You take a leap, and then another Thus moving forward proud two steps. Inevitably being thrown though Right back by five, or four, or three.

And every time you seemingly get closer There quite unfortunately seems to be Another obstacle across your way.

You wipe off sweat, your tears, and hopes You persevere further through your pain.

Yet in such dance and in such rhythmic pattern, ending with a sudden twist of wicked luck, you’re moving forward To reside in someone else’s shadow

Pursuing that which you don’t know In silence, and by touch - All in the dark.

Not daring to breeze through invisible divider you yourself engraved in front of your bare feet,

You still believe it’s out of reach Not grasping it’s been all along

Encoded in the language of your restless heartbeat.

Shouted at. In front of all. For no apparent reason. So she was. I’m sure that she moved on since then.

"She seemed quite strong."

I’m sorry, there was not too much I could have done. I would have if I could. Who truly wouldn’t?

Exiled and forced to leave, And so they left - I wonder why?.. To me they seemed just fine.

"I’m sure they’ll be alright in time."

I wonder now if there was Something I could have done? Or said or helped in any way. Who wouldn’t, if they could?

They worked so hard, For penny’s worth. A strike was called for, and Those changes - long past due.

"They’ve got their share, Of this, I’m sure!"

..They got policed And locked away For very long out of So few of their years.

The Earth is crying. In endless, ruthless, Pointless wars her Children suffer.

"They’ll live forever, nonetheless!"

Well, was there truly nothing I could do?.. What influence I had with just my voice? I’m not the press.

With all the women Challenged now to prove That they are worth, Forgetting their nature-given cause.

"Alas! We’re all the same."

Keep striving, winning, moving up Those fragile, blood-infused and Never-ending ladders. Just for a promise of somebody’s Fairness. And their seconds of success To witness - not to hold.

So many souls, just waiting In the line, their birth on hold. For when you have succeeded Just enough -

And when you raise your Filled with tears glass (one half) And sweat of efforts - For the other half;

You realize that you’re no longer ready and not able, to make those miracles, uniquely yours, come true.

Oh, how I wish and hope One day, we’ll see - that There’s a million things Combined in tiny efforts

That every single one of us Could do. One trembling Voice or line, or letter At a time. To start the wave From single drop.

All for a better future - Yours and mine.

It might not always break your way. But regardless of what others say - you should have at least tried

to carefully squeeze into that tiny window of opportunity. To make everything right and fall into place again.

Your heart might be broken, and your prayers - unheard; yet the world hasn’t ended. And even though it truthfully hurts

you have stood through the storm. The inevitables haven’t broken the vow that you’ve made to yourself.

You have walked the path where your soul instructed you be. You grew stronger and ready to power the winds of your Ultimate dream.

Don’t waste a moment of your life, For life is short.

Don’t spend your days to figure out Which way is right and which - is not.

Embrace your days, don’t kill your time, So that you wake up in the morning Knowing -

You’ve done exactly what you could And in the time that you’ve been given.

Annoyed, or angry, or frustrated With the cards that you’ve been dealt,

You never kneeled, did not give up, That you gave shelter to your closest - In the warmest corners of your heart.

That you’ve been honest with yourself And that transgressions of your youth have been forgiven.

Have no regrets about the past.

And if you’re lucky -

Your life will last a little longer then you were hoping that it would.

So you feel tired as a stranger Who walked an extra mile or two,

And even though it’s ending still, Though there is no unwinding your life’s story -

You would have let go of the worries And all you’d leave behind -

Would be your Kindness, Wisdom, Shining through the peaceful glory Of your eternal and transcendent smile.

"Is there life after one bad turn?" Those who look for excuses fail.

"Are there points of true no return?" Those who look for solutions prevail.

After one bad rhyme comes another; Yet you pick up your pencil and write.

You learn from the choices that drag, That destroy, and that pull you apart.

Change direction, without looking back, Striving only to hold what you’ve got.

Left?

You erase your mistakes with white deeds Then you rinse and repeat, repeat..

When the shape of that lego fits poorly, You might need to place a few more oddly shaped ones on top.

Right?

But until you run out of moves, You continue to play with your whole heart.

The game is not entirely over; Not until you put down your pen and give up.

Or until..

(Does it have to be said out loud?.. There’s no life only after we die..)

… "As I woke up this morning, the weirdest realization came to my mind - I was convinced I was someone else. Which might as well be true for so many of us in this room.

We are walking through our lives, with every single event making it their mission to shaken our beliefs of what is real and what is reflective of our inner selves. Regardless of what clothes, cologne or faces we wear, I hope that we all dare to summon the courage and strength to share our unique light and unique perspectives, regardless of how scary and surreal it might feel.

Isn’t being our truest selves - whatever circumstances and consequences dictate and, especially so, if they instruct otherwise - indeed the deepest meaning of life?"

When does a man become a monster? A question worth exploring - at least once.

A man that leaves your body bruised Or brushes off your ego - what would he be?

Now, chances are, of course - they just continue roaming free.

They disregard just how much pain they cause to others.

That it is simply wrong, confused as they may be - it’s borderline “Illegal” - They choose to label it:

“an honest”, sometimes - “an impatient” man.

A rather delicate and tricky matter, If you ask me. So when is it that we come in?

The world, subjective as it is, might prompt us that we look inside; And that, of course, now - if we can.

So whether it’s a monster or a friend - In front of you and in your life; I guess, it’s no one else

but you -

who should delve deep and dare decide.

No heating moments And no clothes of class;

No jewels, no pearls, And there are no loud cheers.

There’s no champagne, No rooftops made of glass.

No sitting to the sound of restless jazz; - no taste of screaming tears.

The light is cozy on your eyes, There’s warm palétte and stories.

The stories of the times when we have met. -

The dissolution of the “I”, The Renaissance of Spring -

Among the sleeping beauty and amidst the chaos of the dancing flakes.

The soothing crunch of resting snow, The glow of smile as you glance over.

The song of melting icicles at dawn, Arpeggios of their smoothly rolling rings;

The ray of light that’s breaking bravely through the storm.

That’s how I know - I’m safe.

And that is how I know - I’m finally home.

They knew the day would come —

And so did she.

The guiding timepost was around
that Wednesday, when a sudden
and neurotic shift

has started hitting her,
for no apparent reason.

While something else, with
quite a spicy twist, no less,
just started hitting fan.

She would refer to this
back in her memory —
again, again...

and then —

She would have liked to say
they would be "missed"...

The truth was cruel,
and it was honest, too —

They might be, but not for very long — not certainly, but such would be
the likely tone.

And so might she.

Who would have thought
that if you smash the door,

Be that for fun, or as an angry outburst,
or simply in a rush —

There could quite be a decent man
right on the other side,
well, simply, heading
to his class.

Yet, we get wound up, mad, and sassy — of course it doesn’t matter that we thought nobody would get hurt.

Of course it wouldn’t matter later
that there’s a perfect and concise excuse.

They wouldn’t have it, though.

Neither would she.

Now just imagine for a second —
It’s you behind that very door.

It matters not whose foot or
any other part of body,
is sending messages across.

In such a case, your own demeanor,
might not default to you as their boss,
which could in turn

exacerbate the sting
of your initial loss.

The time flew by, with grinning omen
flashing all across the nightly sky...

And even thinking of it now — They could have stopped it, only if they knew
the why and, maybe, more importantly — the how.

Yet only when you push aside
these question marks
and the disjointed senses
of the present tense;

You sit in silence, searching,
for those answers;

You tap into whatever it is
that you truly feel.

You might get struck by premonition
reflecting backwards from the past —

Not in quite such a timely fashion,
well, better late than never,
am I right?

To see that nothing really mattered at that point. Yet one last thing she was about to grasp (unwillingly, though, still) —

…that it was all becoming real.