Quill, Write Ups

Walking on Water

Allow me tell you all a little, simple, bed-time, teeny story, although I know I have been writing and delivering poorly these days, unlike I once did. Seems the Gods are angry at me, Odin has taken away from me the power of poetry for my inefficient use. But I can’t stop without even giving a fight maybe this would please Odin and you all, maybe this would revive me.

Let’s go by the traditional start.

Once upon a time, during the rule of King Eirik in the petty kingdom of Vestfold there was a beggar. The beggar -he was not a very tall man, thin as a stick, and always carried a frown upon his face despite the love in his pocket. Aah… but the world doesn’t peep into pockets it just picks pockets. (Look at the desperateness of the writer to engage his audience by throwing punches, look how bad he is failing at it) But this was never what made him distinct, there were already a lot of emaciated beggars and the world was pretty much the same with each of them. What made him different was his ambition, his insanity beyond limits yet all ethical and true, his weird arrogance and haughtiness not of some title but of being himself- what beggar calls himself King after all?

He used to speak often of his desire of being influential, powerful, and important and more than he spoke, he worked for it, grind for it. He lost a lot of friends on his way to power, he lost all those playing and drinking hours, he lost family hours, rock bottom became his home, but kept on moving until one day he challenged King Eirik to a duel and familiarized him with his fate. As per the law, the man who beats King becomes King and this case was no different.

Finally, all his efforts, his walk on this lonely road in pelting cold, it all seemed to end. It was now the time to rejoice and celebrate his victory, reminiscent and cheer skol to his ambition and passion that made him King today, that made a beggar King today. Well, but a man can’t change his soul, can he? A beggar stays a beggar and he seemed to forget that. Being King sounded the most beautiful thing ever, being King was a bit different.

Kings walk in grace but stand in pain. You must be an extremely good observer that stands behind a veil. And while you stand there you just listen, unseen and unhear, you just listen to all. Also, what you listen should be important to you but it also must not affect you too for you might (not might) you will hear people hate you just because they ain’t you.

Dying, as in going back to normal and dying in minds of people as if you never existed, it becomes a dream you dream day and night long. You don’t talk of your pain but once you do, still no one relates to it. And you just wonder to yourself while you reminiscence as to how did you even make it in the first place. You wonder, you rather wish you haven’t had left the farm in the first place.

You think, is this what you envisioned, is it really what you wanted?

Fame to the point of imprisonment. You feel like incredible hulk, your back is broken yet you walk. When they see you down, they say they’ll pray for you and you wonder to yourself why would someone who doesn’t even know you pray for you. No one never prayed a couple of years back, was I not the same man then?

And repeat to yourself, “Be careful what you wish for, you might get what you want. And once you get it, it might get back on you ten fold.”

“Kings never die.”

You turn yourself oblivious again and sing,

“I know some shits so hard to swallow
And I just can’t sit back and wallow
In my own sorrow, but I know one fact
I’ll be one tough act to follow
One tough act to follow, copy, one tough act to follow
Here today, gone tomorrow
But you have to walk a thousand miles

In my shoes, just to see
What it’d be like, to be me
I’ll be you, let’s trade shoes
Just to see what I’d be like to
Feel your pain, you feel mine
Go inside each other’s mind
Just to see what we find
Look at shit through each other’s eyes

But don’t let ’em say you ain’t beautiful oh
They can all get f*&^$% Just stay true to you.”

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