Tag: ink

Parchment and Ink

I had a conversation the other day that was filled with darkness and light mingled with hope and fear. She used a beautiful expression that grabbed my attention and poet’s heart. One’s story and path can be likened to a book. The myriad of emotions, feelings, hopes, fears and ambitions can be likened to the ink on the pages of your book. The pages can be torn and withered, or crisp and clean without a smudge of ink. But these pages come and go, the darkness and light lives together. I believe that life is one continual chapter, with a bundle of clear and obscure and light and dark overlapping motifs and characters and experiences and revelations and resolutions.

 

Parchment and Ink

Cold bottle wavers uncertainly –
slowly, I gasp for breath
as the ink of emotion spills.
The ink of fear, ambition, hope.
The cadence of black feather tip
is interrupted with snaking veins.
Hiding my flaws result in smudges,
weathers, withers and blemishes.
It adds a haunting beauty
to the pages of my book:
a uniqueness discernible,
for it is my story, my ink.
I keep my book guarded,
lest the beautiful smears meet light.
I pause.
I unbound leather.
I reset bottle gingerly.
I dip feather and keep on writing.
Keep on writing the chapter of my life.

Francois Hermanus Steyn – January 2013

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Point of View

Everyone has a different point of view; an opinion.

People have their own unique experiences to certain events, as well as different weights they attach to each of them. One man’s treasure is another man’s trash. You are unique, built out of a pool of many genes. People are very subjective most of the times and it’s sometimes hard for people to act with empathy, because you don’t know exactly how another person feels, or how much that feeling weighs in that specific person’s heart or mind.

Sometimes we just have to stop judging people and climb into their shoes for just a brief moment.  Sometimes it does not help to get angry or annoyed with someone, and sometimes you just have to accept that you cannot feel exactly, or understand exactly what it is that the other person is going through.

We live in a world where it is every man for himself; we’re in our own little bubbles, cordoned off from empathy or compassion. It’s a dog-eat-dog world, where you sell your soul for a brief moment in the impure light that is ‘success’ or ‘wealth’. Sometimes it’s just outrageous and outright sad to see the apathy slowly spreading through people, and the moral decay chewing through moral bones.

People are inherently selfish and often we find ourselves uttering: ‘So, what’s in it for me?’. We just want to take and take, until there is nothing left.

We also neglect all the beautiful things in life. To me the purest beauty that lives is nature. A simple bird that sits on a branch and shares his song with the world is more beautiful than any material thing the world can ‘create’. Budgie 1 Porsche 0.

That bird sits there and sings his heart out and does not expect that it will start raining worms or seeds. Isn’t that beauty – sharing your gift with someone without expecting anything in return? The altruist treads the line of beauty. Here’s a sobering thought: the world will have eternity to heal itself after we’ve gone.

I touched many issues today, and I want to conclude this blog with an Afrikaans song written by Koos de Plessis:

Elke nuwe plan le hopeloos verfrommel
want iets sê: “stomme drommel,
die ruimte lê vol rommel”
en ek begin verstaan:
daar is geen nuwe oord om heen te gaan
want kyk, daar lê reeds spore op die maan

Want die stad blom elke nag
strooi sy saad en skemerdag
breek staalspruite teen die aardkors waar jy gaan
rommelberge groei omheen
en daar’s swaelsuur in die reen
en kyk, daar lê reeds spore op die maan

Waarheen sou ek gaan?
ontvlug is onbegonne
selfs droom is onbesonne
want die wêreld is oorwonne
en ek begin verstaan:
daar’s geen nuwe paaie om te baan
want kyk, daar lê reeds spore op die maan

Elke hektaar is verkoop
elke opstal lê gesloop
en die wêreld wag verwese, in die waan
dat ‘n wonder sal gebeur
om sy rusperleers te keer
maar kyk, daar lê reeds spore op die maan

Vlug na berg of woud..
meen jy dat daar geeneen is
dat jy eindelik alleen is?
ag, verspieders loer op Venus
en ek begin verstaan:
daar is geen nuwe oord om heen te gaan
want kyk, daar lê reeds spore op die maan

Elke woord is retoriek
elke droom is bloot plastiek
en atoom’s die idioom van wie verstaan
iewers moet ‘n rusplek wees
vir die afgematte gees –
maar kyk, daar lê reeds spore op die maan
duisend donker spore op die maan
kyk, daar lê reeds spore op die maan