Funny Coincidences & Tiny Stories, Big Serendipity ! - Poetic voice : Tear of a veiled echo

Far across the ocean into the distant night,

the inner voice of you shouts for rights.

Locked and concealed, hidden and dismayed-

You are a blindfolded alien.

We watched and played, the winter violin, Achill.

Who are we?

Unknown to the past or future, we wait,

Afraid and alone,

forced to put on our masks in the theatre of our grand existence,

as he, the heavenly father, judges my mask.

A distant voice among thousands ....

Like a drop of my tears in an ocean wave...

How could a world so kind be cruel?

The voice of my grief screams as the voice of vengeance and rage echoes through me, like a burning star in the sky.

Those people,

those who took my home.

Those who took up swords against my being ....

oh, how she may detest them.

Those who wear masks and personas are not their own.

The snake-mouthed fellows who deceive and betray me.

Trust such a fickle thing.

Easily disposable, they say.

The man who had eyes of gold and lips of rose.

Love such a fickle thing as beautiful as the sunrise but as short as winter nights.

You are my beloved angel,

the Guardian of my heart.

Time may move forward,

but I am with you.

I may have lost my beloved home,

but I still have you as my rage cools and my heart deepens like the catacombs in my heart.

So I am the droplet in water, unfiltered yet filtered,

chained to the restrictions of the delusions of others,

forced to hide the piercing blue pupils of truth and hold my tongue –

as I the thespian in the theatre dance

and sing to the melody of my restrictions with my summer golden tears….

Hear the voice of the inner us,

blinded and restricted by black hands.

Forced to accept,

be moulded and become a Barbie for those who wish to become a chameleon in the coloured theatre.

Who am I?

Who are us?

we become stripped to mere pawns for those who wish,

chess pieces; Barbies and Kens in the delusion of others.

Now stripped to a mere black and white puppet,

stripped of the delusion of them.

Stripped of the thorns that once defined us,

we have become the weeds of existence

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