice and vouchsafing the

violently vicious and voracious violation of volition.

[carves V into poster on wall]

The only verdict is vengeance; a vendetta, held as a votive, not in vain, for

the value and veracity of such shall one day vindicate the vigilant and the

virtuous.

[giggles]

Verily, this vichyssoise of verbiage veers most verbose, so let me simply add

that it's my very good honor to meet you and you may call me V.

Good evening, London. Allow me first to apologize for this interruption. I

do, like many of you, appreciate the comforts of every day routine- the

security of the familiar, the tranquility of repetition. I enjoy them as much asany bloke. But in the spirit of commemoration, thereby those important

events of the past usually associated with someone's death or the end of some

awful bloody struggle, a celebration of a nice holiday, I thought we could

mark this November the 5th, a day that is sadly no longer remembered, by

taking some time out of our daily lives to sit down and have a little chat.

There are of course those who do not want us to speak. I suspect even now,

orders are being shouted into telephones, and men with guns will soon be on

their way. Why? Because while the truncheon may be used in lieu of

conversation, words will always retain their power. Words offer the means

to meaning, and for those who will listen, the enunciation of truth. And the

truth is, there is something terribly wrong with this country, isn't there?

Cruelty and injustice, intolerance and oppression. And where once you had

the freedom to object, to think and speak as you saw fit, you now have


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sensors and systems of surveillance coercing your conformity and soliciting

your submission. How did this happen? Who's to blame? Well certainly

there are those more responsible than others, and they will be held

accountable, but again truth be told, if you're looking for the guilty, you

need only look into a mirror. I know why you did it. I know you were

afraid. Who wouldn't be? War, terror, disease. There were a myriad of

problems which conspired to corrupt your reason and rob you of your

common sense. Fear got the best of you, and in your panic you turned to the

now high chancellor, Adam Sutler. He promised you order, he promised you

peace, and all he demanded in return was your silent, obedient consent. Last

night I sought to end that silence. Last night I destroyed the Old Bailey, to

remind this country of what it has forgotten. More than four hundred years

ago a great citizen wished to embed the fifth of November forever in our

memory. His hope was to remind the world that fairness, justice, and

freedom are more than words, they are perspectives. So if you've seen

nothing, if the crimes of this government remain unknown to you then I

would suggest you allow the fifth of November to pass unmarked. But if you

see what I see, if you feel as I feel, and if you would seek as I seek, then I ask

you to stand beside me one year from tonight, outside the gates of

Parliament, and together we shall give them a fifth of November that shallnever, ever be forgot.

...A building is a symbol, as is the act of destroying it. Symbols are given

power by people. A symbol, in and of itself is powerless, but with enough

people behind it, blowing up a building can change the world.

Vi Veri Veniversum Vivus Vici.- By the power of truth, I, while living, have

conquered the universe.

A desperate disease requires a dangerous remedy. - GUY FAWKE


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XXXII-Con te partiro

Quando sono solo

Sogno all'orizzonte

E mancan le parole

Si lo so che non c'?luce

In una stanzaQuando manca il sole

Se non ci sei tu con me, con me.

Su le finestre

Mostra a tutti il mio cuore

Che hai acceso

Chiudi dentro me

La luce che

Hai incontrato per strada

Time to say goodbye

Paesi che non ho mai

Veduto e vissuto con te

Adesso si li vivro.Con te partiro

Su navi per mari

Che io lo so

No no non esistono piu

It's time to say goodbye.

Quando sei lontana

Sogno all'orizzonte

E mancan le parole

E io si lo so

Che sei con me con me

Tu mia luna tu sei qui con me

Mio sole tu sei qui con me

Con me con me con me

Time to say goodbye

Paesi che non ho mai

Veduto e vissuto con te

Adesso si li vivro.

Con te partiro

Su navi per mari

Che io lo so

No no non esistono piu

Con te io li rivivro.

Con te partiro

Su navi per mari

Che io lo soNo no non esistono piu

Con te io li rivivro.

Con te partiro

Io con te.

When I'm alone

I dream on the horizon

And words fail;

Yes, I know there is no light

In a roomWhere the sun is not there

If you are not with me.

At the windows

Show everyone my heart

Which you set alight;

Enclose within me

The light you

Encountered on the street.

Time to say goodbye,

To countries I never

Saw and shared with you,

Now, yes, I shall experience them,I'll go with you

On ships across seas

Which, I know,

No, no, exist no longer;

With you I shall experience them.

When you are far away

I dream on the horizon

And words fail,

And yes, I know

That you are with me;

You, my moon, are here with me,

My sun, you are here with me.

With me, with me, with me,

Time to say goodbye,

To countries I never

Saw and shared with you,

Now, yes, I shall experience them,

I'll go with you


Which, I know,

No, no, exist no longer;

With you I shall re-experience them.

I'll go with you


Which, I know,No, no, exist no longer;

With you I shall re-experience them.

I'll go with you,

I with you.


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XXXIII

My sweetest, let us live and love,

And though the sager sort our deeds reprove,

Let us not weigh them.

But soon as once set our little light,

then must we sleep one ever-during night.

If all would lead their lives in love like we,

Then bloody swords and armour would not be;

But fools do live, and waste their little light,

And seek with pain their ever-during night.

When timely death my life and fortune ends,

Let not my hearse be vexed with mourning friends,

But let all lovers, rich in triumph, come

And with sweet pastimes grace my happy tomb;

And my sweet, close up thou my little light,

And crown with love my ever-during night.


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XXXIV

I care not for these ladies that must be wooed and prayed.

Give me a kind, the wanton country maid.

Her beauty is her own,A garden in her face,

where roses and white lilies grow,

a heavenly paradise beneath her feet,

wherein all pleasant fruits do flow.

And as her lute doth live or die,

Led by her passion, so must I:

For when of pleasure she does sing,

my thoughts enjoy a sudden spring,

But if she does of sorrow speak,

Even from my heart the strings do break.

Who when we court and kiss, she cries in truth, let go!

But when we come where comfort is, she never will say no.

Come; Sing smoothly thy sweetly gracing, silent music.

These dull notes we sing need help to grace them;

only beauty purely loving Knows no discord,


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XXXV

For the sake of a few lines one must see many cities, men and things.

I would like to beg you to have patience with everything unresolved in your

heart.Feel how the birds fly and know the gesture with which the small flowers

open in the morning.

And try to love the questions themselves; dont search for answers

which could not be given to you now because you would not be able to live

them.

think back to roads in unknown regions, to unexpected meetings and to

partings which one had long seen coming, to days of childhood that are still

unexplained, to parents that one had to hurt when they brought one some

joy and one did not grasp it (it was joy for someone else);to days in rooms withdrawn and quiet and to mornings by the sea, to nights

of travel that rushed along on high and flew with all the stars-and it is not

enough if one may think all of this.

far from the splendor and squalor of hurrying cities do not worry if briefer

days grow briefest,

One must have memories of many nights of love, none of which was like

the others,

And not be sorry of sun and rain, for my life is the life of the reaper and the

sower;my prayers, those of earth's own clumsy striving; finding and losing and

laughing and crying, children whos any sadness or joy is my grief or my

gladness

But one must also have been besides the dying; one must have sat beside the

dead in the room with the open window. And still it is not enough to have

memories. One must be able to forget them when they are many, and one

must have the great patience to wait until they come again.

Do not worry if longer nights grow longest; and do not be sorry when

silence becomes singing (welcoming humbly the light and proudly thedarkness of the days yet to come). O How poor are they that have not

patience! What wound did ever heal but by degrees?

Patience, with charity, with quietness of heart, with lives we have lived.


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Mancante.

There are a hundred things she has tried to chase away the things she won't

remember and that she can't even let herself think about because that's

when the birds scream and the worms crawl and somewhere in her mind it's

always raining a slow and endless drizzle.You will hear that she has left the country, that there was a gift she wanted

you to have, but it is lost before it reaches you. Late one night the telephone

will sign, and a voice that might be hers will say something that you cannot

interpret before the connection crackles and is broken.

Several years later, from a taxi, you will see someone in a doorway that looks

like her, but she will be gone by the time you persuade the driver to stop.

You will never see her again.

Whenever it rains you will think of her.


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XXXVI

O you wholl always be named the first among my friends,

You above all who thought it right to make my fate your

Own.Who were the first, the most dear, I remember

To dare to sustain me with words when the bolt struck,

Who gave me the calm advice to go on

When my wretched heart was filled with desire to cease,

Truly you know whom I mean, by these tokens of your

Name,

Nor are you unaware, friend, of the service you rendered.

These things will always be fixed in my very marrow,

And Ill be an eternal debtor for the life thats mine,And my spirit will melt away in the empty air,

Leaving my ashes on the cooling pyre,

Before the memory of your merit leaves my mind.

And loyalty fades away through the long years.

You who read shake this hand of mine without malice,

May you reach lifes goal without hindrance.

And may my prayers that are yet to be fulfilled,

Have a good word for you!

O you the foremost of my dear friends,Who proved the sole altar for my fortunes,

Whose words of comfort revived this dying spirit,

Youll have many friends while youre fortunate:

But Ants never head for an empty granary,

So be wary of the fickle crowd that chases the glow of fortune

I pray this might always prove false for you.

Id certainly show you honour,

And unite your rare loyalty with fame.

But I fear my verse of thanks might harm you,An untimely honouring of your name might obstruct you.

This you can do (and its safe): delight in this inwardly,

That Ive remembered you and youve been loyal,

And, as you have, bend your oars to bring me help,

So may your fortunes ever go forward,


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May you need no help, and yet help your own,

May your wife equal her husbands endless kindness,

And your union meet with no complaints:

And may that brother always love you,

Your young son be like you, and allRecognise that hes yours by his character:

And so may your daughters torch light you

While youre young.


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XXXVII

There is a determined though unseen bravery that defends itself foot by foot in

the darkness against the fatal invasions of necessity and dishonesty. Noble and

mysterious triumphs that no eye sees, and no fame rewards, and no flourish oftriumph salutes. Life, misfortunes, isolation, abandonment, poverty, are

battlefields that have their heroes; obscure heroes, sometimes greater than the

illustrious. For when it is all said and done, it's the doers that change this world.

And when they do that, they change us, and that's why we never forget them.

In God we are expected to have faith and determination and enough trust in

Him to keep moving, keep living, and keep rejoicing. In fact, we are expected to

not simply to face the future (that sounds pretty grim and stoic); but to embrace

and shape it if at all--to love it and rejoice in it and delight in our opportunities.I believe God is anxiously waiting for the chance to answer your prayers and

fulfil your dreams, just as He always has. But He can't if you don't pray, and He

can't if you don't dream. He can't if you don't believe..... I have always,

essentially, been waiting. Waiting to become something else, waiting to be that

person I always thought I was on the verge of becoming, waiting for that life I

thought I would have. In my head, I was always one step away. In high school,

I was biding my time until I could become the college version of myself, the

one my mind could see so clearly. In college, the post-college adult personwas always looming in front of me, smarter, stronger, and more organized.

Then the married person, then the person Id become when we have kids. For

twenty years or so, literally, I have waited to become the toned version of

myself, because thats when life will really begin.

And through all that waiting, here I am. My life is passing, day by day, and I am

waiting for it to start. I am waiting for that time, that person, that event when

my life will finally begin.

I love movies about The Big Moment the game or the performance or thewedding day or the record deal, the stories that split time with that key event,

and everything is reframed, before it and after it, because it has changed

everything. I have always wanted this movie-worthy event, something that will

change everything and grab me out of this waiting game into the whirlwind in

front of me. I cry and cry at these movies, because I am still waiting for my own


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big moment. I had visions of life as an adventure, a thing to be celebrated and

experienced, but all I was doing was going to work and coming home, and that

wasnt what it looked like in the movies.

John Lennon once said, Life is what happens when youre busy making other

plans. For me, life is what was happening while I was busy waiting for my bigmoment. I was ready for it and believed that the rest of my life would fade into

the background, and that my big moment would carry me through life like a

lifeboat.

The Big Moment, unfortunately, is an urban myth. Some people have them, in

a sense, when they win or become the next Idol. But even that football player

or that singer is living a life made up of more than that one moment. Life is a

collection of a million, billion moments, tiny little moments and choices, like a

handful of luminous, glowing pearl. It takes so much time, and so much work,

and those beads and moments are so small, and so much less fabulous and

dramatic than the movies.

But this is what Im finding, in glimpses and flashes: this is it. This is it, in the

best possible way. That thing Im waiting for, that adventure, that move-score-

worthy experience unfolding gracefully. This is it. Normal, daily life ticking by

on our streets and sidewalks, in our houses and apartments, in our beds and at

our dinner tables, in our dreams and prayers and fights and secrets this

pedestrian life is the most precious thing any of us will ever experience."..

And, of course, that is what all of this is - all of this: the one song, ever

changing, ever reincarnated, that speaks somehow from and to and for that

which is ineffable within us and without us, that is both prayer and

deliverance, folly and wisdom, that inspires us to dance or smile or simply to go

on, senselessly, incomprehensibly, blissfully, in the face of mortality and the

truth that our lives are more ill-writ, ill-rhymed and fleeting than any song,

except perhaps those songs - that song, endlessly reincarnated - born of that

truth, be it the moon and June of that truth, or the wordless blue moan, or the

rotgut or the elegant poetry of it. That mystery train, - same journey, same

miracle, same end and endlessness.


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XXXVIII

Joy, sorrow, tears, lamentation, laughter -- to all these music gives voice, but

in such a way that we are transported from the world of unrest to a world of

peace, and see reality in a new way, as if we were sitting by a mountain lakeand contemplating hills and woods and clouds in the tranquil and fathomless

waters. Child, the troubles and temptations of your life may be many; but

you can overcome and outlive them all if you learn to feel the strength and

tenderness of Gods mercies. The more you love and trust in Him, the nearer

you will feel to Him, and the less you will depend on human power and

wisdom. His love and care never tire or change, can never be taken from

you, but may become the source of lifelong peace, happiness, and strength.

Believe this heartily, and go to God with all your little cares, and hopes, and

sins, and sorrows, as freely and confidingly as a child comes to its mother


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XXXIX

In secret we met, in silence I grieve, that thy heart could forget,

Thy spirit deceive. If I should meet thee after long years,

how should I greet thee? -With silence and tears?" So sung the poet.Alas! The great art of life is sensation, to feel that we exist, even in pain.

I have not loved the world, nor the world I, but let us part fair foes;

I do believe, though I have found them not, that there may be words which

are things.

Hopes which will not deceive, and virtues which are merciful,

Or weave snares for the failing:

I would also deem over others grief that some sincerely grieve;

That two, or one, are almost what they seem,

That goodness is no name, and happiness no dream.Near this spot are deposited the remains.

Of one who possessed beauty without vanity,

Strength without insolence, courage without ferocity,

And all the virtues of man, without his vices.

This praise, which would be unmeaning flattery

If inscribed over human ashes & dust, is but a just tribute to a memory

That lies buried in a heart and this tomb.

She takes him in with her crying eyes

then all at once you have to say goodbye.Stood on all corners, hoping the wind would blow away all his old ways

But o! To him she seemed so beautiful, so alluring,

So different from ordinary people, that he could not understand why no one

was as disturbed as he by the clicking of her heels on the paving stones,

Why no one else's heart was wild with the breeze stirred by the sighs of her

veils,

Why everyone did not go mad with the movements of her braid,

The flight of her hands, the gold of her laughter.

He had not missed a single one of her gestures,Not one of the indications of her character,

But he did not dare approach her for fear of destroying the spell.

Some things are just too good they are be whispered

Lest they vanish.


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XL

Silent and starving, I prowl the streets.

I hunt the measure of your steps.

I hunger for your laugh, your hands

the pale stones of your fingernails;

I want to eat your skin.

I am but a parcel of vain strivings tied

by a chance bond together.

I do not love you except because I love you;

I go from loving to not loving you,

From waiting to not waiting for you

I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your smile,

the sovereign nose of your arrogant face,

I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes,

I pace around hungry, sniffing the twilight,

hunting for you, for your beating heart,

I love you only because it's you the one I love;

I hate you deeply, and hating you

Bend to you, and the measure of my changing love for you

Is that I do not see you but love you blindly.

Maybe light will consume my heart with its cruel

Ray, stealing my key to true calm.

In this part of the story I am the one who

Dies, the only one, and I will die of love

Because I love you, I crave you.


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XLI

You ask the impossible: love me forever.

Love you when all desire is gone?

Love you with the single mindedness of a monk?

When the world in its entirety and all that i hold sacred advise me against it:

Love you still more?

For you love me without knowing how, or when, or from where.

You love me simply, without problems or pride:

You say you love me in this way because you do not know any other way

Of loving but this, in which there is no you nor I.

So intimate that my hand upon your chest is your hand,

That when I fall asleep your eyes close.

So when rage fills me and has no name: love you?When each step from your door tires me: love you?

When everyone i see is more beautiful than the last,

Shall I Love you as i always have? Not as admirer or judge,

But with the compassion i save for myself in my solitude.

Shall I Love you as i relish my loneliness, the anticipation of my death?

Mysteries of the flesh, as it tears and mends?

Love me as your most treasured childhood memory, you say

And if there is none to recall, imagine one, place me ther

Soliloquies of Mahinda Vito

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