Ludwig & Vincent...
'what inspired you to write your 9th?', Vincent asks Ludwig.
'madness, dear Vincent, distilled, concentrated madness'.
'wasn't it madness that drove you to sketch starry nights above a sea of Irises?', Ludwig asks Vincent.
'madness it was, Ludwig. A madness of the soul, restless, frantic, maddening madness', whispers Vincent.
'what does that make us, my dear Vincent?', Ludwig murmurs, leaning close to Vincent.
'sane', says Vincent.
'yes, Vincent, sane', responds Ludwig.
Vincent reaches up and feels around for his phantom ear,
Ludwig smiles, touching his ear that once could hear.
The Chords of Dissonance...
Tempestuous waves lash the weather-beaten shores of my being,
smashing the cliffs of my futile defences.
I feel the erosion,
gentle, gradual, incessant,
donning my armour,
from the cold, wet waters of fate,
My armour is pock-marked,
battle-fatigue claws at my throat,
what once was an orchestral crescendo of promise,
now simply aimless jangling chords of dissonance,
beating deep inside my heart,
I stem the cacophonous onslaught,
surrendering to the inevitability of change,
that from the jagged rocks of memories,
from the frigid waters of destiny,
from the dissonance of infinite chords,
there always is,
as there always shall be,
the promise of a new symphony...
A Confluence of Passion...
She saw me, smiling with her eyes,
eyes that had seen far too much,
eyes, tangoing with mine,
eyes wading through an ocean of unspoken pain,
wrought from the depths of the deepest longing,
eyes, washed ashore,
fatigued, aching for respite,
from the jagged thorns of a life,
mired in strife.
I see her, her pained countenance echoing mine,
our paths bound by destiny's twine.
We part ways,
unspoken emotions burning holes in each other's soul,
two lives, trudging along,
searching for redemption,
existing between a chasm of solitude,
whispering odes to hope,
the hope of two souls yearning to be whole.
I think of her often,
her smiling eyes haunting this empty life,
an endless night,
embers of hope receding, slithering, creeping,
out of sight.
If you see her someday,
if she crosses your path,
look into her eyes,
and if you look deep enough,
you may see a shadow of a reflection of the shards of my heart,
my heart that stayed with her,
residing within her being,
leaving me lost, to wander across this desolate land,
lost without my compass,
my very reason for being,
since that distant yesterday,
when I let go of her soft, tender hand...
Afzal Moolla was born in Delhi, India while his parents were in exile, fleeing Apartheid South Africa.
He then travelled wherever his parent's work took them and he still feels that he hasn't stopped travelling.
Afzal works and lives in Johannesburg, South Africa and shares his literary musings with his most strident critic - his 12 year old cat.