Of Anger, and Love

Heat drives one completely insane, and if you're living in a summer-round city, like kuala lumpur, make sure you're completely drenched with water, or at least get yourself perked up with bottles of mineral evian, perrier or spritzer!

You, who proclaim love of me, how can you love one that is but a fragment of your imagination. if the me, should be a mirror, then what would you see in that mirror? a reflection of whom? if not you, your self, within a self of selves.

Rummage up your courage, and revv up your bank accounts. I don't need any of the things you proclaim grasping for more. your transcient worlds is full of "i want it all, and your heart..."

You talk of love, you know next to nothing of it. Love resides where nothing is. Don't you know that love cannot be shared in a heart full of everything else but it, itself? How can you breathe the rain, and smell the paper thin wafer of grass blades? Your nostrils must be taught to pick up scents, nature's most perfect parfum, that can never be reproduced, even in a million years.

If for giving you call that love, that is not love. To give to love, is not to expect something in return, but when love returns that favour, you're more than favoured and should be grateful for the moment. Look at your selves, and submit to the de-conditionings. the stone needs to be polished before you can see a tint of reflection thereon.

Ah... of anger and love, these two attributes do not go hand in hand. They are the opposites of life itself, for love to aspire in your heart, you have to rid yourself of anger, and anger is heat, whereas love is cold, yet warm without fire.

As if love is scantily clad with imageries known to you.. no. It cannot be, for love alike sight, is inexplicable in your world. It is I, that gives you sight, your eyes loved and able to perceive tenderness in a world full of edges. Or have you forgotten that you have uttered "there is none worthy of worship save him, the one that creates all..."

When you give in sincerity, you do not talk about it, you do not unearth histories behind the stories, you accept giving something which was in your hands, the something that didn't, in the first place belong to you... yet you complain of not being able to comprehend..

Anger, arrogance, and all that separates the goodness in your heart should be put in a shredder, and shredded to pieces, millimeters apart, fine enough for the waters to soak through, and mold it lest you hardened it, et l'amour ~ and love, my dear, will cease to enter..

A heart bleak of light is aliken a castle of cemeteries. you cannot live being unlived, for you need the essence of love to live. So trash the anger in the furnace, and let it burn for all eternity, in a darkened space reserved