Will there ever be a song...

Is there a song?
A song at all to calm my soul,
My mind, my body, my eternal beating heart,
My shadows of sadness, of pain, of suffering and tears.
Will there be a song?
A song at all,
Of calming melody and of mesmerizing rhythm?

Is there a song,
A song at all?
That brings me back memories of yesterday,
Of tomorrow, of today and of the after life,
Of speechless moments, of crying sadness,
Of troubled storms and of weakening hearts…

Is there a song,
A song at all?
To be heard on a summer’s day,
On a winter’s night,
On a spring afternoon,
And during the night of a pale moonlight.

Is there a song,
A song at all?
Of the dying soul,
Of the crying wolves,
Of eternal flame,
Of great blue skies,
And of solemn moments.

Is there not a song,
A song at all?
Of eastern wars,
Of homeless children,
Of the deaf and the mute,
Of the crying soldier,
Of the mind of the weak,
And of the treacherous smile.

Is there not a song,
A song at all?
Of the one I use to love,
Of the one who loves me most,
Of roses and other flowers,
Of cashmeres and fur coats,
Of life after death,
Down to the bottom of every grave.

Is there not a song,
A song at all?
That makes the old think of the young,
That makes the young think of anything at all,
That makes the eagles sore,
That makes the wolves howl,
That calms the thunderous storm,
That calms eternity at all.

I want a song that reminds me of the poor,
Of the endless war,
Of nature forbidden in Eden,
For the soul of eternal shame.
I just want a song,
That reminds me of you,
Of everyday,
And of every smile you gave,
And of every statement you make.
I want a song that feels my heart with joy,
And calms the worrier of every household.
A song to prove a love worth pursuing,
A life worth enjoying,
And eternity worth living in.

Poem of Death

Another night; another troubled mind. Don't ask me why i wrote this, it just flow out naturally.

Meet me at the sight of death,
Before the time comes,
We’ll make sure we are dead,
A slow, long dance,
Before the pale moonlight,
A cry of madness within your soul,
Solace we seek in each other’s embrace.

Look onto the earth of treachery,
How we long for peace at the moment.
Look into the eyes of a wild beast,
How we long silence to come in an instant.

Death, a step to eternity,
Before us, a ball of fire resurrected our soul,
Call my name before you step into judgment,
Don’t leave me crying in a corner.

Towards the light now love,
Forgive my sins.
Don’t look back to be searched by me,
As I’ll no longer be there to be seek.

Breathe the air of death,
Tell your soul you’ll be fine,
Just don’t hold back,
As I’ll be gone by now.

Fact or Fiction?

The reason why i'm up this late typing away on my blog is because i can't get my body to sleep and i can't get my mind to rest. It has been happening for days now and i think sleeping disorder has been swarming the halls of residence in ways which are so contagious that it doesn't seem to be known as a malady, but more to a hobby. Why do i say so, because noone complains about sleeping disorders, but just take it as it is and finds pleasure in it.

As i'm sitting infront of my computer, with 'The Argentina Reader' before me, trying to find out how civilization has changed the conservative political system in Argentina and whether clash of civilization is a fact or a fiction. I couldn't come out with an answer yet as i don't even know when revolution begins in Argentina. The dates given in books are so dodgy that you do not even know which is the right one. One book may say that it is only in the 1860s that Argentina was known as a nation, and the other will say that Argentinian revolution was somewhere in may in the 19th Century in the early or mid 1800s. The thing about books is that it screw our mind and make us think that assumptions are just part and parcel of life that facts does not matter a single bit.

Say, if someone were to ask me, "so when and where did you last went to shop?" If i were to say... 'Say, last week, either friday or saturday at around noon?' The thing about facts is that it appears to everyone that a need of confirmation needs to be shown in the way we recite a statement. Friday or Saturday is not a stated fact, but more of an assumption on when i did went shopping. If someone were to say... 'I went shopping last friday, 28th April 2006, at 12pm sharp at Fountain Gate'. Now that is a fact stated clearly in black and white. We live life obliging strongly to facts that we became a slave to facts that we assume will bring us to places. Knowing or 'assuming' that if we fail to learn the facts of life, we will never be a better person. How can one determine the perfectability of historical dates and historical narrations? Of one culture, one religion, one tradition and of one faith obliged to the narration of facts in society that blinded us from reality. How does it matter when one is reading another one's story when knowing that we will never master in our own reality? Do we exist as individuals or are we molded by facts which determines our own sense of identity? The nature of truth does not exist anymore as assumptions clouded the earth which gives us a feeling of a factual reality that shapes our thoughts and accelerates the way we generate self-opinions. When does our opinion matters? Of course, it is when one dominant enough to tell us that it matters.

We will never stop evaluating ourselves with the facts of life. How much do we know and how much do we want to know is determined by our own sense of identity and sense of belonging in society. I would like to come to a conclusion, short and simple, by saying that the clash of civilization happens because of facts - the fact that a new society is needed, the fact that the economy of the country needs to be changed, the fact that the political system or structure needs reformation, the fact that the citizens of the country needs to cling on another ones culture, the fact that traditions are conservative and it's obsolete in the now-known 'new era'. One's changes in society are determine by factual evidence by well-known constitutions which shape a person's identity. Now, can one define self-determinism or individualism?