And if we’ve, since the very beginning, seen the existence as it is: a painful mixture of darkness and snow
we would be convinced, the moment we discovered how to set the fire, to stop seeking,
would sit every night with our bodies sticking to each other,
staring at it, the fire
into each other’s eyes;
where each seating circle around a fire was a cosmos.
The most beautiful thing that happens to us as human beings – and I am not saying that it does not happen to other beings – that we die;
our presence then, becomes lighter in the others’ hearts, as we communicate with the purest of what in them:
Only human being, unlike other beings, has reached the defect with the cosmos to the degree of “suicide, martyrdom, sacrifice, redemption, etc.”, of killing the body.
because he was the only one who realized it, with the complexity of his sense, then named it with his mind, that tragic truth;
there is no absolute freedom except outside the bodies,
there, in nothingness,
where it becomes to be just faint breezes, dancing in the void, without smell or sound
is the only way to exist.
So, because the freedom is an absolute absence of the gravity towards anything, even Earth;
there are no free beings in this cosmos, but birds,
for that, maybe, the freedom mutations in other beings, especially human beings, accompanying with suicidal tendencies, and yearning to jump from towering, even if the consequence was a complete liberation, at the end of the fall, from the body;
where death becomes a symbolical equivalent of freedom.
Like everything in this hypocritical void, we lie once we say that we, unlike other mammals, cry at birth to take our first breath of life;
we perhaps cry, because, only us, as a kind that was formed by mixing dreariness and pain, not just feel the woefulness of being existed, but we fully aware it, by the consciousness being who is growing up, slowly, in the secret chambers of our hearts;
then, everything we do, through our long lives is just failed manoeuvres to forget that,
all expose, all fall, at the gate of death
If that first human being, who scratched the wood to make a hunting blade, remained vegetarian;
would this disappointed race be losing anything but its history!
Human beings are roving cemeteries,
whenever a memory decomposed inside them, they cry.
There are who, every night, cannot sleep for fear, anxiety, starving, sorrow, or all this together
while others get insomnia, only if the pillows under their heads, changed
about such a huge defect, we can speak when we stand on what our nature has become as “human beings”.
Scientifically it’s the “navel”
but some people like to call it a “souvenir”
the scar that left by the first stab we receive, when they cut off our fleshy contacting with another body.
as if when they call it a “souvenir”
they realize, in their deep insides, that it will remain throughout their lives, remind them whenever they touch it, about that indelible pain: “They came”.
How strange they are “human beings” !!
most of them like “sleep deeply, sleep baby, sleep peacefully, rest assured sleep, etc. etc.” love it, yearning for it;
at the same time, they shiver in fear of the idea of death
or nothing strange of all this, perhaps, it’s only the illusion of ” the better tomorrow, the sweetest, the good morning, there is a hope, etc. etc.”
And we claim as human beings that we know the cold, feel it, and shudder of it,
maybe we were, once upon a time,
because, who truly knows cold, beings that many of them die during their harsh search for Hibernation food,
as for us, some of us may only know that dreary bitter cold of loneliness,
that slowly kills the self,
then eats, by the harshest types of pain, the whole body.
Hugs, Embraces, Cuddles,
about those walls of warmth,
obscures that extended trembling void, between ourselves and all this existence.
I do not admit the existence of remorse, nor regret in my life,
only maybe one thing, that I am a human, not a tree
We produce offspring, only to take revenge, to commit to someone,
what has been done to us: life