Zadan ZarikReader, Writer, Reviewer

Palled by eerie silence, the path I follow is one of broken dreams and a slaughtered soul. My steps echo faintly, lost in the abyss of a world where cries of vehement vanity go unheard, swallowed by the emptiness. Faces, hidden and haunting, linger in the shadows, reminders of memories that never fade. I beg them to stay back, to retreat, but they follow relentlessly, like specters of the past, filling the air with their silent weight.

Endlessly, I fight this war between body and soul—vengeance, illusions, and miseries taunting me at every turn. There are no answers, only the darkness, a void that stretches before me. I long for light, for joy, for freedom. I yearn for ecstasy, but these are mere echoes that never reach my heart. The path I walk is unpaved, vicious, leading me nowhere. It is agony without end, and I know no destiny.

“Slay me,” I whisper to the cruel mysteries that bind me. “Respond to me.” But the unkind clutches of fate refuse to let go. Tragedies scatter in every direction, each more scattered and fragmented than the last. Unspoken answers swirl in the air, slipping through my fingers as if I never deserved to know. I have lost everything—innocence, joy, the bliss of the morn.

I am an infidel, violating the laws of nature, yet I repent in vain. My hopes swivel, twisting and breaking like branches in a storm, and horrifying thunderclaps shake me. Tears of the sky wash over me, frigid detestation soaking through my skin. There is hatred, masked and veiled, but it is not mine alone. Suffering is unveiled in its truest form. Fate has decided for me, decreeing my path without mercy. Palled by eerie silence, the path I follow winds endlessly, a journey of slaughtered souls and broken dreams, lost in the haunting echoes of a life that never was.

Where do you disappear, my elusive fairy? I am mad with longing for you, for the image of you that haunts my thoughts. A vision in my mind, yet so real, I plead for you to emerge into reality—just for God’s sake. My thoughts are captivated, my words tangled, and I am torn—should I remain silent, or should I speak the truth of this aching pain that stirs within me? You are a ventriloquist, present in ways I can’t explain, like the delicate touch of frankincense. I can feel you, I can sense your presence, though I know you belong to a world so distinct, so fragile, so distant from mine.

I live in this isolation, melancholy my constant companion. You seduce my senses, my soul, my imagination, and I wonder—are you a wonderful parable, a dream that lingers just out of reach, or perhaps an apprehension, a mystery I will never unravel? Every stone I see, every statue I touch, carries your voice within me—exuberant yet so blurred, as if caught between reality and fantasy. My feelings, mystical and magical, shift like illusions, and in a fraction of a second, they shatter like fragile glass.

Every word I read seems to be of you, every image I conjure is of you. Every poem I write, every paradox I ponder, carries your essence. You are transparent in this ethereal world, yet no image of you exists in my hands. I cannot capture you, cannot portray you. I long for you to emerge, to step into this magical canvas I hold, and show me your true form. See the pain within me, the ecstasy that bursts into light, only to dissolve into nothingness. All that remains is solitude, and me, alone with this image, this myth that haunts my soul.

An image in my mind… please, emerge into reality, for God’s sake.

In the dark, my shadow conceals itself, wrapped in empty silence, as the cold wind whispers through the room. Dead silences speak to me, as if striving for their own existence, their presence felt in the stillness. In the corner of the room, the dim flame of a candle flickers, casting its fragile light across the night. Outside, the sky is embedded with stars, illuminated by the fading twilight.

Looking through misty windows, my eyes reflect a reprise—a return to something lost, dissolved in the depths of this night. The moments of delight I once knew have evaporated, leaving me to question: where has my anxiety gone? Or have I simply become lost, suspended between peace and harmony, living in this very moment, my whole life now folded into this singular breath?

Jingles, songs, and ballads fill the air, replete with ecstasy and delight. I feel them in my veins, an ultimate sensation coursing through me. My soul is alive, a state of oblivion giving way to rapture. And then, someone—or something—comes, and I feel it: my soul is awakened. The moon, mischievous and playful, dances across the sky, hiding and revealing itself in turns. The ebbs and flows of this unfathomable sea reflect a majestic delight, as if it too is alive with the same joy.

A call rings out, cryptic, mystic—like an apparition, or perhaps the sound of immortality itself, sacrosanct and pure, igniting within me. In this flame, nebulous and divine, the stars bear witness to a scene of purity, a sacred moment that cannot be confined to temples or shrines. The fire burns within, alive, a symbol of something eternal, something beyond the grasp of time.

The candle flame flickers weakly, its dim, frail light struggling to illuminate the dark. Its tears of wax drip down, casting shadows of forgotten memories that haunt the edges of my mind. I stand there, waiting, from dusk until dawn, for a glimpse of your radiant face. It feels like a limitless fable of grief and sadness, living within this dead, stone-like statue of myself.

Adorn my silence with your enchanting smile that once filled the air with warmth and life. Burn the aura of hell that flickers in your eyes, and extinguish the stormy winds that rage beneath your feet. Blow life into my veins again! This stillness, this pain—it’s all-consuming.

But these virtual images, these false reflections, they haunt me relentlessly. They slay me, yet I am not dead, not truly. Come, elude me from these malignant thoughts tearing at my soul’s edges. Captivate my spirit, poetry, and dreams, and set me free. My injured soul pleads in the silence of this madness, a spell that maddens me both day and night. I remain trapped, longing for release from the invisible chains that bind me in this eternal melancholy.

In this fragrant atmosphere, under the brilliance of the night, everything feels so fresh, so radiant, so illuminated. The air, filled with a gentle breeze, touches me, tickles me, and fills me with a sense of love. My soul is bathed in light, my eyes shine with the purity of this moment. I am a mirror to meditation, reflecting the peace that surrounds me.

Liberty swells within me, ecstasy lifts me up like a mythical levitation, and I feel the beauty of life pulsating through my very being. This enchanting breeze, this reason to live, carries me to nirvana—a place where my haunted soul finds peace, an ethereal world of dreams and quiet solace. I recite a scripture that has never been written, yet its words fill my mind with clarity. Nebulous images float before me, weaving the tapestry of my imagination, and in this moment, all the happiness of the world comes to me, wrapping me in its embrace.

I am as happy as the morning glory, opening its petals to greet the dawn, or the birds singing as the first light breaks. I am as serene as the earth after a gentle drizzle, kissed by the rain and renewed. And above me, a black sheet of sky stretches, dotted with a brilliant ball of light—bliss incarnate. All the bliss of the universe comes to me now, filling me, healing me, holding me.

Tears fall from a father’s eyes as he stands at his daughter’s grave, the little girl who once meant the world to him—so innocent, so naïve. A girl of only three, taken too soon by the cold, unyielding hands of death. “Daddy, I love you,” she had said, her warm embrace lingering in his memory. How can he sleep, when the earth beneath her holds so much dust, and his precious girl lies buried deep within it?

Her body may be gone, but her life—her very soul—has slipped away. Gone with her is the joy, the light, the love he once held so tightly. The same hands that had lovingly caressed her hair now tremble, feeling only the emptiness of her absence as they laid her to rest. The fingers that once grasped his for support are gone, and no words can wipe away the tears that now flow from his heart.

In the stillness of the house, he clutches her pillow, her dolls, her fairy tales—fragments of a life now gone. His heart aches with the quiet melancholy that fills every corner of their home. Her laughter, her acts of mischief, her baby talk, her innocent dreams—everything now lies shattered, like beads of a rosary that have spilled across the floor, lost to time.

You are dead, my child, but in that grave lies not just your body—it is my life, my soul that is buried with you. May angels surround you now, may they safeguard you in the eternal life that awaits, as your father’s heart breaks in the silence of this farewell.

See the pain in me, O Lord of mine. I shed my tears, calling out to you in the sacred hours, praying for relief. Life feels like a path paved with grief, consumed by the eerie silence that wraps around me. It is like magma burning inside, never erupting, trapped in a cycle of suffering. O Lord, see the pain in me.

Forgive my sins, free me from this torturing agony where hope does not reside, and melancholy reigns supreme. I am hollow, like a tree trunk stripped of life, my feelings dead and my tears bearing witness to this emptiness. Give me just a portion of bliss, O Lord of endless treasures. I am not an oyster, but my pain shall surface as a pearl—though I can no longer endure it. I am infidel, lost in the turmoil of my own soul, fragile and tender, standing between faith and hopelessness, like an insect consumed by a luminous flame.

The form of my pain is like an emergent rock from a violent explosion, raw and unyielding. I wait for your mercy as a desert waits for rain, as a valley moans for rivers that have changed their course. I am like a kite torn in the wind, a ship shattered after the tempest. I am a shadow no one sees in the dark, fading into the silence, unheard and unseen.

Fill me with your mercy, O Lord, for only you can ease the torment within me. See the pain in me, and grant me the grace I so desperately seek. O Lord of mine, hear my prayer.

Come and dance with me, my dear friend. Join me with all your heart and soul, in this enchanting fairyland we create together. Lend me your curtsy, and let the air be filled with divinity, as passion stirs and the sky shines with newfound brilliance. Let the birds sing, their melodies carried by the wind, while the cascade of music fills the air. Let nature itself compose the symphony, with each note a whisper of the earth’s beauty.

Let the winds dance with us, swirling in the rhythm of our joy, as the flowers stand as silent spectators, watching the magic unfold. With every step, join with all your heart as the cuckoo sings, and let the nightingale pour its heart out to you. Let the wind blow gently, touching the bells that chime in perfect harmony. Dance with me, heart and soul, upon the jingles of time, moving as one, under the moon’s tender gaze.

Let us dance the whole night through, our feet tracing the path laid by petals of love and light. Dance, my friend, in the glow of the full moon, as it watches over us with its silver glow. Together, let us lose ourselves in the dance, and let the world around us fade into a beautiful symphony of spirit and joy. Dance with me, whole and free, through the night.

I pass through these green fields, where the landscapes stretch far and wide, and the air is divine, filled with the sweet fragrance of blooming flowers. The very scent of frankincense touches me, refreshes me, and in this moment, I feel something transcendental. I want to live this moment forever—where time stands still, and the world feels perfectly in harmony.

The carriage moves along winding paths, while angels, caught in a state of prayer, seem to echo the silent peace of this place. For the first time, I see an angel holding a book, their hands lifted, seeking the good in all things. It is a vision of purity and hope, and in that moment, I long for it to last forever.

I want to live this moment forever, to hold on to the joy of simple things. The laughter of girls by the brooks, the melody of anklets as they dance, the jingles of bangles as they move hither and thither, all fill the air with a charm that feels eternal. Bless these nymphs of the valley, whose innocence and joy are so pure, so real.

In the quiet, the shy eyes and the beauty of their smiles, I am reminded that this tree—standing firm, wise and unchanging—knows the tales of our lives. These moments, spent with friends on swings, by the bucket of the old well, are stories that will be cherished forever. You and I will be remembered, not for grandeur, but for the simplicity of our shared joy. I want to live this moment forever, in the warmth of this memory, unbroken and undying.

And so, I want to write an ode to simplicity. I want to pen the tunes of these ariels, the melodies of life that echo in the quiet corners of our hearts. On my knees, I pray to the Lord of all—of everyone and of mine—that He has bestowed upon me a heaven divine, in this moment of perfect peace.