I am gonna illustrate or take photos and publish a series of picture books..
ONE DAY..oh ONE DAY

The little girl series…


Imagination

The little girl said to the wind.
“We shall play a game. Shall we?�
And so she danced swaying to the rhythms of the branches.
And gave a little curtsey she did. And a smile to the Wind

Serenity

The little girl stared at the waves
“What a lovely song you sing�
And she dipped her legs in the cool crystal waters.
They tickled her toes. Her giggles adding to the harmony

Anger

The little girl pouted and gave a frown.
The rain trickling down the window pane.
“It was lady bugs birthday today,
and now she’s cold and wet, under the Cherry tree.�

Contentment

The little girl licked the cream at her upper lip
“This is the bestest I’ve eaten in my whole life�
As she stretched her arms wide to show her glee.
Not knowing the long road that was awaiting

Love

The little girl hugged her puppy.
“Trixie loves me and ME only�
The puppy yelped and licked his mistress
Cos to him she was his everything


Inquisitive

The little girl looked puzzled and gazed up at her mom
“Why don’t trees sleep don’t they feel tired too�
She yawned and rubbed her eyes with her stubby fingers
And in her mother’s arms, fell asleep.


Grateful

The little girl wrote a letter to God.
Deer Gad, I wanter Thank yew fer gifin me my mommy
Cos she kisses mi and huggs me rilli titely and seys
I am Gad’s gift.

Longing and yearning to want to have and hold
Something that doesn’t belong
What belongs to thy mortal self.
Nothing that can be taken away from thy mortal shell then
To have and hold with all thy soul.
Tis impossible she says.
To long and yearn is that of the flawed nature of us to want what we don’t.

But do we have anything anyway that we can say it is ours.

Thy name is a borrowed existence conferred to by thy parents
Thy pride is a show of effrontery conferred to the self
By ones deeds and actions sanctioned by others.
Even thy soul and mortal flesh is a right given
By the divine authority for blowing life into them limbs.

Ours mine belong. Belong it does not
It never did. Nothing ever did anything belong to another.
Rights and claims to.
A thing. A self. A being. A land. A name. A place. A race. A culture.
Who draws these boundaries but man.
Man Oh Man
You did soil the earth with thy piteous existence.
You never did belong here, never too in Eden
This opened doors that resulted due to your greed that
Will lead to another closing of doors by wrath.

She says Aimlessness is a state of beauty and sorrow.
For beauty is seen in the free mind
But sorrow in the expanse of freedom that it allows
That seems to leave one on precipices and solicitous..

To Not know which step out wards or inwards is the last possible step.
The abstractness if unknowing opens it all to countless and mindless possibilities
Give me a boundary she says
That I know when not to fall or how to fall or if I was to fall at all Or already fallen I am.

Why hold on
Some live in the belief that they love and die
Some thrive in the memories of others and die
Some survive and only live when they are
Way up High.
If not they would chose to die

Why do we hold on to memories like the old records
That lie mouldy dusty on the gramaphone
The collection of songs and pictures that only serve to remind.
Of the happier times.

Those foolish things, those simple things
That we keep, we cherish, we hold on to
Those stuff that we dream of but never get
Only makes us more and more upset

Given all things crumble to dust
That nothing we have, we can hold on fast
Are ever worth keeping, that they only cause weeping
When we hold on to them while living.

(Unfinished)The restless

Twitches. Spread the nerves.
Baton one by one.
Cranking .Turns the joints.
Contraction. Twitches.
Twitches. Expansion.

They hide lurking with their eyes shut.
Motionless.

The sun was glaring so that it hurt her eyes. The summer solistice. The longest day of the year. Did it make any difference to her. No. It just happened to be another day in her long journey in search for the truth.

She wiped the beads of sweat that was slowly trickling down her brow, she felt sticky uncomfortable. The long white robes that hung loosely on her body now clung on like, moist sheets of paper held together by the attractive forces of the molecules of water. But still she trudged on.

A trail of ants. One after the other these small insignificant creatures were crawling in the red sandy paths of Zarlore, she stepped on a few. The red earth of Zarlore was a reminder of the past battles that have been fought in this sacred ground. The blood of the warriors stained the land, whose ghosts now wander lost in their battle armour with the scars that led to their demise. The soil somehow took on the pain and physical manifestations of their sorrow and mortality and turned rust red.

She wished she had not taken this path, but it was the fastest route she know that could lead her nearer to the truth.

The truth.

The truth that has haunted her since she knew she existed. The past that now seems a blur. A vague memory like one were to awaken from deep slumber and desperately try to conjure and remember what was the mysterious apparition and dream that befall them on their moments of rest.

The land she now trod on was a land she once was familiar with. She had fought alongside the Great Warrior, Rasohm of Zarlore. The warrior that was slain by a thousand blades in battle before he succumbed to death’s knell. She was his aide in one of his many battles with Yemeth, the land of hoary abundance of filth and vermin, the Kingdom beyond the trails of the forests of Zarlore.

That was in one of her existence. One of the existence that she still remembers. But the one that she wanted to know. Was not one of them. The truth had to be sought and would she find it. She did not know, but she hoped she would before this secular single existence of her now expires and gets returned into the quagmire of forgotten souls.