Horizontal line determines many things. It determines silence, it signifies a line on a flat surface without further possibilities of inflectional variations.
And it determines death too.
Trivialities of trivial days and nights. Trivial possibilities for flashing moments for the one last time. Burned down moments of a sunset on a bridge meant nothing, nothing at all. An aspiration, a whim or perhaps just a memorable farewell.
And life goes on, within thousand variations of curved possibilities of a beautiful zig-zag course. For yet another promising dawn, through oblivious pain.
There is no sin in trying to forget. God needs to know us more, through pain and sorrow. By testing us through the deeper pressure of situation, He decides to make us each one a gem, with each one carrying a beautiful carpe diem out of our own.
Dedicated to Dr. Martin Hilpert
I softly touched your little hand with mine
You. You are not an easy one to tame
You took off your hand and started running. Strong and swift.
I followed you. A gust of wind touched my scarf. My open face.
And I reached for your hand. Again.
The other day you sounded happy.
You finished the book.
You declared loudly," I learned a lot! It was fun!"
I asked you then, " Can you tell me about syncretism?"
"..What does it mean?" You asked me back.
"The amalgamation or attempted amalgamation of different religions, cultures, or schools of thought," I quoted the definition.
"An awful effort indeed!" You sounded serious.
" It has another meaning, though," I said.
"What is that?" You asked.
"The merging of different inflectional varieties of a word during the development of a language," I quoted. Again.
"I liked this concept a lot. I would stick to it." He announced.
"What about the other? Are you fixing it for others than yourself?" I asked.
His big eyes narrowed down. " Have faith. The rest will follow through."
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