=] Special Shout Out

Happy Birthday to my beautiful mama :)

Oh, and to Rocky too..

Haiku

 Sing the song of spring

Sighs pink petal blossoms blooms,

The wind whistles too.

Environmentally friendly

Repaint, cut & reuse

Like recycling.
Old thoughts, just renewed and rephrased
With a different meaning.

This is to the ten year old in me.

Leaving behind is the only way to move ahead in life. Change is a constant. It is only by saying goodbye to material things that we become more appreciative to simple things like memories. Overcoming the unknown is a risk, but experience is true knowledge in this silly pickle of a thing called life.

Sometimes, sacrifices have to be made. Whatever defines as better, you may not know immediately, because the good often emerge with time, determination and perseverance. Maybe nobody really knows what you have to give up, and how much that really means to you. Because on the surface you manage to pretend. Pretending as a way of survival, it makes you seem optimistic, even though you struggle your way through the change.  But be hopeful, stay positive, and remember that you are never alone. Dear ten year old in me, remember that fate is written in His hands. Find love, and cherish it. Hold strong and believe in Him. Everything is willed to happen with reasons you are incapable of understanding. It's okay to feel tiny and overwhelmed, because you're only human.

I hope you remember it's okay to feel ten sometimes, even after the age of twenty.

Battle of the Organs

I have my prejudices and bias. But silly how empty words inked I read, can soften my heart. Even sillier how my mind beckons to rid my prejudices, but my heart says otherwise. So my heart is confused, it seems. But my mind is starting to sound like a justifying opportunist.

Masquerade

In ivory masks, some painted gold
Victorian dresses that flatter like-
The feather that tremble in their hairs
While the candle-lit chandeliers hang above them,
Like swans they gracefully danced

What grandeur maroon curtains unveil
On dusty wooden floors
That screeched at every poised step, tapped-
By the pointed heels of their petite toes
Swirling elegant dresses and dainty gloved hands
In a chic frenzy of synchrony string from the subtle violoncello

& sits a boy in khaki & socks up to his knee,
Smudged skin with dirt hidden by black mask
With a tall hat tipped with shillings, clasped-
Between his fingertips
Like the King of Spades in a Venetian Carnival

La pluie du printemps

Rien n'est plus parfait
Que regarder des gouttes de la pluie

Ils tombent sur l'écran
Comme le ciel est vraiment triste

Mais moi, qui assis en silence,
Mon coeur joyeux, il sourit
Le printemps est là, il dit
Même si la tristesse du ciel la rend
Un plus heureux coeur de la fille