6dan sonra

Self-Talk (edit by buddha & denothus)

designer: Buddha & Denothus writer: Denothus

If a destruction is big enough it turns everything into black and white. One can differentiate good and bad like it’s childsplay. There are no excuses and there is no one to be forgiven. If it’s as big as the one we are going through, rage simply makes sense. The only thing I can say to the ones affected is, do not forget and do not forgive.

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There should be a new word for feeling helpless. A new word to describe how one wishes to be underneath collapsed debris rather than sit in a warm house. How small the heart feels, unable to contain all the despair, and how weak even the strongest man feels, unable to bring back the ones already gone. Doing all one can do to help and solemnly accept how little it is. There should be a whole new word for this.

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MetamorPhosis (edit & photo by buddha)

photographer: Buddha poet: Denothus

When the darkness collapsed over me Like an avalanche dancing down the mountain I found refuge in art like every other Built a roof of painted clouds On a broken shed made by hopeless words of Bukowski I was forgotten there like any other artist from 1800's Who haven't commited suicide Or haven't had a crazy love life filled with intrigues Rather I was at peace in a sad manner Just like an old fisherman Whom carved angels out of wood but didn't call it art I let the tragedy of Modigliani seep into my soul Got lost on the cruel roads of Tarkovski's reality None cared and I did not wish them to care I found my way back when I needed it Whistling Let It Be Not because I was a great fan of Beatles Nor did I believe in God or her Mother Mary It was because I was in a time of trouble And I felt like whistling.

I am scared of whats to come To fall into the calloused hands That cuts everytime i try to breathe Squeezes harder and harder Until im covered with bruises Left hopeless The same hands that caresses my skin Calls it love As it patches the wounds tattooed all over my skin I am scared to go back to that flesh made cage Sunshine is a rare occurrence Leaving me to imagine what a cloud could look like Wishing to die

I am scared to go back home.

The dark clouds surrounded the sky As a man walked under their shadows Carrying the weights of days long gone Broken hopes finding refuge At the bags of his dark eyes No family was left behind No tears were shed Still he walked from nowhere His legs sore Aching A dull pain biting at his uncovered skin He had no home to return to Nowhere to run to Still, he walked As tired as an old oak tree Slowly shedding the dead leaves Lost, lonely, abused With a name no one would learn ever again Still, he walked A free man.

As I grow older I begin to understand How a father grows distant and unstable Or maybe it is the way my father and I happened to be It shall only mean that I am not made to be a father Like he was not made to be a father In the end I do not want to raise a son to be A father like me.

I feel like I can love again Even if the people around tell me all those things Corrupt my mind I know I can love again At least the trees The white spotted cat walking the streets Pine shaped clouds I can make a healthy breakfast Work out Get better and try to love myself again Or let my art be my guardian from life Love the cute little version of my favorite character Maybe even write happy stories for once Poems filled with hearts In the end Its only human to survive.