Contradiction of Behaviors, The Arrogance in Time

Time. I feel life seeping out from hunger, from that dreaded cold we find in humanity. Left behind, we are running out of time. Society cannot help itself, nor does the cosmos demand such.

Last night, as I slumped into the shadow reality, I saw the contradiction of civilized behavior. We claim to know much, yet we use the skills and opportunities in pursuit of materialism, a ghastly illusion.

Society is unfamiliar with our own doom; we find nothing in the presence of chasing that erroneous perception of time. Our greed, is like a snake hastily devouring its tail, bent on satisfying its hunger.

time in Bangkok

 

Zashnain

An avid blogger, twitterer and photojournalist, Zashnain Zainal suffers from an incurable addiction to social work, helping marginalised communities since 1989. Nowadays he travels from the plantations of Malaysia to the slums of Thailand. He can be found at zashnain.com and @bedlamfury

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Technorati: @Zashnain, Freedom, greed, life, Poem, ชีวา, ยุคสมัย

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memories

The memories and the misery

I remember, not that I can resist the onslaught of memories, a time when life was different. I lived this episode of my life, for 13 odd years, so vastly different from now. 

Memories, clashing upon each other, bringing about an explosion of joy and the whirlwind of pain. “Once a upon a time” as nowadays I would say with a basking smile, yet some tingling sensation of sadness and sorrow does exist. 

One cannot erase these memories, nor would I want them gone from my mind. Never. 

I’m still in a state of mourning, not because tradition demands it of me but rather I am still struggling through life and the loss. At times I replace the loss with a blistering all-consuming rage, and others I merely let them sink into the Vaults of the Void. 

Loss, such addictive feeling, allows me time. Amusing is it not, that for me to have the “time” I am required to experience loss. Maybe an irony to my life. 

I choose to be in this state, I choose to feel the sadness, the memories and the misery. I shall not blame anyone, living or dead. 

But then usually words appear in my thoughts, branding itself on my soul, and sometimes giving me the inspiration to move on. I will always remember such words: 

“Tomorrow is tomorrow, today is mine” 

 

 

Zashnain

An avid blogger, twitterer and photojournalist, Zashnain Zainal suffers from an incurable addiction to social work, helping marginalised communities since 1989. Nowadays he travels from the plantations of Malaysia to the slums of Thailand. He can be found at zashnain.com and @bedlamfury

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Technorati: @Zashnain, life, Poem

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Behind the Torment

Hitherto your eyes haven soften and you have looked too much, yes, far too much, upon the things of earth; the sorrow, the pain, the misery. If these so much torment you, beyond belief, what shall be your rapture when you lift your gaze to things of joy hiding in the chest of mankind.

 

 

Zashnain

An avid blogger, twitterer and photojournalist, Zashnain Zainal suffers from an incurable addiction to social work, helping marginalised communities since 1989. Nowadays he travels from the plantations of Malaysia to the slums of Thailand. He can be found at zashnain.com and @bedlamfury

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The Forgotten ~ Eyes staring into Nothingness [poem]

Crimson-stained lips.
The muddy ground serves as a suitable shallow grave,
For those living in fear of others seeking carnage;
Drawing all my strength, from the deepest darkest well in my soul,
I seek what little justice for the twisted body,
That lies in the wet field.
A crushed head, bloodied,
Eyes staring into Nothingness,
In this life time or the next,
I shall turn this world inside out,
For you.

Zashnain

An avid blogger, twitterer and photojournalist, Zashnain Zainal suffers from an incurable addiction to social work, helping marginalised communities since 1989. Nowadays he travels from the plantations of Malaysia to the slums of Thailand. He can be found at zashnain.com and @bedlamfury

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censorship1

Martin Niemöller: “First they came for the Socialists…”

They first came for the Catholics,
but I was a Protestant, so did nothing.

Then they came for the Communists,
but I wasn’t a communist, so I did nothing.

Then they came for the trade unionists,
but I wasn’t a trade unionist, so I did nothing.

Then they came for the Jews,
but I wasn’t a Jew, so I did nothing.

By the time they came for me,
there was nobody to speak up.

ครั้งแรก “เขา” มาจับพวกคาทอลิก
แต่ฉันเป็นโปรเตสแตนต์, ฉันจึงเฉยเสีย

ต่อมา “เขา” มาจับคอมมิวนิสต์
แต่ฉันไม่ได้เป็นคอมมิวนิสต์, ฉันจึงไม่ได้ทำอะไร

ต่อมา “เขา” มาจับพวกสหภาพแรงงาน
แต่ฉันไม่ได้อยู่ในกลุ่มนั้น, ฉันจึงยังนิ่งอยู่

จากนั้น “เขา” มาจับคนยิว
แต่ฉันไม่ได้เป็นคนยิว, ฉันจึงยังนิ่งเฉยดังเดิม

และเมื่อถึงเวลาที่ “เขา” มาจับฉัน
ก็ไม่เหลือใครสักคนที่คิดจะพูดหรือทำอะไร…

 

เป็นบทกลอนที่เขียนโดย Martin Niemöller (ประวัติ Martin ในวิกิพีเดีย) ผู้มีชีวิตอยู่ในระหว่างปี ค.ศ. 1892-1984 และเป็นผู้ที่ต่อต้านลัทธินาซีในยุคที่นาซีเรืองอำนาจ บทความที่เห็นคือ Martin Niemöller: “First they came for the Socialists…” มีคำถอดเป็นไทยที่ฟังแล้วสะเทือนใจอยู่ไม่ใช่น้อย

เราจะนิ่งเงียบ เพื่อวันหนึ่งจะไม่มีใครสนใจเราเลย .. หรือ?

Moui

I'm not Geek, just a Thai internet addicted gal. Love to be surrounded by good heart people. Follow me on twitter : @moui or Facebook : PoomjitS

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Technorati: Censorship, Communist, Freedom, Human Rights, Internet Censorship, Martin Niemöller, Nazi, Poem, Politics

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We Argue

We fight, We shout, We hurt, We cry,
But despite it all,
With all our imperfections and weaknesses,
We miss each other, we need one another, we love each other, 
Beyond words, We appreciate the friendship,
Forever my love. 

 

Zashnain

An avid blogger, twitterer and photojournalist, Zashnain Zainal suffers from an incurable addiction to social work, helping marginalised communities since 1989. Nowadays he travels from the plantations of Malaysia to the slums of Thailand. He can be found at zashnain.com and @bedlamfury

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Technorati: Living, Poem

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poverty

What Is It To Be Alive?

Standing at the edge of the city, surrounded by the twisted buildings, grey from the ever-constant smog, suffocating the life out of remaining surviving trees, and watching helplessly at the sight of utter misery dwelling of poverty;

Poverty has name, a cruel almost indescribable brand, the word that people dare not speak of, a word darkened by spite, a meaning of rot and social carnage; Ignorance.

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Zashnain

An avid blogger, twitterer and photojournalist, Zashnain Zainal suffers from an incurable addiction to social work, helping marginalised communities since 1989. Nowadays he travels from the plantations of Malaysia to the slums of Thailand. He can be found at zashnain.com and @bedlamfury

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Technorati: Living, Poem

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