Cry for Help Blog Post Author: Kleio B'wti ©www.wakenshine.com

Cry for Help!

Posted on Leave a commentPosted in Soirée
Artists are artists because they have a knack of feeling ‘more’.

 

How human mind dissects a situation may differ (even for artists). But because their threshold is much higher than normal, they feel more, emote more, express more and sometimes cry more.

 

A normal news to us or an ever so worldly tv show is very evocative. It makes us cry, laugh, depressed, or rejuvenated. It’s difficult to understand us. Being one like him, I heard his plea for help when he wrote a message on one of the online community that we are both a part of.

 

He wrote, "Help me!"

 

Hope he is alright. As all you other artists are. We have a very short life. There is a story in each one of us. The more we live and suffer, better we are at storytelling.

 

I feel that Jhon Keats, Sylvia Plath, Robin Williams, Freddy Mercury, Ernest Hemmingway or Perry Moore would have been able to do more had they not been gone. They had mysteries to discover. Many stories to reveal. Infinite beauty to create. Yet, the sudden stroke of death took them away. With them gone, their talents vanished.

 

Left behind are crumbs of possibilities- the genius of their talent in shards. 

 

Dear, fellow artists fight this hopelessness. Fight this pain. We are a community. Technology has made our world smaller and you will find a compatriot.

 

Don’t give up. We will make this world better. Let's strive to stay alive. We have to fight with our swords of creativity for as long as we can. Let's stand together and as one.

 

We are the soldiers with no ammunition or arms. Fortified with a simple pen, ink, and imagination we fight on and on.
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Sword Of Hope Blog Post Author: Kleio B'wti ©www.wakenshine.com

Sword of Hope

Posted on Leave a commentPosted in Emotion

Your world is shaking, fissuring the dreams.

 

The blood of failure dribs -- drop by drop, shielding your bruised ego in its translucent, soggy film. Yet you are unable to hide the shame.

 

With every glance of the stranger’s voyeuristic eyes, you feel the nakedness of your soul, peeping through. Persistently endeavoring to hide under your skin it fails. The spaces in between your ruptured hide are now miles long, your body is tattered and your soul exposed.

 

It's not in your hands; your self-respect has bleached itself into a gray, crumpled, and defeated slugger. It refuses to move, even creep, crawl or shake. Lying inert it is dying, moaning, and begging to be dismissed. The dejection is too deep and so concentrated that it covers your sight as well as your hindsight in unflattering dark glasses that block anything good from your vision.

 

You are in the lowest of all lows. Your entity feels smaller than an iota -- the tiniest grain of sand. You are no more a living being, nor a plant, nor a seed, not even ash- unaware of who you are, or what you can be. You are a bygone chord in the universe of the breathing many.

It is when this wave of awfulness covers all the colors of your rainbow into soot; something in you awakens.

 

This something slashes through your nothingness, breaks the sad film blinding your sight, accumulates your boons and dismembers your banes. You suddenly stop wriggling in the dirt of loss; pull yourself to your full height – upright! Arm yourself for another bout at your quest. Apply the learnings and wisdom. This slayer is the sword of your hope.

 

Never think you have lost, recollect your assets, and remember the fight is not yet over. Your breath is the talisman of your triumphs. 

 

Author: Kleio B'wti

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