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Posts Tagged ‘you’

Sometimes,  I catch myself

wondering about you

on some moonless evenings

or misty mornings, drifting-

where have your pages brought you

on some ride in the wind

or tail of a comet’s end.

 

Somewhere

hidden beneath the shadow of stars

thinking

 

who’s reading you now.

Whose hands walk

the landscape of your soul.

A borrowed moment

inhaling your scent

and leaving fine, little circles

of fingerprints

much softer than mine.

 

Sorry if

I left you-

 

like letters I burn in the fireplace

while watching the ashes float in winter air

and fall sadly to the pavement. Like rain

 

remembering the sweet hours.

The blur images of innocence

and immortality you believed

then, but honestly, I realize how beautiful

it was

 

and I kept you

for awhile but good things never last.

I wonder

 

who’s reading you now,

whose mind can fathom

the deeper meaning of you.

Whose hands were

much cleaner than mine.

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What started out as an occasional tryst

with printed words began an insatiable desire

to eavesdrop some imaginary lives on pages.

 

There must be a fine line between the reader

and the writer as to dreams is to eloquence

of the pen. Drifting to lucid spaces, shelf upon shelf

I began to shuffle it between my fingers. Skim-read

passages and clues  I wonder-

where to find you.

 

A character much ideal in my mind.

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Verges means being pushed to the edge.

Like you are being confronted at a knife point

and you just can’t turn around but to dive

into that abyss while you don’t know how deep it was.

You always say that you can’t let them ruin you

but it’s a plain lie you wish that all is perfect.

 

If only you can cut the wire and kiss the voltage.

If only you can let the rope grip around the neck.

If only you can break the mirror and embrace danger.

Would it change a thing? Ah but no, you just go on

struggling with your inner demons and chase them

wielding that sword to cut-off somebody else’s head.

 

For you, everyday is a waging battle of wits and reason.

Perfection is costly. Holiness is fatal. Which one are you?

Nobody is born a saint and you won’t believe it too?

Do you suppose to expect the world will applaud a hero?

You raised the bar too high and it left you there isolated

basking in your self-proclaimed brand of narcissism.

 

Tell me now then, how it hurts to held onto the razor’s edge.

Or screaming mad in silence when you temporarily got insane.

Does it worth to feed people’s expectations and drag your feet

into that unending precipice while you can’t discern the apex?

Excuse my French, but I think you need to stop this disillusion.

Take a turn towards the direction where your heart leads you.

 

You might be a simple man- confident and unpretentious. Free.

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It’s like a white plate.

Soiled and you try to wash it afloat

with suds of soap and rinse repeatedly

at the sink.  Letting it dry and wait

until the film of water subsides down

into its gleamy surface. You try to contain

the glister.  The immaculateness of being 

unbroken, unsplintered.  Fragile.

 

It’s like a white paper.

Someone will throw dots and smears.

Smudges  and graphite dusts messed up

into your  page and jag the lines into visual noise.

But then, an eraser is a confident friend,

swiping them all.  Albeit,  the indentation

marks a heavy trace on the heart. Not quite

visible at the distance, I know.

 

You didn’t notice how I try to write the lines.

Ambiguous as it seems, indirect in its approach.

You think flaws are the darkness of the soul, but wait-

it isn’t that way you know, though. For in it you hope.

You dream.  You strive to become the light.

You seek to define the completeness of your whole,

unwavering  and uncompromised to the mold-

the dictates of the common.

 

No matter how broken it may get, the mosaic

of the plate is still a creation on a canvas.

No matter how crumpled the paper was,

someone will see it as a great work of art.

You try to accept the way you live your reality,

where living doesn’t stop there, it’s in how

you would be able to discover something new.

A difference you can call your own.

 

It’s like a white space.

When the horizon of doubt blurs

the line that separate you from immortality.

And all you see is your own lightness

that no shadow would keep you

stalled towards your destiny.

There,  you would know that peace

is the only way to move on.

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We walk along the beach to see

the happy couples like us staring at the ocean.

And see how the waves come and go

subduing our blues, buried under the sand.

Did we become a tourist of our own,

devoid of pleasure on being together?

We walk like solitary man and woman

glancing sideways, avoiding leisure

as if children were lost running both ways

chasing happiness out of sight. Dreaming

of lost balloons. Of lost kites. Of empty boats

bobbing, floating and drifting away.

We smile blankly and falsely wonder

about the beach umbrella blown in the wind

and the white surf racing past each other

to reach you. And me, while I am trying

to mute down my gaze towards a space

where shadows of people begins to fade

under the sheltering weight of the high noon.

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It’s a rope that won’t go, tugging left, tugging right.

Strength upon strength, the hands bleed pulling in

never giving up. While the feet keep raking deeper

and deeper. Planting and churning the ground,

taking a hold for something. Priceless.

But what? A rope or for missing the line?

You said you got the numbers, the monopoly of muscles

careening into the free struggle, a high tide.

Your fate hangs by a thread slicing your morrow,

all by winning the plum, a brotherhood of man.

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Here, in the box are things that you left me.

It’s been years I kept them hidden under

my bed. Should I throw it away? A burden

 

that I should burn it aflame with the world

like this tongue of hatred growing each day.

Oh sadness, it lingers through days like rain.

 

I have learned to befriend loneliness. I am

a castaway and a stranger to my own skin.

Chained to asking myself of what, why or how-

 

I build myself a wall of defense in silence

shielding me from these ghosts of abandon

and fear. Believing I have moved on but no.

 

I ran away as fast as I could in circles

until the soles of my feet bleed in despair.

I hated you and I should tell you that, now.

 

The blue light to my cigarette starts another

round of stinging away this loneliness

floating in loops through the night’s surreal air.

 

The beads begin forming in my mugs of beer

unknowingly- which of those are my sweat or tears-

blurred in the sad memory that you left me.

 

Remind me of things in that box of dreams,

by the time I know it, smashed to the floor

again. Made me satisfied to learn emptiness.

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