On The Wings of Hope : Prose

They were talking - and his friend was crying. He started to cry when they began talking of his life and analyze it. He cried of former dreams and hopes which have not come true. Cried of a pure and crystal love which he desired to find - and which he couldn’t … for he did search outside, while it was necessary to seek in own heart.

He was talking of how he has come under the influence of former friends who couldn’t be considered as such - how he started drinking. How he didn’t has enough willpower and stopped short, has given in and started falling into the abyss. How the wife, no more reconciled with constant binges of her husband has thrown him aside and left for another man … departed without even trying to help. How with his own hands did he tore and crumbled dreams of family happiness, of mutual love - and how began to go to bars and night clubs. How he possessed a new woman each new day - a woman for a day … something pleasant to lie in bed with … not a person for him. How he tried to interrupt his life and start another one, but always couldn’t find enough power inside, for he has ceased to believe in him different - and has already given himself up as a bad job.

He was speaking, and his friend was listening to. They took lessons which Ivan should have taken a long time ago. Were talking about a choice he has made - a wrong … not the best one - and of a choice of different nature. A choice of life instead of death, a choice of happiness yet not sadness - a choice of joy in place of grief.

For a long time they have been sitting together - and under a stream of warm, powerful and convincing words his friend finally calmed down. Believed in himself - and an unshakable conviction to change his life by all means reflected itself upon his face. He’s a strong one. He’s capable. He will do that. Most certainly will.

Warm words of gratitude … happy smiles. A farewell.

-          Farewell, Ivan!

-          See you, Pavel!

Knocking of wheels. Measured rocking of the train. A cat, gracefully moving through a salon. He was approaching his city. He greatly hoped that he has managed to aid his friend … so greatly hoped.

They were approaching a city. Life was opening a new blank page in the book with his own writings.

17.08.2011

Confession of a stone giant

“You are from stone, but I do sing,

You are the monument, but I do soar”

M. Tsvetaeva

Forgive me, My God, if my voice appears to be too sad. I, apparently, have simply forgotten, how’s that - to rejoice life, to rejoice all the time, despite of everything.

A stone giant - that’s me. A giant by human measures, yet made from stone. Still a stone … still not learned to love. Forgotten, what it truly means.

Since the moment my Soul started remembering itself in this verbal struggle with unknown opponent, it did remember only one thing - its duty. A task. A goal. To perform, execute, implement - by all means. And all the rest is unimportant. And after all, whether it’s not so that noble purposes justify the means? Not so.

A justice for the sake of justice - such an old moveton. Nowadays a slyness before yourself as a form of life is in fashion. And what is truly necessary is sincerity in love. And not a gram more.

And that’s a woe from wit. From a mind, preventing the soaring of a Soul. Constantly clinging it with own shaggy pads, hoping to twist and drag away into its den, like a spider carries a fly. But even flies do fly, and spiders never do. Not in this Universe of yours, anyway.

People use to believe that if you are sort of a giant, you are aware of everything, able to do all possible things …Ha! The innocent child at times knows of this world more than an aged man, grown wise from myriads of lives. For the child is not made of stone.

You desire to do a better way - and it turns out a common way. You fly up and plop down on stone asphalt again a short time afterwards. And then gradually become a same stone one from a pain and disappointment. And that’s what is terrible. Already seeming not painful, but horrific still. It’s horrible to lose yourself original in these infinite hits from the ground of reality, terrible to turn into a stone. For the one more reason that stone ones do not fly. Probably, too heavy for this task.

But even statues thirst to smile one day! And better to be truly happy instead … but in that case they will cease being statues any longer. I desire to descend from a pedestal to start smiling! Want to truly be revived and not just in a stone of words. Whether it’s possible, I wonder? I hope so.