Wiktoria. A Northern Tale. Part III

I have been on the other corner of existence

From a faraway land, far away from reason

I stepped on the shore, and stayed for a while

I have a letter for you, old soul,

I first hope that the ink i will let flow won’t affect you as much as a falling leaf,

Sole tree in the middle of a belligerent wind

Dead after losing her children in front the wrath of fall

I am here, sadly enough, a resident of this planet

The first step on this gray sand made me think of you

You were the reason why i have headed for the other realm

The confession is short indeed and it is as follows,

I am chained to this material world against my will for the lord’s will is much greater

I am chained inside my cell

A cell made of flesh

I am crying out my own sorrow and lack of might,

I couldn’t take the flight. To flee from reality. For i fear what i am willing to encounter

I only know one side of you, whereas i don’t know its stand amongst the multitude of your ethereal nature

Here i write to you and i ignore the reality of my urge

The urge to reach out despite the knowledge that the hardship of real life is no fun

I am writing and while in the near future i have to embrace the long walls of the outer world

A world that keeps my presence steps away from the absence of pride

The absence of pride that is leaving life behind and to never look back

I am writing to you whereas my intention is to make you aware of the existence of such a mind

Somewhere a mind had to think about you from time to time

I am writing to you ignoring the outcome of such a reckless action

I ask the heavens forgiveness if i had shaken the borders of reality again

I am but a lamented soul

A soul that has to act out till the last flame disappears

Death is a reminder indeed

That all of this is not a game

Let me be the inmate of my own despair

Let what was left of the kindness, I hold inside against its will, touch your tender soul

Let me disappear after reaching out to you

A silent symphony was playing in the background

Snow and long trees

A Silhouette in the dark held her hands up in the air and said

Alas, such a soul is doomed

Such a presence had been left to the hands of the nothingness

Let me heal your wound and make you disappear

Be certain that you will never breath again.

Self.

Published on my FB: Sunday, 10 April 2016

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Wiktoria. A Northern Tale. Part II

Traveled the world ten years backwards heading for a northern country. Here i am in the middle of this white and sublime nature. Here i can hear the sharp silence of the snow, followed by shy steps of a wandering elk.

In case you are wondering about the reasons behind such an abrupt visit to the past of a European country, i will not be sure of giving you a proper answer.

The bitterness of the present did not serve me any good. I had to look for her, i wanted to reach that elegant and attractive mind of hers. Somehow i had the intuition that i will find her in the middle of these long trees, since nature has proved itself to be darker there.

To my own astonishment i had a gut feeling that i ll find the same wise inner woman that i have met before, the same eloquent, wondering, and darkly spiritual being. Somehow she managed to live off time. However and sadly enough, in the present time, i have lost grasp of reality since i was not a part of it.

How can an unreal person like me partake in her existence.

I and I always wait for that manifestation of darkness, and i know i ll find her in the middle of these cold and deserted lands. While looking for her, disappearing from tree to tree, vanishing from lake to lake, flying over all these majestic valleys and mountains, i am still hearing her own words, that i once, have been fortunate enough to read.

“This sorrow, this darkness, this mental pain is so attractive. So beautiful, so soothing…”

To plunge into impossibilities of encounters, to plunge into the awkwardness of such fate, to feel cold till my bones just to see her, to lose my own self and to become only a watcher, to share a sight of a familiar, i will dream and not stop dreaming.

Grant me a chance to relive these enchanting moments.

Let me create my own dream.

Self.

Published on my FB: Sunday, 27 March 2016

Wiktoria. A Northern Tale. Part I

I wanted to write a northern story… while getting inspired by her and by the world she once let me discover with her…

Could i really write something about the dead white nature ?

The breeze, the freeze, the white of the snow on the huge and majestic trees ?

Could i write on how it is to live inside an isolated house in some holy northern mountain ?

Could i describe what it feels like to make hot tea in that silent dead nature ?

May be hearing some crows from time to time, or may be watching a shy deer coming across the door for food may be or just for curiosity.

Could i ever pretend playing my guitar trying to approach some dark metallic sounds, while screaming like an abused male, someone who just got forced into something he dislikes the most, not he but more of his mature and respectable he ?

Could i ever describe you how that cracking suffering voice in shame sounds like ? while having visions of that sick and irritable situation.

Could i ever show you how i made inner babies cry while being born into unwanted art i make ? unwanted sounds ? unwanted words ? and unwanted drawings, just lines crossing, dark lines all over the whiteness of the snow.

Is it all white here ?

While i tried to make my gaze cover a more wider view i have noticed a black dead tree, a majestic scary tall dead black tree.

Strangely enough i can see a dark silhouette making its way down to the snow.

I guess something was living within the darkness of that tree

Now she is approaching

She is because i guess what i am seeing now is a female body or should i say shadow, since her clothing is all black. A beautiful kind of black, or may be the texture of that long dress makes it more tempting.

Now that she is more and more closer
I can see her pale face
I can see here big eyes,
Omg she got that killing stare
That killing polish stare
Here she is, the queen of darkness
On the door steps of my lonely house
Waiting for me to let her in
I feel like i know her
She is that polish girl i once knew, or i once thought i knew
Somehow i feel speechless
I can’t write about her all the things i have in mind and heart
The only thing i know, is that don’t know how it feels like to be with her in the same space
That is why i think i feel so insecure letting her in.

Is it really her ? i am afraid that i have invited some dark entity that lived for years and years inside that dark tree and that somehow that dark creature of the shadows knew what form to take, a human form, and a from of who ? the form of the polish girl i thought once i knew…

Let me dream
Let me create my dream
Let me pretend i am the owner of my dream

And yet we still get inspired by our own imagination with some content from reality
What if the imagination is another world we connect with ?
What if we do exist somewhere else,

Another way of being…

By Tef.