One Moment

One Moment on Velum 11″x17″ pen,ink & brush

 

Taking a break from my drawing and writing, and yes I have been doing something worthy of the time, and not just trolling the interwebs.

Spur of the moment.

Took a fresh sheet of Velum and just let go of the self imposed restrictions of deviating from the task at hand, which is finishing my first graphic novel, and just draw what my heart wants to. No hesitation this time, I put to paper my most selfish, self-centered, gratuitous memory, imagined or otherwise and what unravelled just made me want to finish what could have taken days to do, not stopping for fear of losing this particular secret memory, taking each small detail into mind that could have been perfectly captured with a camera, but with a more emotional attachment, something I never thought wrong,

Watching A Man Die

[I wrote this about 20 years ago. Felt like it was time to publish and get on with life]

I’m watching a man die

Everyday, I see this man die each time he wakes
up. Each sunrise should bring everyone of us joy
and hope. Instead, for him, it’s a struggle to
keep calm and check himself from losing grip on
reality. The thought is apalling. To think it’s
all because of this four letter word that keeps
the world going round, or so they say.

He bleeds.

He bleeds each time he sees her. It’s tearing
him apart inside. Sandpaper on his soul. It’s the
knowledge that he can never, ever hold her as
close as he wants her to be. It’s the truth that
he faces everyday that stabs him deep each time,
like a rusty blade, inching deeper, twisting as it
sinks deep. She is free, blooming and living life.
He cries. Tears rolling down, drops hot as
steaming water on burned flesh. Oh what pains must
one man endure to keep his love for this woman he
alone knows, will not be his. Not now. Not ever.

But the sadddest thing is, despite all that
hurt, all that pain. He loves her. Truly. Deeply.
He will do anything and everything in his flimsy
power to give her what she wants.Whatever makes
her happy. Even the man she chose to love, he will
love like a brother. He’s that twisted, scorched,
and stupid.

Amidst all that,he smiles. That what puzzles
me the most. He smiles, remembering all those
times he spent with her. Those memories he grabs
with whiteknuckle desperation. Those sweet
memories he intends to keep for the rest of his
life. And he knows it’s not right. It was a
mistake for others to see. It’s was not meant to
be. Even the age gap is enormous. And the set up
too complicated. He knows this love will bring
pain. And he has accepted it. And the separation
was the most painful thing he has felt so far.
Still this stupid fool smiles.

You’re a fool, I said. Poor fool.

Still, this man I have grown fond of,
smiles. Forget the pain, he said. It’s the
remembering that counts. He never forgets to
whisper “I Love You” whenever the opportunity
presents itself. Each smile she throws at him, a
miracle for his wounded pride. And it’s eating
him up. Tearing him to pieces. Crumbling his will
to live.

But he must continue living. For his children
that brings him unimaginable joy. And he must
live. For his wife.His wife who stuck through
thick and thin. She, whose bones are slowly withering and
wasting down her body.Who promised to love him and their
child. The poor soul who waits, and weeps for him.
The one who loves him like life itself.

How he managed to live two lives, is
something I will never understand.

Poor, dumb fool of a man.

He chooses to live in dilemma.

How long can you live like this? Always
yearning for that other love, the one who will
never comeback, the one who hurts you the most,
the one who hurts you still? Or will you choose to
turn around and look at the eyes of those three
souls who waits, who keeps you in their heart, no
matter what?

And he dies everytime.

I’m watching a man die.

Trudge

After a while, I get to thinking all that has come to pass. I get this way when I walk. A sort of locomotive thought unable to stop once the resolve to just take the stride and the feet kept switching places before one another, towards any destination I have in mind.

• This or maybe I just don’t have enough money for a bus fare. Which work both ways since at these times I do a lot of pondering.

Like turning your head from whence you came but moving forward:

The love and affection, freely given,

• This often starts then whole thought engine revving.

The songs sung with wanton sincerity,

The capturing of life and ideas into detailed ink depictions on paper,

• Of course I have decided on this long ago but took some time taking off, what, with all the financial inadequacies that has befallen my so-called artistic career.

The hurt sustained by those we love,

The pain we gained from those we loved,

• Truth is, up until now I still think I was adopted, even with all the evident hereditary characteristics present in me as by my siblings, still I feel very different from my brothers. I even feel that I share a kind of Thor-Loki relationship with one, but I’m not sure which one- the brute or the prankster.

The trust professed and destroyed,

All the trappings of a feeling human whom we pictured ourselves to be, those whose beliefs in a higher power, whom we are supposed to follow without questions, but whose wrath may soon come upon us in fiery brimstone and searing horror. The sainthood our forbears tried to instill on our childish minds, feeble thoughts of tne afterlife may be a reward for our suffering…

• And the idea of worshipping a wrathful, vengeful godhead is absurd. If that is true, then by no means the devil is much more agreeable.

Yet…

We suffer for our passion, we suffer for our art.