Posted in Current Affairs, Literature, Poetry, Relationships, Society, tagged casualty, feelings, love, martyrdom, poem, poetry, soldier, surrender on August 24, 2015| Leave a Comment »
Tell me how I should not,
cross paths with years-
I avoided to wage wars
with you.
History lays the casualties.
I hungered for more but
you left me with nothing.
Instead, ransacked my feelings
used to crowd with many.
We exchange fires,
empty bullet shells.
Words wound like shrapnel
of the beginning to an end.
Courage sometimes do not reward
the martyrdom of a soldier.
Nor losing the only option
to breath beyond
the unforgiving
and survive.
Disarmed,
undecided
to surrender
love.
Posted in Art Scene, Books, Current Affairs, Literature, Memoirs, Nature, Poetry, Relationships, Society, tagged afterglow, angels, away, before, break, cling, clouds, dawn, earth, evening, extinguish, flame, hours, intimate, long, love, marks, minutes, moments, moon, night, parch, pass, pellet, poem, poetry, presence, promises, pulsate, radiate, rain, rinse, sea, shepherd, silence, softness, storm, surrender, sweet, talk, tenderness, transience, warmth, whispers, words, youth on February 22, 2013| Leave a Comment »
The storm had passed
and left pellet marks of rain
to my parched earth. An afterglow
radiating and pulsating
with warmth of whispers
and silent promises
about the sea of softness
under the night clouds.
Like the shepherd moon
it clings in the presence of moments,
of minutes and hours, sweet
love talk by the angels of youth.
Words, words I have to rinse away
thereafter- extinguish this flame.
Long before the dawn breaks
the transience of tenderness.
My intimate surrender.
Posted in Art Scene, Current Affairs, Literature, Memoirs, Nature, Poetry, Relationships, Sports/ Leisure, Technology, Travel, tagged art, asphalt, body, broken, burn, carefree, chase, coming, cradle, create, criss-cross, direction, fade, freedom, going, hard, heat, hug, indelible, infinite, kind, leaving, life, line, loop, machine, marks, master, poem, poetry, press, raw, rugged, savage, shift, skid, sky, soul, speed, steel, suffocate, surrender, tattoo, togetherness, traces, tyre on February 22, 2012| 2 Comments »
Not a soul passes by but me
cradled on this steel machine
hugging the asphalt hard
chase the broken lines
fading into the infinite sky.
I see the tyre burning marks
like tattoos criss-crossing,
shifts of directions of going
and coming into your life.
A rugged kind of art
you have mastered
with speed. I surrender
to freedom, leaving
traces indelibly
creating loops-
togetherness
under heat
pressed
suffocated
in our bodies.
Raw, savagely
carefree.
Posted in Current Affairs, Literature, Memoirs, Philosophy, Poetry, Relationships, Religion, Society, Sports/ Leisure, Technology, Travel, tagged again, air, allow, away, bad, begin, bend, brake, break, bring, burn, calm, change, chase, circle, clods, command, continue, cul-de-sac, direction, distance, down, driver, earth, else, first, form, give, good, grass, grip, grow, hands, horizon, indecision, intersection, keep, leave, life, loosen, lord, man, mound, move, myself, palm, passenger, path, perspiration, poem, poetry, reflex, right, road, rock, seat, slow, someone, speed, surrender, think, throne, time, trust, try, turn, twist, tyre, watch, weed, wheel, wrong, yield on January 15, 2012| 6 Comments »
My hands perspire from the grip
I need to loosen up. Bringing in the air
to these burning palms laid down from commanding-
life directions in the intersection of good and bad.
The right from wrong. I twist and turn in indecision.
Bending and yielding. Speeding up and slowing down.
I try to break down the clods of earth
from forming into mounds of rock.
I try to make a path through the grass
and keep the weeds from growing.
I try to calm down my reflexes and think
that the tyres won’t leave the road
and it’ll continue chasing the horizon
until that cul-de-sac to begin again
turning in circles. I gave up the throne,
to allow the changing of hands
of the driver seat into that passenger,
I surrender for the first time. Watching
someone else’s lording over the brakes
and keep moving the distances away.
Away from myself. Trusting.
Posted in Art Scene, Books, Current Affairs, Film, Literature, Memoirs, Philosophy, Poetry, Relationships, Society, Technology, tagged asleep, bath, beautiful, beauty, bee, belong, blank, bleed, blood, blue, cold, come, crumple, cut, death, desire, door, dream, drop, else, empty, endure, envelopes, expression, field, fingerprint, flight, flower, foreseen, fountain, frost, hand, handwriting, heart, hit, hours, imagination, ink, innocence, jealousy, knife, knock, know, lady, leave, letters, life, light, line, love, lucky, mailbox, man, memory, morning, motionless, neighborhood, night, oblivion, One, open, outsider, page, paper, pen, pigeon, poem, poetry, postman, probe, read, refusal, sanity, scar, scent, sentences, shadow, sheet, someone, stare, still, struggle, surrender, today, trashbin, undelivered, understanding, unhealed, victim, window, world, wound, written on July 16, 2011| 20 Comments »
He stares at the frosted window,
dreaming of pigeons in flight.
Probing shadows in his oblivion
while the neighborhood is asleep
on this night bathed in blue light.
His heart refuses to surrender
to someone else’s handwriting.
He’s an outsider, perhaps a victim.
No one knows how he spent hours
imagining a beautiful world.
Unable to express, struggling
for a line to be understood.
An empty love bleeding sentences
that can never be written.
Such beauty, a flower in the field
belonging to some lucky bee.
Jealousy hits his innocence
like a knife to a man’s desiring,
leaving his wounds unhealed.
For the lady who reads letters
from some scented envelopes.
There is blood in the trash bin
and it does belong to him.
Among the crumpled sheets,
the fingerprints and drops of ink-
a memory of his scarred sanity.
How he endured the paper cuts;
this man’s life in blank pages.
The postman didn’t come today
and the letters were undelivered.
No one has foreseen death’s coming-
such as his knocking on doors
and opening of mailboxes, each morning.
They found a fountain pen in his hand,
motionless and still- in cold blood.
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Thirteen Reasons Why by Jay Asher
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White Flag
Posted in Current Affairs, Essay, Literature, Memoirs, Prose, Relationships, Society, tagged ambition, childhood, commentary, doctor, dream, Essay, father, flag, memoir, memor, Prose, son, surrender, white on September 22, 2006| 1 Comment »
It started during the last year of my high school, when father has decided that I would be going home to our province with my mother. He had decided that I will be studying there, for the reason that he cannot afford to sustain me through college if I will be bent on pursuing medicine. Besides, my brother and sister will be forced to stop their schooling just to give way for me.
You must know how my world crashed like a domino at that time. It has been my life-long dream to pursue medicine since I was a kid. I have prepared for this for such a long time. And I am in utter disbelief that even if I had to avail a scholarship, my father imperiously zeroed all my options. I was so distraught. I am in complete shambles.
Before, I have made myself to believe that becoming a doctor is so near to becoming a reality. That no amount of circumstances and obstacles can stop me from making it happen. But no, I never had the chance. If only if father is a little braver to let me pursue it. But father didn’t take his chance on me, and I think he didn’t gamble enough for my destiny. Because of this, the cycle of blame is cast.
I would always blame him for my depression. For this shrinking self-esteem. For this sickening moral degeneration. For this career stagnation. Whatever case of bad luck that had befallen on me, the blame would surely go to him. And a zillion of regrets would suddenly shoot up like splayed bullets on my head.
After all these years, I have tried to abide all his rules. Like a sheep. Who cannot shout in retaliation. Who cannot raise a fist in objection. Instead, I internalize this as something of a sacrifice and a demonstration of unselfishness. An understanding of our family’s situation and circumstances of poverty.
I have endured the pain of not pursuing medicine. And I have come to many battles I have continuously pitted silently against father. For controlling my life as if he is a demi-God. I have used the weapon of silence to kill my compassion and concern towards him. I have build a fortress of reclusivity around me to shield me from further hurt. And I have created a moat of indifference to keep him away from manipulating me.
I don’t want this feeling. But what can I do? (pause) For now I should stop pointing fingers to him. I don’t want to wallow in this pain forever.
Maybe he had some valid reasons for not letting me pursue my passion of becoming a doctor. Maybe I don’t know how hard he lived during his adulthood. Maybe he too, is learning the way and I cannot expect him to know the future. Maybe it is much harder than mine, how in his married life, did he manage to feed us and make us to live decent. Besides, no one said it would be easy to be a father anyway. After all, he have tried his best to give us what he can truly afford. Oh, how limited is my grasp on his circumstances. Father must have been overridden too by fear because of poverty. His fear of not being able to cope from pressures of keeping us through college. Can I blame him all that much? I need to accept that in this lifetime, battles will have to be fought hard. And the ultimate surrender is not yet called for.
I guess, I need to move on. I have felt that I am so immature, now that I have breezed through Architecture and made a good outcome out of it. I should be thanking father enough that even though I didn’t like my course of study, I was able to survive it somehow. Thankful of the way things have turned out to be. For that, I will be raising another white flag as a sign of my complete surrender. And I am crying my hearts out.
Father is growing old, and is about to retire. Father must have silently ask forgiveness for this lapse in judgement. I know, he must have accorded to me his pride and joy when I triumph after all, though not in words. His life is no different with mine.
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