On Why I Fight With You

Your voice is clear,

You wish I would change.

You wish I would hear,

And not find it strange.

I hear my voice,

Climbing in defence,

I wish I wouldn't lie

And drop my pretense.

I wish you would say

What you felt underneath,

While I wish I would hear

What you had hid beneath.

Tell me like it is,

Every colour, every note,

Tell me if you worry,

And tell me if you dote.

But inside I must know,

I hear what you say,

Even words that you never

Planned to put my way.

I hate who I am when

I hide behind these walls

To prove I am right,

Does it matter at all?

These tears in my eyes

You did not make me cry

I am my own misery

I keep asking why.

No promised salvation

A long distance away

I must know I am here

It must happen today.

Should I ever lose you

I'd lose you to this guilt

And see it all crumble

Everything we built.

The Secret To Happiness

There are several noises in her head. Years ago, they used to disturb her. The sound of mankind in turmoil. The painful grunts of voices that were never sure. The panting arguments of minds that had heard themselves over and over again too often and therefore, forsaken all meaning from the sounds they made.

Not any more, though.

There was no need to justify anything today. No need to explain to anybody why she was vegetarian. No need to reiterate why she gave up wearing her once-favourite pair of denims. No need to classify what was feminist and what was realist. There was no need to get angry about insufficient laws. There was no need to worry about what would happen to the nation.

No anger about how the world was structured. No need to be part of it either. No need to listen to anybody, please anybody, hear anybody or even respond. There was no compulsive need to be right all the time.

There was also no need to define right from wrong.

There was endless space, vast and airy, blue and light. There was wind, there was fire. There was the fragrance of fresh bread. There was the gentle tinkling of wind chimes. There was the happy, distant laughter on a television set. There was the sound of water splashing into a half-filled bucket. There was the sound of a kitchen timer going off. There was also the gentle hint of rain in the breeze that just touched her cheek.

In this one perfect moment, when she was home, brewing herself a humble cup of coffee, there was nothing wrong with the world. She remembered nothing. There was no identity. She had no name. Nothing to go back to and nothing to look forward to either except the perfection of this moment, stretching into infinity.

Forgetting identities seemed to be the biggest secret to happiness.