tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-77839270450352895702023-07-17T22:58:06.952-06:00Red Cloud Mesaahadicowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13516308370526030155noreply@blogger.comBlogger9125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7783927045035289570.post-72421430310359536752009-06-10T21:27:00.001-06:002009-06-10T21:27:56.165-06:00Mufasa(the sun and rain)<br /><br />the echos of distant thunders<br />the call of distant wind<br />life pours bold and generous<br />till it turned a wriggling stream<br /><br />the sun beat down on that rock<br />the crowd hail and exalt<br />the joruney starts a step by step<br />life starts a golden dream<br /><br />what are we searching for,<br />when lift our sight and stars covered us<br />how do we know<br />everything, the fate had planned us<br /><br />trail leads ahead, answers regardless<br />heart is taken by courage, life by faith<br />while walking the walk, bridging the waters<br />dream is winged, hope, the feathers<br /><br />we treaded far under heavens<br />our steps deep and longing<br />solace was found in true others<br />our hearts joy and belonging<br /><br />when time will find us<br />standing on the end and begin<br />pilgrim clouds to where sun has faded<br />and another bout with its grim announcingahadicowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13516308370526030155noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7783927045035289570.post-47289994691423163012009-06-10T21:24:00.000-06:002009-06-10T21:32:35.630-06:00Mulgore<span style="font-family: georgia;font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" > </span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-size:100%;" ><br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" >I journey the mountain side</span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-size:100%;" ><br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" >to find a peaceful land</span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-size:100%;" ><br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" >flowers and straws and pine</span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-size:100%;" ><br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" >resides the white river bank</span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-size:100%;" ><br /><br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" >I raise three poles of willing</span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-size:100%;" ><br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" >to shalter a temporal dewelling</span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-size:100%;" ><br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" >laiden my songs, my paint, my hands</span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-size:100%;" ><br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" >the floor, the fine white sands</span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-size:100%;" ><br /><br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" >I invite my brothers to my fire</span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-size:100%;" ><br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" >the fruits and hunt we share</span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-size:100%;" ><br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" >we clap our hands and dance</span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-size:100%;" ><br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" >to full of our hearts desire</span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-size:100%;" ><br /><br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" >like wine the gift from field</span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-size:100%;" ><br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" >the prey a hunter's respite</span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-size:100%;" ><br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" >but we can't live among fares</span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-size:100%;" ><br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" >where we bed and searched our highers</span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-size:100%;" ><br /><br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" >follow me, hold out my hands</span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-size:100%;" ><br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" >I'll take you to center of dance</span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-size:100%;" ><br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" >while we celebrate our rites of passage</span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-size:100%;" ><br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" >to the earth and honor our homeage</span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-size:100%;" ><br /><br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" >this land knows not tranquil quiet</span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-size:100%;" ><br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" >it knows the rage of thunders</span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-size:100%;" ><br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" >it knows the falling majesties</span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-size:100%;" ><br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" >and follows its moving powers</span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-size:100%;" ><br /><br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" >only a feet leather and wood</span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-size:100%;" ><br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" >sperate a rich or a poor</span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-size:100%;" ><br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" >don't say home is raised by muscle and sweat</span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-size:100%;" ><br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" >it's raised by a heart light</span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-size:100%;" ><br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" >it's a gifts from mulgore</span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-size:100%;" ><br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" >it meant a peaceful delight</span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-size:100%;" ><br /><br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" >I heard of ancient dreams</span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-size:100%;" ><br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" >and horrors of present days</span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-size:100%;" ><br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" >I travel the civil land</span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-size:100%;" ><br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" >to find a home of a kind</span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-size:100%;" ><br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" >where between cloud and clay</span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-size:100%;" ><br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" >resides the human minds</span>ahadicowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13516308370526030155noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7783927045035289570.post-19903986982248699782008-07-16T07:37:00.000-06:002008-07-16T07:38:28.795-06:00A Brief Light<p><br />where a new sun make his way a new day refrain<br />a rough lioness throw the stony path on her way<br />would leaf and green seperate<br />a world fresh and bright, and a life, but pale and faded<br /><br />How long have they been climbing? oh how much they paid?<br />into thirsty wind, high on the mountaintop sunrays awaits<br />to the shadowy path deep, deep down, a pool of rain accumulate<br /><br />on a new day, rhythm will go on and on in the gorge<br />light is floting on all their faces<br />rich, alive and rightous<br />with sweet music they celebrate<br />less then sun breathing<br />oh, more than fire leaping<br /><br />the summit of life stood its youthes<br />the winding path wailed its lioness<br />but wait, before her from merge into grayer haze<br />a paw reached her, from a muddy form, and a pair of emerald<br /><br />there is a moment, and only a brife one<br /><br />she looked back, a path winding into the dust of elasped<br />he stared, an empty road, of hollowing future<br />dark blinded the both<br />she smiled, eyes slowly droping<br />he smiled, picking up his pace<br /><br />shadow was abondend, the singing in the gorge is in festive way<br />and it will be, no mater who lived or who wasn't<br />the careness in the heart have only room for few names, be valueble they may<br />but life is a light thing, as a glimmer as brief</p>ahadicowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13516308370526030155noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7783927045035289570.post-14916849156484611202008-07-16T07:36:00.001-06:002009-06-10T21:30:14.263-06:00The Chant of Sword<span style="font-family:lucida grande;font-size:130%;"><br />It’s the fallen violet of sky</span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span><span style="font-family:lucida grande;font-size:130%;">The immune peace of light</span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span><span style="font-family:lucida grande;font-size:130%;">That swung the sword of faith</span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span><span style="font-family:lucida grande;font-size:130%;">where the fallen body watch by</span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span><span style="font-family:lucida grande;font-size:130%;">and silent soil behold</span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span><span style="font-family:lucida grande;font-size:130%;">the chant of sword</span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:lucida grande;font-size:130%;">Of the hands seizing empty air</span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span><span style="font-family:lucida grande;font-size:130%;">And the eyes the hollow spread</span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span><span style="font-family:lucida grande;font-size:130%;">The reason to look upon what’s left</span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span><span style="font-family:lucida grande;font-size:130%;">What’s singing the fading song</span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span><span style="font-family:lucida grande;font-size:130%;">Of what recall and remained</span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span><span style="font-family:lucida grande;font-size:130%;">The chant of sword</span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:lucida grande;font-size:130%;">So the fallen raise once upon the time</span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span><span style="font-family:lucida grande;font-size:130%;">Bearing the witness of violet sky</span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span><span style="font-family:lucida grande;font-size:130%;">That still splash on their chests and arms</span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span><span style="font-family:lucida grande;font-size:130%;">Against the earthen gate o sky and fire</span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span><span style="font-family:lucida grande;font-size:130%;">The sound of drum rebound</span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span><span style="font-family:lucida grande;font-size:130%;">The chant of sword</span>ahadicowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13516308370526030155noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7783927045035289570.post-88763365219286108262008-07-16T07:22:00.000-06:002008-07-16T07:40:59.664-06:00Lord of WarI’ve been waiting to write this down for a long time but hadn’t found the chance (or the will). It is about a movie I watched a while ago. A random surfing in IMDB movie board had sparked me some new perspectives that I’d like to share. I believe quite a few people would have heard of this movie. The title is Lord of War. It stars Nicholas Cage as a Ukrainian arms dealer living in New York. With some enterprising talent and a quick wit, he timely caught the opportunity of chaotic post cold war arms market and made wealth. As his weapon enterprise expanded, however, he came face to face with conflicting morality behind his business and a dissembling personal life. After death of his brother, confrontation with his wife and an arm embargo agent, the praised and vilified lord of war let out the dark secret of his trade. The weapon merchant portrayed by Cage is profound yet likeable. Minor roles in this movie are vivid as well. The script is superbly written and executed. I think this is a must-see for all Cage fans or anyone interested in international politics and globalization issues.<br /><br />The reason why this movie is quite interesting, or one of the reasons, is that it threw spotlight to a quiet truth that was too often drowned in all the noise of global violence yet being an undeniable source for such. We read about wars everyday, but seldom do we stop to ask the question “where did their army get guns from? Who supply them ammos?” As innocent (or not so innocent) citizens we are, we assume governments and dictators alike necessarily have such resources but this movie tells us that’s quite an incorrect assumption. War draws people’s attention because war is always associated with casualty. International trade doesn’t do as well because not so many people believe trade can be dangerous and destructive. But coming away from the movie, one has to ask the question whether weapon’s trade or trade in general, can be blamed for such crimes that had taken of them the benefit.<br /><br />For any crime to happen, there are three indispensable elements: motivation, means and human action. Motivation is men’s difference in wealth and culture. Lord of War brought its story around with revelation that the means of the most inhuman crimes on earth are being supplied by the great powers of the world. What it didn’t change and could not change, though, is the fact that the man in action, the first person, is the one responsible for the crime and the one who should be harshly judged.<br /><br />The law of equal risk is a law imposed by nature: the one who endangers others would endanger himself since all being sought to eliminate their own threat. This law has been tested from the dawn of time. Predators lead lives more dangerous than their prey. All weapons by their very nature endanger their owners. Such truth was allegorized by ancient Chinese proverb of one who owns unstoppable spear and impenetrable aegis – you can’ have both at same time. So much as we hate one who sells the gun, too often it is the one who are holding it get punished first by chain of cause and effect. Actually this is one messages posted by movie: never go to war especially with yourself. The movie starts as Nicolas cage stands in a battleground covered by bullet, the movie ends with the same scene. He talks in middle of gun fire without a flinch because instead of guns, he’s holding a suitcase. Likewise, it is he’s “cardinal rule” never to pick up a gun and enjoy as his customer that shielded his way through some of the most ruthless human alive. Wars might be justifiable by human (some of them) but soldiers who take lives would always face the wrath of retribution, divine or otherwise.<br /><br />Moreover, right and wrong is made by men’s choice of action, not by their given situation. It is as simple as an insane person isn’t responsible for his crime but a sane person is. It’s never morally wrong to be different, or to hate someone who is different. The former is a given truth in our world, the latter a given truth in our nature. Maybe hatred is evil, but if it is, it’s only an evil the kind of volcanoes, hurricane or earth quakes – we have no control over it. What we have control over, however, is what we do about our hatred. So, whenever someone says violence is in our nature, he or she is making an unintentional (I presume) mistake. Violence is only a man’s choice of action. If we were to eliminate all things that could potentially cause violence or be used as weapon, we would all live in cells miles from each other. The only human world that we can live together peacefully is one that we assume control of our own actions and be able to resist temptations to commit crimes (such would never come, arguably).<br /><br />With Lord of War, although it made a rallying cry to stop export to third world countries the world’s arms, it is clearly seen what are those countries suffering from is their own impurity and foolishness. They shoot armless people for power and rivalry. What only they would do without guns is slaughtering them with daggers and clubs, which is no better form of slaughtering.<br /><br />Whatever would save those people (I don’t think they are innocent for innocent people do not dwell in guilty societies), it isn’t ideals, such as exhibited by agent Valentine played by Ethan Hawke. He cherishes the dictation of law and merit of saving lives. It is his great irony that ones who make the laws are ones he is after and people who he sought to protect endanger themselves with their own free will. He is admirable law enforcer but he never recognizes the will that runs behind his and others’ society.<br /><br />The earth is inhabited by much different societies. And each of them had an internal structure that doesn’t conform to external forces. These structures would change and evolve at their own accord quite like humans do. Society cannot be externally designed or installed, certainly we should have learned after all the history.<br /><br />But quite often, we have men like agent Valentine who like to step out of their own responsibility to burden themselves with the safety of people who do not concern such things. Parents should prohibit their children from dangerous activities for children aren’t able to make judgments and act to their own good. But when men assume such power from other men, they stepped between man and God (oh, it’s a metaphor) and lost their own moral (moral is by choice, not by force)<br /><br />The same is true concerning economy and welfare. The criticisms that ones who live in suburbia of rich worlds aren’t giving out for Africans in famine is quite silly. Wealth isn’t men’s birth right but have to be earned through trials and labor. Wealth is not part of human and though all men should be equal, their wealth should not. A cargo plane parked at dirt highway of Africa plain is but an abandoned carcass. When the genius that went into building it and operating it had left, its fresh and bone couldn’t hold for much longer. Thus can we imagine if we trade lands between the world’s richest and poorest, our civilization would restore its current form but in a couple centuries’ time.<br /><br />The fortunate fact is that we can’t decide how others live their lives. We can influence but we can’t decide. When we set out on such goals, our actions would be vile and unjustifiable just as the histories we have on power politics and war sponsoring. They quite often have other errands but the moral one is false. They violate a basic human right, the right to form society of their founders’ vision without interference. Compare to that, big words like freedom is but a minor right for freedom only resides within a society.<br /><br />Should we watch people getting killed assuming they know what they do and they’re responsible for it? Yes we should, only we wouldn’t. It sounds like I just contradicted myself but hear me out.<br /><br />In Lord of War, Yuri Orlov’s small brother Vitaly Orlov did what a human instead of an arm’s dealer ought to do and he sacrificed himself. So does Yuri Orlov’s wife Ava Fontaine Orlov. I don’t bring them up to praise them for they really didn’t make any difference for the bloodshed that was happening in Africa. Nor do they have to and that is the point. They did what they did not for ideals or any conviction that they saved lives but for their feeling and nature that belongs to human.<br /><br />I spend an hour or so writing about responsibility and its limit but there is a realm such term doesn’t apply. Our world in front of our eye is a world of doctors and soldiers, policeman and gangsters all trying to build Tower of Babel. Doctors are not professional savers nor are soldiers professional murderers. They are both just professionals. What makes men and women noble lie in their human traits. Thus the human world is built only by humans, not professionals.<br /><br />It is very important to separate these two realms: imagination and reality. When one mixes them, he or she’s bound to be deluded by such lines as “our soldiers are there to help them” or “cooperation are contributing to our economy”. Help and contribution are something that human do. Soldiers kill and cooperation make money (for itself), whether they help or contribute is up to the human that resides in these shells.<br /><br />Obviously, not all of us are very human. As Yuri Orlov chose to be a good arms dealer before a good human being, our current society is filled with more means than ends. However, the effort to elevate this society cannot be resolved in means. It is not a war to be fought, or a tower to be built, or anything professionals could do for us. There are surely ideas, inspirations and motivation that’s intriguing but it is up to the man in action, you, me and everyone decide what kind of society we form. It is often human’s first inclination to oppress what we consider evil such as terrorism, dictatorship even selfishness, but instead of a society of goodness we would only build a society of oppression. These words and their audience wouldn’t save a single life in Africa if they are so inclined to kill themselves. But what all of them comes down to say really is: be aware of what you are and aren’t responsible for. We are not responsible for lives and welfare and civility of others in this world. We are responsible (and willing) to be humans that are compassionate, inquisitive and lovable and we’re charged to build a society in which such traits dwell.ahadicowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13516308370526030155noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7783927045035289570.post-26618375062872472472008-07-16T07:12:00.000-06:002008-07-16T07:13:13.351-06:00Ahadi阿哈迪<br /><br /><br />我爬上大树上最高的枝梢<br />看脚下的草原广阔而平坦<br />在金色的海洋中有柔和的大道<br />而太阳的光芒已将它照亮<br /><br />于是我决定去脚山边漫步<br />并走下我高高观望之所<br />期盼着那穿过高草的旅途<br />虽然知道它虽快乐却也短暂<br /><br />我不打算在草丛中久留<br />但拗不过它玩味的羁绊<br />然而我不知埋没在草丛中的石子<br />何时在我的脚上印上难看的疤痕<br /><br />寻找泉涧哪怕它不曾治愈我的干渴<br />寻找树荫哪怕它只是暂时的遮掩<br />当我抬头眺视火红的晚霞<br />山岭却仍在遥远的河源<br /><br />我又回头看我蹒跚的足迹<br />在心中嘲笑自己的天真<br />一个曾经陌生的足迹此时却让我熟悉<br />我对我的发现笑而不语<br /><br />弓下头,在清澈的泉水中畅饮<br />倒影中的天空已快被夜色覆没<br />我再一次起步露出我的微笑<br />并在傍晚的空气中唱起这曲快活的歌谣ahadicowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13516308370526030155noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7783927045035289570.post-72346818646195365552008-07-16T07:06:00.000-06:002008-07-16T07:26:19.737-06:00Fly AgainSarah was a young girl both pretty and fragile. Her whole world was covered in white: her bed, sheet, and the bandage entwined around her limbs. The doctor said the bleeding could one day be cured. He had never told her when. Her life, as was told, was to stay on bed without shifting a muscle. However, she would dare a inch beyond that and peek out her large bedroom window to see the subjacent street.<br /><br />The street in front of Sarah’s apartment was a market place. It was full of stands, carriage, and people shouting prices to each other. It was dirty and messy. Comparing to this, Sarah’s white room was a high up sanctuary. But, Sarah, like most of kids, views their world without realistic prejudice and practical assumption. For her, the world outside was colorful, amazing and full of wonders.<br /><br />Being on bed whole day made Sarah quite a drawer. She drew every thing in the small frame of her limited observation. Those include traders, stands, carriages, roofs and birds. A professional artist would think that her drawing lacks details. She missed how people’s expressions were bothered and unhappy, how the horses driving carriage were dropping their head in fatigue and how the street was messy and dirty. However, for the common eye like mine, Sarah’s drawings were absolutely beautiful. Drawing birds was Sarah’s specialty. Birds refer to sparrows, crows and occasional gulls. Sarah would give them each a pair of exaggerated large and beautiful wings like those of angels for such was her impression of their lives to be like, angels.<br /><br />Then one day came the small demon of this sad story. It was a tigress cub.<br /><br />The girl saw the tiny striped furball one day being auctioned on the market. She called her dad and asked him to buy the small cub as her pet. The father, knowing not it was the beginning of his problems, decided it would be good having a living creature around his immobilized daughter. He bought the cub for Sarah. Troubles followed closely behind. Upon arrival, the little beast clawed the girl and made the whole family busy for a whole day calling doctor for Sarah and tying to capture the cub and lock it. In the following days, the matter got even worse. The cub would run and mess up the household and snarl loudly and show hostility to the host who feeds it.<br /><br />Sarah might think the animal would live in harmony with humans. It was a naïve girly notion indeed. The cub was from wildness and possessed none the quiet and cultivated mindset of Sarah’s. She soon gave up on letting the cat approach her and surrender her interaction with the cub to her mere observation of cub clawing the window and ramming the door in vain attempt to escape. Sometimes, she was psycho enough to talk to the beast. Then she would ask why the little creature was so full of anger and resolve, what had happened in its past? “Have they killed your parents?” The only answer from the cub was a sound snarl.<br /><br />Then the whole house was hating the beast. When it was not on Sarah’s eyes, they would take the cub and beat it with a rod. That adds on how the female tiger cub was playing ruthlessly made it always appeared with bruises, but odd enough, the girl wouldn’t give up the little beast neither did it die. To the surprise of the people who hated it, the half-fed cub grows in a fairy-tale rate.<br /><br />In the meantime, people around Sarah started to notice her change. It first appeared as her illness was worsened and her bleeding took a much higher frequency. one day, one of the maids walked into Sarah’s room and dropped breakfast in shock seeing Sarah standing in front of window. The father talked to the girl asking why she was moving her body but Sarah wouldn’t say anything other than “sorry”.<br /><br />In those days, Sarah gave up her drawings. She would get off bed when nobody was in her room and join the cub in its play. It started to show affections to the girl and it did much to lighten her heart. She even dare to open her window letting air carrying wild savor and disease into her room.<br /><br />Sarah’s family was confused in girls continually worsened bleeding and her obvious joy. Many had talked to the girl advising her not to use her body and worsen her condition. One of them said to Sarah “don’t give up on life, don’t give up on what tomorrow promises.” She looked deep into his eyes and answered “don’t give up on life indeed.”<br /><br />After diagnosis, doctor told Sarah’s father she wouldn’t hold for long. The father sadly accepted the news. He talked to the girl telling her he wouldn’t give up on his daughter and she should live as best as she could. The father kept his promise and carry out a wish by his daughter.<br /><br />It was during the time when Sarah was getting weaker. By her wish, the tigress cub was still in her room although it was a larger cub by then. She tried to portray her favorite pet, but soon found out it was difficult to do so. The cub was moving constantly, and it was hard to capture its pose and the dazzling dynamics of its movement. She didn’t wait for cub to go asleep for she didn’t want to portray her cub sleeping. So she decided to use her imagination to draw a standing tigress cub. Upon finish, she looked at her drawing and compared it to the cub. The cub on her paper was much larger and matured as if it was what the cub would look like a few years forward, a real tigress. Tears streamed down her pale cheek as she thought how happy she would be to see cub like that one day. Just than, as if lighting split her mind, she started to draw, rapidly. A new object appeared on tigress’s back. It extended its feather to form a pair of white, angel-like wings. It was a pair of wings she used to draw on birds, but then it was on tigress. It gives the cub a solemn and heavenly looking she just stared in awe. She called her father and told him her wish for the cub to be release to the wild. “but it will never survive out there” argued the man. She put a finger on her mouth gently hushed him. “Don’t give up on life; don’t give up on tomorrow’s promise.” She said softly.<br /><br />That was the last picture she ever drew, and the last wish by her. The cub was never heard of after release and some still thought it was the devil behind this fatal tragedy.<br /><br />Now the girl was gone. But we can’t easily forget her, because a lot of our dreams are like Sarah, both pretty and fragile. We peek out behind the watch glass but dare not to probe in fear of it would shatter. Then dream comes as a cub, strong, impatient. It never stopped to wait its cue. Wings are as easily taking flight as breaking down, but dreams are also a tigress cub, who will bleed, persist, grow, wings rebuilt, and fly again.ahadicowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13516308370526030155noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7783927045035289570.post-81763141537910308752008-07-16T07:03:00.000-06:002008-07-16T07:26:39.846-06:00Black LanternThe morning, the call came in telling me that the blind tiger was dead. I said nothing. I held phone in my one hand, and used the other to touch the glass that separated me and the rain.<br /><br />It wasn’t a tiger, and, the tigress he meant wasn’t blind. No, I would say she had a pair of blue eyes. It was a pair of brightened, azure eyes.<br /><br />I could agree with my memory, only if it wasn’t that old and distant. I can barely see in my mind the old warm sun in the sky, and how the cage was lit. I used to pay miniature feline a visit under lit days. I was so eager to see a sky cleared of clouds because that was when I could go to see her. I remember it clearer now. The street that I would take to her. Everything was old, only, they didn’t seem old. To tell the truth, they looked, to me, live and cheerful. Folks were around tending their business and crowding the street, but memory was kept that way only because the time was an ancient one and it was from the viewpoint of a child who used be amused by a cat. Imagine that when I first saw the tigress, I thought she was the biggest thing in the whole world. How untaught was I. And her cage, to me, it was a glories one, the gray floor made of concrete upon which were the bars. The sun shone down and it was a bright day. Only the tigress was restless. She was still a cub. Her leg was short and her teeth were dull, yet, she liked showing her fangs at her audience and charging at the bars.<br /><br />Driving through the rain, everything was painted in a greyer tone. My vision shifts between old memories and the present. Suddenly I realize how old can things get to be as I sweep through the street that all these years remained unchanged. Like now, when no one is around, it looked as old as a ghost.<br /><br />I grew in this town. I know everything that has been changed and all those that hasn’t. The tigress was among the first category. When I was older, I didn’t go to zoo that often, but I still went from time to time, mostly to check on the tigress. She was obviously bigger, and probably stronger, only she didn’t charge at bars anymore, or snarl, or show her fangs. To tell the truth, whenever I got there, she would be sitting in her cage silently. So, I sit, too, from a distance, watching without making a sound. The shadow of bars cast added strip on her body and sometimes, they covered her face. Visitor came and went. Kids would be trying to provoke her into some sort of interaction, but they would always fail. Her blue eyes would only sweep through them, look at the shattered sky for a moment, then drop down to the ground. She lost much of her attraction that way. People came and went. However, I would stay and spend some time. This older version of me appreciated her motionless beauty. She could be stalking soundlessly toward a prey, running full speed, and catching her prize with a powerful leap, all in my mind eyes, and I could not care less if she was kept inside a cage or not. I believed that powerful hunter as her true identity. Again, this was from a youth, a youth that believed everything was born free. Once, and only once, the tigress’s gaze shot directly into my eyes, I doubt she recognize me at all, but she seemed trying to tell me something in those eyes, I closed my eyes and thought to myself, that was impossible, then, I opened them and she was trying to speak to me.<br /><br />When I told gate keeper why I came, he wasn’t surprised at all. Someone would have to come, he said, and that I had to walk to the place myself since he wasn’t going to lead me there. So, I did. I remembered the direction well. I didn’t konw if it’s because something did change, or it’s simply myself that was changed. When I arrived, the cage I thought I knew came to me totally different. It was dark, small, dirty, hardly befitting the large mammal laying dead inside. I strived with my eyes and mind to find that large, bright cage and the small, vivid animal, to no avail. Then, I gave it up, and accepted the dark pit before me as the place where the blind tigress spends her last days.<br /><br />How did the tigress become blind? I don’t think anyone really knows. I went to a school in a different town and since lost most of the connections I had with my hometown. The world stunned me, it molded me into another person. I remembered my home, my old friends, and the tigress. But, it was that old memory that held them, kept them the way they was, while in reality, part of that memory survived, part of it did not. One day when I came back, the street was the one I knew, so were the town, the ghost-like stone and buildings, except the blind tigress I had yet to be acquaint with. I did everything in my power to find the context to that event. But, besides the carelessness people showed to it, I found nothing for the cause of tiger’s blindness. Her keeper told me there was nothing. He slept one night, and woke up the following day to find the blood that was all over the floor of her cage. Where there were her eyes laid two bloody sockets. He couldn’t explain it. When I took this in retrospect, I understood he couldn’t. She was always in the same cage, eating same food. What in the world could happen to her? Nothing indeed. The sun shone through the bars and day went by without a sign. The cage turned smaller as you turned bigger. Morning came and the sky was lit slightly darker all because you know it too well. Shadow stretch, longer and bigger, to a point that we all become blind when eyes are needed no more.<br /><br />I know the tigress won’t need her eyes anymore. She lays there, on the concrete floor, lifeless. I asked where the blood on the floor came from. The answer was unknown, as well as the cause of her death. She was an old one, was everything that staff told me. They were absolutely right. That was an old tigress in an abandoned zoo in an abandoned little town. Who should grief for her? Who should grief for those lost time that we can’t even find a trace in memory? I don’t know. I know it wouldn’t be me.<br /><br />But, then I remembered, I did grief. Was it so long ago? Yes it was. It was when I came to my hometown and knew the tigress was blinded.<br /><br />I came back from zoo, from looking at the blind tigress. It was a horrible night. It was the darkest night in my memory. I walked home in darkness since I knew the street without looking. I felt like I was a ghost. The street, of course, was empty. When I tried to recall the bright memories I had with my hometown, myself, my tigress, I wonder how things had turned out.<br /><br />The tigress in the cage didn’t know about this night. She didn’t know how dark the night was. How could she know since she was blind? Whenever she woke up from her slumber, the world to her would be only darker. Although she was blind, she could still feel, and she felt a pair of large wings on her back. She flapped her wings as if she would fly. Fly she did. As for where the cage and bars was, since she couldn’t see, she didn’t know.<br /><br />In such a dark night, even birds would lost their direction and eventually crush to the ground, but the tigress was flying. She couldn’t see. How could darkness make any difference to her? If anyone sees a tigress flying, they are bound to catch this anomaly and chain it to the ground. However, they can’t catch a tigress that fly in the darkest night.<br /><br />Long did tigress fly in the darkness till she was lured to a place lit by lanterns. The lanterns were burning. But the light they emitted was black. How could black light be seen in the darkest night? Surely we couldn’t see them, but the blind tigress could see them. Again don’t forget, dark or bright wouldn’t have made any difference to her.<br /><br />So the blinded tigress stood besides black lanterns, as once her azure eyes were embraced by sunray.<br /><br />Behind her was gate that led to another world, and how dark this world was. Tigress lifted her head and released a terrible roar. The curdled blood was again freed from her eyes<br /><br />There were all imaginations I created out of my grief. As all my other emotions, it came to pass, it has been long gone now. I draw my last glimpse at the downed body of what it once was. I have a feeling that she is staring at me with her empty eyes and blood-red tears.<br /><br />Now, what is she trying to tell me?ahadicowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13516308370526030155noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7783927045035289570.post-82845294994887680822007-10-26T14:36:00.000-06:002007-10-26T20:48:02.248-06:00My Wrath<span style="font-family:verdana;">Today, I learned two new spells. The first one is called "wrath". It is a simple spell, but what is simple is almost always useful. I tell you what it does: it bolts out green light from your hand toward whatever object you decided to cast it to. Chances are, your target would die.<br /><br />Then comes the usefulness of all this. You walk and stand besides the still body of your victim and claim the loot, well, whatever your target is carrying at the time. I pick them up and they are mine, although I don’t know what to do with them most of the times.<br /><br />They will not tell you this, but you can also cast this spell to humans and, more importantly, those stinky elves, I mean, they take bath every day, can you even believe that? Anyway, when I have my loots, I keep them hidden and safe.<br /><br />Grull Hawkwind of Camp Narache wants me to obtain for him 7 plainstrider meat and equal number of their feathers. I’m so happy and excited that I finally get some work to do and I know exactly how to accomplish them. Isn’t that wonderful? I know this sounds weird, but I think all can understand a young male tauren’s urge to prove himself in the eyes of his people. I want to be viewed as brave, strong and responsible, and, above all else, a competent member of a proud race. Yepp, since you asked, Taurens smells infinite times better than filthy elves who dare even to bath themselves. Those savages!<br /><br />Without requiring chief Hawkwind to spit another word, I heartily head toward green field. The emerald prairie abounds with scattering plainstriders gazing with leisure. This is a perfect spot to start my work.<br /><br />I cast and cast and cast. One by one, the unresisting birds fall before my might. I made it sounds very easy, but casting wrath is a demanding job. I was soaked in sweat and my head felt like a boulder when I was done with my wrath. The prairie is emptied except for all the corpse I left behind.<br /><br />I handed my meat and feather to chief Hawkwind. He thanked me and said I showed much promise. At that moment, my chest is swelling and my heart is content.<br /><br />On my way back to my tent, I cast a glance toward the empty plain. Plainstriders are gone. The sight troubles me. What would we eat, what would we wear when there is no more plainstriders? I went back to ask chief Hawkwind this question. He told me to stop worring and nature would take care itselfs. I guess he’s right.<br /><br />I remember that I have another spell. This one is called “Healing Touch”. It takes a lot more than Wrath to cast. So, I havn’t tried it. Supposedly, it heals wounds and undo the damage that Wrath has done. I walk to the nearest plainstrider body and spell out the incantation. This spell flashes green light as well as Wrath. It looks promising.<br /><br />I finish the casting and wait. I wait. Nothing is happening. I wait again. Still nothing. I wait and wait. But plainstrider will not come back to life. This spell is not as useful as the first one, sadly I thought, or maybe it is just too late.<br /></span>ahadicowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13516308370526030155noreply@blogger.com0