Posted in Current Affairs, Film, Literature, Nature, Philosophy, Poetry, Relationships, Religion, Social Commentary, Society, tagged after, aged, air, all, ask, battle, befriend, begin, believing, bigness, boredom, calm, cares, carry, come, companion, company, content, country, courage, darkness, days, decision, discover, dreams, dwelling, each, easy, enduring, episodes, evening, everyday, existence, familiar, farewell, farm, folks, forgotten, fowls, friends, gathering, get, good, grind, hope, horizon, hug, irrelevance, joy, lack, learn, life, little, long time, lost, many, matter, mediocrity, milestones, monotony, moon, morning, night time, nothing, orbs, own, peace, perhaps, pillows, places, poem, poetry, prayer, retirement, ripples, rise, rough, school, sea, season, shelter, silence, simple, sisters, sky, small, somebody, someone, someone leaving, something, soul, spaces, spend, stars light, stay, stop, suns, talks, task, things, thinking, thoughts, times, up, usual, wage, warmth old, weather, well, well wishes, whisper, whole, wind, within, witness, wrong, young on July 12, 2013|
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We have to spend our whole life getting up
each morning and see the many suns
rising courageous from the horizon.
A simple life- who knows when to retire
at night time and hug long-time companions
called pillows and dreaming dreams.
There are episodes here, which send ripples
into our seemingly monotonous existence
everyday. And we have to wage battles
with boredom and her sisters- called mediocrity
and irrelevance. But not all were lost.
Somebody needs to learn how to befriend them.
Some may think that something was lacking,
but perhaps in the company of silence we find
orbs of thoughts in the usual grind of days
like the fowls of the air having simple cares.
Season after season. Day after day. Aged
but content to the simple things that matter.
The small country talks over the weather
and life in the farm begins with asking folks
how the young are doing these days at school.
The familiar warmth of seeing old friends at a gathering.
The joy of witnessing someone else’s milestones.
The farewells and well wishes when someone
is leaving our own little places to discover
the bigness of things. There goes a little prayer
and a hope that nothing is wrong when one decides
to stay and carry on doing their tasks each day.
We might spend our whole life thinking it’s good after all,
though it has never been easy and there are rough times.
But it will never stop us believing that peace within
is the only dwelling place, our enduring shelter
when the day comes that we will never be able
to witness the sun and it has forgotten to rise.
In the darkness, we hope our soul in its own little spaces
can see the moon and stars light up the evening sky.
While the wind whispers- all is well, we’ll be calm as the sea.
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Posted in Books, Current Affairs, Literature, Memoirs, Music, Philosophy, Poetry, Relationships, Religion, Science, Society, Uncategorized, tagged after-taste, around, augur, awake, back, bed, bitter, blade, bleed, blue, body, bohemian, bone, bounce, can, change, chase, children, clock, come, crackle, day, disc, dishes, down, drab, dreams, echo, eerie, fan, feeling, float, flow, forth, garbage, glass, grey, hand, head, heavy, hour, insomnia, insomniac, keep, lay, lazy, light, linger, litter, man, mind, minute, monotony, muffle, myriad, nothing, nudge, over, pane, pile, poem, poetry, scream, screen. etch, see, shadow, sharp, shuffle, sight, sink, sleep, slow, soil, someone, sound, speak, speed, stand, strange, symphony, tattoo, tempt, tire, turn, vacuum, vague, vibration, vision, voice, wait, wall, weird, whine, whisper, white-wash, wind, window, yellow on October 22, 2011|
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This man’s bohemian
and the weird symphonies-
the whining of fan blades;
the sharp screams of children
vibrating on the window pane;
and the crackling sound of
my bones tired of standing up,
shuffling back and forth
turning to see the bed
tempting me to lay down,
get lazy and do nothing.
And the sight of garbage can
nudging me about the litter
which keeps on piling up
and the sink flowing over
of soiled dishes. The hour
and the minute hand,
my body clock’s monotony
winding around the disc.
I wait and wait
when the light changes
from blue to augur yellow.
My head’s been heavy
and sleep won’t come.
It feels strange. Someone
speaks in a muffled voice
and you float being chased
around in dreams. Awake,
its bitter after-taste linger,
through the drab grey day.
The eerie whisper of shadows
on the white-washed wall
bouncing like myriad echoes
slower than the speed of sound.
And I can see vague visions-
on this mind’s glass screen
etching tattoos bleeds
the insomniac in me.
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Posted in Art Scene, Current Affairs, Literature, Memoirs, Philosophy, Poetry, Relationships, Science, tagged again, appear, awakening, battle, bedside, cling, constant, cut, day, deep sleep, dream, end, everything, eyes, fear, found, fragment, glass, how, I, inkling, insanity, invisible, losing, madness, missing, naked, nothing, once, open, own, pair, phantom, poem, poetry, ready, real, regret, scissors, shatter, suffering, thread, tonight, touch, truth, unreal, when, you on August 22, 2010|
14 Comments »
You had no inkling
how it is to suffer.
I had a pair of scissors
by my bedside. Ready
to cut the thread of a dream
clinging to me like madness.
I regret the insanity
of my deep sleep.
When everything
appears to be real.
But unreal- once
I awakened.
That day when I open
my eyes to the naked
truth I found missing.
I am nothing. Invisible
to your touch, fragmenting
like a shattered glass.
I am on my own again.
And the constant fear
of losing you. The battle
will end here
tonight.
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Posted in Art Scene, Film, Literature, Philosophy, Poetry, Politics, Social Commentary, Society, tagged accolade, act, art, art nouveau, attempt, back, blabber, blank, bloat, body, bourgeoisie, buck, cage, canvas, cheap, commentary, critic, culture, cultured, delight, desperate, despise, digest, drain, empty, envelope, exhibit, exploit, eyes, fake, fall, few, flesh, flock, frame, hall, hide, hours, how, hundred, light, magazine, magnum opus, meaning, mock, mouth, museum, mute, mystery, night, none, nothing, nude, oeuvre, One, over, page, painter, patronage, penniless, platitude, poem, poetry, pose, praise, prey, prison, recline, reveal, rip, scene, show, shudder, slut, space, stare, still, subject, thought, unlock, waste, whims, witness, work, worth on June 17, 2010|
30 Comments »
These wasteful hours
in the museum hall
exhibiting the exploits,
critics alike
are flocking over,
in desperate attempt
unlocking
digesting
the meaning of a mystery
to which is none.
Blabber-mouthing platitudes
and bloated praises.
The body of work.
You will see how
this culture of patronage
drains the penniless,
being subjects
fallen prey-
caged
framed
to a prisoned canvas
of posing nude.
In a night enveloped
by a faked light.
Revealing,
showing
some fleshly delight
while acting out
a cheap scene ripped
from the page
of a slut magazine.
An art nouveau.
A magnum opus
on which they praise
the painter,
and not the one
whose eyes
are staring back
from the canvas
like a muted witness-
mocking,
despising
the cultured whims
of the bourgeoisie.
They call it art.
And you shudder
at a thought, when
you know it is
a meaningless,
empty accolade.
Worth a few
hundred bucks
reclining,
staring
blankly to a space-
being still
and have nothing
to hide.
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Posted in Literature, Nature, Philosophy, Poetry, Religion, Society, tagged age, arms, bare, bark, bask, begin, bow, canopy, change, children, clouds, core, crown, days, death, destiny, down, drain, drill, drop, dying, ears, earth, emperor, encroach, father, fire, frigid, full, fungi, gape, glory, ground, head, heaven, holes, hover, hymns, icicle, isolated, land, landlock, lead, life, lifeblood, lifeless, limbs, little, living, locust, night, nobody, nothing, old driftwood, One, pamper, parasite, poem, poetry, prey, quatrain, rot, salute, sap, season, seedling, serenade, shelter, son, strength, sturdy, swarm, tall, tend, territory, thorns, tine, tree, uproot, vulture, wane, water, weed, wind, woodcutter, worship, you on April 7, 2010|
4 Comments »
You have stood tall-
emperor of the land.
Full of life. Your arms
canopied seedlings.
Your limbs sturdy
nobody can uproot.
They worshipped
a father -like a son.
Head salutes
to heavens, serenading
earthly hymns
among the clouds.
The core of the earth
by your strength you drilled.
Sapping ground
of the living water.
And seedlings you tended,
basking in your glory.
Swarming like children,
sheltered and pampered.
The days went by
and so, the nights.
The seedlings became
like little parasites.
Draining strength
after strength
Lifeblood wanes
to season’s change.
Weeds encroaching
your landlocked territory.
Locusts hovers
the prey to the winds.
Of fungi ears
and holes gaping,
when time begins
the bark is rotting.
To destiny
of one lifeless tree,
isolated and bare.
Emperor bowed down.
Now, your crown
of thorns and vultures.
The death dropping
of frigid icicles.
Ages will come,
all lead to nothing
but old driftwood
to a woodcutter’s fire.
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Posted in Current Affairs, Literature, Poetry, Society, Travel, tagged anxious, back, became, behind, believe, bleak, blue, book, bump, churns, cloud, color, counterclockwise, creature, days, denial, down, dream, earnest, entangle, far, farce, fast, filter, flip, flutter, fly, frontier, gone, gossamer, hands, happened, heady, hindsight, home, hum, I, imagination, journey, left, life, loop, lull, maze, me, memory, mid-air, migratory, monotony, much, nostril, nothing, old, One, pace, past, poem, poetry, reality, really, remember, rhythms, roof, runway, rust, sea, silk, sleep, slip, smog, something, soon, steel, suddenly, survival, thread, time, today, touch, touchdown, traffic, transient, wake, walk, watch, way, while, years, yesterday on January 31, 2010|
2 Comments »
Mid-air in my waking dream
are clouds and clouds away.
Like migratory creatures
homing their way into
transient frontiers.
Lulled by the rhythms
of the humming steel.
It churns anxiously, and
earnestly of home.
While the hands of time
back paces into
a counterclockwise.
The book of days
Suddenly flipped
to a journey of old memories.
Of some silky threads
of years slipped through
in a hindsight. As if
I didn’t left yesterday.
Then, something in me
fluttered like a fly.
Or is it really?
Touching down
this imagination to a farce.
As I watch the blue sea
became the bleakest
monotony of rust-colored roofs.
And the bumpy runway
made me remember
of the past. That is much more likely-
today. When nothing ever happened
to the ones I left behind- yesterday.
The gossamer of traffic.
Life entangled mazes
survival in the loop.
Sleep walking and heady
as the smog filtered
in my nostrils.
A reality I denied to believe.
Have I gone too far?
Too fast. Too soon.
As if I didn’t left?
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Posted in Art Scene, Current Affairs, Music, Prose, Society, tagged ability, advertisement, age, amount, art, artist, authenticity, background, beautiful, breed, bucket, bus, by-product, cab, challenge, chance, cheap, Chess, choir, circumstances, class, commercialization, concert, consequence, creative, decode, determination, doubt, dream, eagerness, egotistical, eligible, endless, energy, enjoyment, entertainment, environment, everyday, everyone, excited, experience, explore, expression, few, figure, fingers, fresh, friends, fulfillment, future, genuine, germination, gift, goals, good, grand, hall, hand, hum, idea, inception, individual, influence, inspiration, keyboardist, keys, kindness, leisure, length, Les Miserables, life, lifelong, lifestyle, light, limitation, lingering, list, map, matter, melody, merit, mind, movement, Music, musical, musicality, musician, musicology, need, new, noise, norm, nothing, notion, occasion, opera, opinion, orchestra, origin, originality, output, overture, paradigm, past, pen, perceptiveness, person, personal, Phantom of the Opera, piano, place, plan, play, positive, possibilities, prelude, profit, promise, public, reality, recital, rhythm, right, sake, satisfaction, scene, schedules, selected, senses, shift, situation, song, spend, spotlight, standard, street, study, sublime, success, surprise, symphony, talent, thing, thoughts, time, trend, true, truthfulness, visual, vocal, way, weave, witness, work, writing, years on May 8, 2009|
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I have always wanted to learn how to play the piano. It is one of the things in my bucket list that I am compelled to do, fulfilling the goals I have set several years ago, but so elusive that I never found the proper time and place to learn it. Even if I tried planning to pursue a piano class, it was set aside due to my regular work schedules. A couple of musician and keyboardist friends tried to convince me to study piano and even told me that they can pitch in to teach me, but I was left waiting and wondering when will be the time they had the energy to do so.
It is a good thing that out of their kindness, they promised. But that is enough already, and it has led me to nothing. I have progressed to nothing when it comes to learning piano. And for now, the eagerness and my determination to learn how to play the piano grew stronger and stronger everyday. I am so excited imagining how many piano pieces I could be able to play, leisurely at ease. Of symphonies, orchestra pieces, musical pieces, overtures, preludes and many more waiting there for me to explore. A daunting challenge for me to know musicology. I am not contented of merely being purely vocal. I have an inner need to express more my musicality even further, realizing the inner melodies I have kept humming throughout all these years.
Some maybe surprised to know that I have the ability to compose songs of my own, while riding a cab or a bus. I am getting inspirations straight from the vibratory rhythms of the car wheels and infusion of surrounding background noises from the street. The melodies are still fresh on my mind, even if it was long, long time ago, since its very inception. A germination of the musical idea derived through the exploration of our senses.
They say, when a song has been born out from you through your everyday experiences and you still remember them, they are meant to be revealed, creatively shared and exposed for public enjoyment. Artists had their unique lifestyle – a life of producing and honing their art for expression. They have also a need for expressing their sublime thoughts, may it be in the form of music, visual art or creative writing.
I don’t believe, when somebody says that a person has a gift for so and so. In my personal opinion, art can be learned. Talents can be nurtured gradually through the influences in the environment, or an individual’s ingrained perceptiveness to their environment and a by-product, or a consequence of an individual’s current life situations, circumstances and past influences.
I also don’t believe in the notion that one has to spend a considerable amount of time in actually learning an art. Although it might have some merits. The length of time is not a measure how one can evolve eligibly to be called an artist. Everyone, no matter what their ages may be, have the chance to become artists of their own right, for as long as they have the determination to decode their abilities to express themselves through art. There is no doubt that they will eventually succeed.
Artists are governed by the inner satisfaction they get while genuinely expressing their thoughts through their art. Artists are governed by the truthfulness of their artistic expression sans the dictates of the prevailing trends, norm or standards. Having said that, most of the celebrated pseudo-artists are merely egotistically bloated and widely publicized musical figures, just for the sake of personal advertisement and cheap breed of entertainment for profit.
True artists of our time are the ones who are hiding away from the spotlight and have chosen to disassociate themselves from the commercialization of the art. True artists, therefore, are the ones who are sticking their hands to the originality and authenticity of their artistic output. In one way or the other, they might find themselves in the future, being hailed as originators of a new art movement, a paradigm shift to the art scene.
So, don’t be surprised. I actually mapped it out, this time. I have listed down the things that I will do when I have learned how to play the piano. Possibilities are endless. I might have a new song for the choir to sing. I might have a new song that I can play when celebrating an occasion, and the need for some light music arises. I might have a recital to be witnessed in a concert hall by a selected few. The grandest of these plans, might be penning an opera or a musical play to the likes of Les Miserables, Phantom of the Opera, Chess etc.
These lingering thoughts, get me so excited as I imagine my fingers traversing piano keys and weaving some beautiful melodies. It is a fulfillment that I think, would go beyond compare and can possibly exceed my limitations. It is a lifelong dream, bordering reality. Soon, and positively achievable.
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Our Own Little Places
Posted in Current Affairs, Film, Literature, Nature, Philosophy, Poetry, Relationships, Religion, Social Commentary, Society, tagged after, aged, air, all, ask, battle, befriend, begin, believing, bigness, boredom, calm, cares, carry, come, companion, company, content, country, courage, darkness, days, decision, discover, dreams, dwelling, each, easy, enduring, episodes, evening, everyday, existence, familiar, farewell, farm, folks, forgotten, fowls, friends, gathering, get, good, grind, hope, horizon, hug, irrelevance, joy, lack, learn, life, little, long time, lost, many, matter, mediocrity, milestones, monotony, moon, morning, night time, nothing, orbs, own, peace, perhaps, pillows, places, poem, poetry, prayer, retirement, ripples, rise, rough, school, sea, season, shelter, silence, simple, sisters, sky, small, somebody, someone, someone leaving, something, soul, spaces, spend, stars light, stay, stop, suns, talks, task, things, thinking, thoughts, times, up, usual, wage, warmth old, weather, well, well wishes, whisper, whole, wind, within, witness, wrong, young on July 12, 2013| 2 Comments »
We have to spend our whole life getting up
each morning and see the many suns
rising courageous from the horizon.
A simple life- who knows when to retire
at night time and hug long-time companions
called pillows and dreaming dreams.
There are episodes here, which send ripples
into our seemingly monotonous existence
everyday. And we have to wage battles
with boredom and her sisters- called mediocrity
and irrelevance. But not all were lost.
Somebody needs to learn how to befriend them.
Some may think that something was lacking,
but perhaps in the company of silence we find
orbs of thoughts in the usual grind of days
like the fowls of the air having simple cares.
Season after season. Day after day. Aged
but content to the simple things that matter.
The small country talks over the weather
and life in the farm begins with asking folks
how the young are doing these days at school.
The familiar warmth of seeing old friends at a gathering.
The joy of witnessing someone else’s milestones.
The farewells and well wishes when someone
is leaving our own little places to discover
the bigness of things. There goes a little prayer
and a hope that nothing is wrong when one decides
to stay and carry on doing their tasks each day.
We might spend our whole life thinking it’s good after all,
though it has never been easy and there are rough times.
But it will never stop us believing that peace within
is the only dwelling place, our enduring shelter
when the day comes that we will never be able
to witness the sun and it has forgotten to rise.
In the darkness, we hope our soul in its own little spaces
can see the moon and stars light up the evening sky.
While the wind whispers- all is well, we’ll be calm as the sea.
Read Full Post »