A butt I came, Petitstic I am, and Bumper I shall return. Ya Elohim, keep me alive so long as living is good for me, and cause me to die when death is good for me. I want to be buried in Kelem.thmy watch.
My space is an honest place. It faces me every day. It has one entrance for hope the other for solitude. The walls are wet with my tears and bare like soul body; the reflection of memories passing through arched in, destined to live within, born in the womb of mother darkness. My place is not so bad. I speak to it, echoes thundering, the mind seeing all, repeating it, quoting mosaic passages with alarming prophecy. The naked truth facing the train of thoughts. I was born to live in this space, a meager existence, tough mighty soul. I chose this existence, a defying space. My space is an honest place. It faces me every night. Hakol Letova (My Friend Rafi 2010) To Amir | Self in Exile Mushroom Tunnel, Picton, NSW (Samuel Campbell 2010) |
This is My Beginning
Life is a battleground. You are its foot soldier, its general of the advancing army or the retreating one, offensive or defensive. The strategist in the drill game of everyday living.
If we know where to invade, life is a drill, the unknown is the real war. We might win some battles in advance, but lose the war on the ground.
The ground underneath our feet is shaken with the advance of time. That is the reason why the veteran knees shake with age. They have seen it all.
The mines which some lost their legs for a cause, others lost their faith along the way. They have also been ambushed by fate, ridiculed by fortune, slapped by love, held captured by immoralities.
Yet, we all soldier on in the midfield of destiny orchestrates by order in a chaotic existence with bullfighters stamina. We are all universal soldier in an army of one. When we fight, we fight it alone.
The world watch and only interfere if there is a profit in. Ministers have the power in this game we call life. Tactical errors can cost the life of one.
The army of one has charged. The battleground is perilous. The might of the army of one with god on his side.
Attention! As you are a soldier.
Ha Kol Le Tova - Baruch Hasem
This is My Diaspora (My Friend Rafi - 19.09.09)
And they shall beat their swords into plowshares, and their spears into pruning hooks; nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war anymore. x