Unruly

The day I swallow doubt,
I feel it in my stomach,
Sitting like a heavy sack
Shifting to the corner of my left hip;
Pulsating.

Infused with guilt,
Stirred with fluid regret
& moulded like hardened clay-
still sitting
On my left hip.
still pulsing,
in alternate rhythm to
my unsettling heartbeat.

I have met some pretty talented and kind people this summer.
:)

Candle

Someone blew the moon away like candles tonight,
& all that's left were smoky clouds that filled the darkened sky.

Even if the words don't fit,
I will find poetry in your silences.

Dispose, expose, display

You reveal my imperfections
Like ripped boxes and torn gift wraps
You cut through every one of my flaws
And showcase my weaknesses to display
To scraps and shredded, the sides and shades of me
You are my passion,
& embody the definition of what circus-
madness and chaos I willingly embrace.

Brick and barricade

What idealisms I have left
Is reflected in the mirror,
Like an illusion-
A tangible surface, but unreachable.
Reality is a brick that has me bruised and barricaded.

Messages

There's a difference between the content of what is said and the mannerism conveyed in messages. Regardless, meanings too often get lost in translation.

And sometimes, you'll be criticized either way.          

I read somewhere that words should only be expressed if it is more beautiful than silence.

But I argue that beauty is subjective. And sometimes, especially in matters concerning honesty, it takes a little bit of ugly truth to reveal a deeper beauty. 

...I think I'm over thinking it again.

In the moment

On my couch, beside the balcony.
While late summer breeze brings early autumn chills against my skin.
Music plays in the background and lingers 

But my mind is silenced into contented sweet, blissful calmness

Inspiration, the creature

As the metals unfastened itself from the tracks, and the carriage drifted me away from the departing station, I couldn't help but conjure the hundreds of train metaphors I'd frequently thought about. Paulo Coelho, my favourite writer, emerged from the corner of my mind. And I was reminded of a scene in his novel, Aleph, where he travelled across the trans-Siberian railway. I thought then, it is no wonder the man found profoundness in transit.

Staring at the colours. Of greens, blue and grey. Of horizons, fields, flowers and the sky, my window seat provided me with a glimpse of what inspiration could possibly look like if it had a physical form. 

...Like snapshots. Glimmering. Waiting to be seized. Inspiration surrounds, but merely anticipates to be hooked and enveloped by the heart which it stirs and connects to. It flutters within sight of the mind frame (similar to the window by my seat), then disappears without being entirely, and fully captured in its perfect and absolute design. 

We are the hand that grasp, and inspiration is the infinite sands-
frequently slipping away from  the lines of the spaces between of our fingers.

What remains in our palm are insufficient.
To be swept into a bag
 Mixed with reflections and our fallibility
To produce pieces of products mirroring our experiences and the hues of our soul.

Perhaps, being inspired seems to be a rare occasion, because its frequent visit could be dehumanizing. 

Intersect

We speed through every yellow traffic lights,
Even though it serves to warn us to slow down.

The same way we chase after moments in our lives,

In full speed,

Even though each memory printed
into sepia photograph

Beckons for sameness to remain

Sojourn

If I were a crimson trumpet vine,
You be the green violetear-

My metallic hummingbird friend I'd adore,
& cherish, perhaps more.

Daintily, I'll giggle while you sing and soar
For what temporary company,
I wither in fall
But you'll promise in spring to visit again

& be my sweet and gentle friend.

Eff.

Fall away
& your past follows you.

Hooks

Lend me your books & hooks
& pieces of papers with your soul
Written and in black ink

I promise to lend you my ears, smile and mind
& maybe a folded corner of my heart-
Just a little of the last, maybe.

Restless

In hopeless search to lose uncertainty,
I walk my mind away
On a path of familiarity
In this moonless night
& dimmed street lights
For a clarity wasted in vain

-written Aug 8th, 2012

Beneath the darkened sky

By time, I will find
Walking in circles under the drifting sun
Searching for sounds, searching for a sign
Passing by places, while faces pass me by

I sit, where I always sat
While the trees dance, my eyes stare
At the stillness and flawless, crease-less canal
How unlike my mind-
I thought,
But I couldn't be too sure,
Now in honesty
I couldn't really tell

I envy the perfection of what surrounds
For even the sun knew certainty
Of its lastingness and life
& of its purpose to drown

But I, the fragile
With the careless mind
Thought often I knew,
That I'd always had it all
Only to find myself tangled up
In inevitable fate-
I fall.

The evening seagulls soars
But my will is left aground
As excuses remained in my chest, unsound
Yet, my feet somehow finds itself

I turned,
Back against the trees, sun, canal, seagull and dark clouds
To make my way back
& find home again.

I witnessed unconditional love.
& all I can say is I am blessed to have amazing parents.

Citronella

I love the smell of citronella candles burning in the summer,
As they will always remind me of our conversations over camp fires
& the way your gaze would turn to meet mine every time I laugh,
As if you'd do anything to capture it-
Sound, smile and all-
Before it slips away...

But I guess  every summer is different.

Familiarity

...is sitting on my bed, with my covers all around me. Past midnight. With my window left somewhat apart. Inhaling cool breeze of late summer, serenaded by the distant tune of crickets....

Silently waiting,
For my mind to clear itself
As my fingers dance on the keyboard.

Awaiting

But even in summer, the nights feel longer
When all I have is a reckless mind,
& a yearning heart-
Hopelessly wishing,
& missing you.

Timeless

On the surface, it will seem like we are always changing
But maybe to the pair of eyes that look deeply enough
Deeper than the root-
Dwelling into the essence and core,
Those eyes will know that we're still the same.

& those eyes observe lovingly.
& perhaps even unconditionally...

Courage is exposed and beautiful things unravel
The moment you accept and overcome your own vulnerability.