Something worth living for

I am not that kind of person who deceives herself or deceives others , but I, from the bottom of whole depth of mine, belong to that flock of people, that great sad flock of people..
And I , from the bottom of whole depth of mine, believe that this chaos will not last for too long.
I just keep holding the bottom of the whole depth of mine..
The problem of a piece of land over there irks me.. It carks me.
It's smooth, soft and gentle that its hard to walk over, and it is not so high, not so far.
It has got a good type of mud, can be chilled, can be competed with both water and sand.
Embedded into the mud are small ragged remnants of roots.
It was said that people had stayed over there, had built over there, and had learnt over there, till it was time for pupils to explode and till time for emotions to lose the feeling of dawns' colours, just prior to when they turned to sleep , just to sleep forever..
Everything can steal its truth from your heart, and everything can be written down to your beliefs, like two banks of a so large imaginary river, like two edges of a limited narrow imaginary sky..
And you keep thinking of your beliefs, what are they? What are they for? Are they expressed into your speeches? Into your work?
Then, booh! Everything disappears, and the truths return to your heart, as deep as the bottom of your whole depth, and you keep carrying the bottom of your whole depth, and you find out that the total chaos was only to irk you, exactly like how the problem of that piece of land is only to irk me..

Around the piece of land , contents of dry air messages hover, past, footsteps, escaping dreams, palms' sighing and names without owners, events without witnesses..
And… And true words, as rare as true deeds..
As my bed keeps swaying within my nights, and as I keep making sure of the blanket covering all of my outside body, there is a start to recognize a smell.
Weird and repeated, warm and so warm, as it gets into my lungs, it begins to burn all of my alveoli.. and the realization comes as , such a deceiving smell, such a fire!! And I keep shouting next, and my voice doesn’t reach any. Finally, want to cough, keeps coughing. want to breathe further.. keeps breathing..
Then I keep waking up, to discover the reality of absence of this smell, keep praying, thanking the Lord for it was just another one of my bad dreams, and keep wondering consequently, do I have to keep drowning into these dreams as if I am living them? Am I living them?!
Maybe people are living my dreams!
I can feel it, can touch it by my eyes, the same smell invading their homes, and it is really preceded by smell of burying alive.
Smell of fire.. smell of freedom.
And perhaps freedom padded by cupidity's raid.
Smell of burying alive.. smell of tyranny.
And perhaps ever-lasting tyranny.
I wonder, did people of that piece of land try to reach the sources of these two smells to destroy them? Or they only preferred to keep arguing, choosing the wrong leaders, doing manners of lying and selfishness? like what I see nowadays!
And I am not that kind of person who keeps deceiving them, and I am that kind of person who belongs to them, desiring at this point to be just like them, just want to criticize them..
The closer probability is the latter and absolutely, it takes a time so long to achieve the former.
We were born like the glass that was made for water, to be free, to be happy, and we should keep filling the glass, keep drinking water.

Between my inner cells and my leaving breaths and the light reflected from above my retina are media .. very wonderful media, media involved in creating huge amounts of moment factors, all together work for letting my thoughts swim, letting my payers flow and letting my bad dreams become banished and my feelings be well mixed, well clarified.
Between people of my piece of land, and others of farther land, are also media, media involved in creating huge amounts of moment factors, all together work for letting those peoples be separated, their thoughts be poisoned, their prayers be weak and their bad dreams come true and letting feelings understand nothing but hatred.
And unfortunately , they keep following them, keep watching their tiny movements, keep believing them to be well pretending of being believing them, with absolute knowledge of the hidden truth, so, they participate in hiding the truth deeper, dropping it low, and this time, not as deep as the bottom of the whole depth of their owns, it's for somewhere lower, and somewhere so far lower.
Then, they become sorry, and find no ways for making things right. And this time, myself, as I belong to them, I fortunately don’t share them the sin, I just share them the faultfinding.
Then, they can realize how good parrots they have turned, good parrots for repeating what's said, without any attempt to distinguish right from wrong, and right and wrong basic ethics both are sculptured all over the inner surfaces of our inside bodies, they know that they have known that before, but maybe after time is over.

Suddenly, a spine stands up in the middle of the chaos, that we are all with our different appearances ,victims for the same carnivore.

People of my piece of land keep cursing many times, cursing others, instead of cursing destinies that led them here, at the edge of abyss, and instead of cursing the surrender that made them close to the death that they are scared of.

People of my piece of land, keep surprising me, they pass into the jungles every time they are allowed to, they keep walking along the embers, and keep crying for the mistakes, repeating the oath every year officially, and every month, every week and every day emotionally.

There'll be a man, as usual, looking for the losses in the depths of the victorious skies. Away from the planes' paths, in order not to create fear, in order to facilitate jobs of those planes in teaching children, teaching them to obey the true human goals, the true human manners,and the true human deeds, and these aspects can remain the only obvious, no matter how dark the underlying sky may seem, no matter how fearful echoes of shooting and injustice may sound..
And as I love to keep following the man and love to do and speak like him, I find that I must explain things about how I am not that kind of person who deceives herself or others, but that same person who belongs to that same sad great flock of people..

Sandybelle
P.S. I have spent good times in my first semester, i mean good and bad times :D, and i did my exams finally, and i did well :)
And I may write a post about that later on.
Thanks for everybody kept in touch, and thanks for everybody kept praying :)