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Our Destinations

We walked into the forest,
and talked about how different it was,
compared to the jungle of city lights.

The woods, the path, and song of birds,
are unlike winding jammed up roads.
We move from dwellings to packs we load,
supposedly to find the nature of our own.

We follow the strides of our consistent feet,
with aches we decided was taking a toll.
But since there was no route to begin with,
we discover the quest has an infinite string.

I wish that the compass would point back to home,
but even the maps don’t know which way to go.
We stumble on a clearing, and there we laid,
and think that maybe we’re finally saved.

Travel was no longer the movement we made,
our feet relieved from their daily pain.
But now the hands must continue the work,
for the journey is no longer on the road.

Forward was suddenly moving upward,
and walking turned to piling up stones.
We talked again about how different it was,
compared to the forest, and nature’s choir.

The packs, the compass, and maps we own,
now hang on the hooks of the walls we loan.
Soon the names we make from our branch,
will pick up these tools and kiss us goodbye.

And on that day we’ll talk again,
hold each other’s hands,
as the arrow points to the ground.

Shelter

I wonder why anyone
would ever want to leave,

this encasement for
the fragile system of beats.

The sheets wrap
around the tenuous winds,

a veil that hangs
to hold the smokescreen.

Hush now, and listen,
they are always on the prowl.

They step imperceptibly,
to pounce unannounced.

Soon the pieces
will find their fit.

Until then I pray,
for the hands to let me stay.

 

 

Unkindled

For all I know, you could be waiting for me, to make the first move, and meet you at the scene. To sit, exchange wit, and sip wine in between bouts of laughter. My hand wanders from the fork to your fingers, and put you under the scrutiny of my gaze. I love the way you pull away and cross your arms. And I love the way you surrender them when I ask you to give them back. My skin, my lips, my surplus of things, they await your call at the end of the receiver. But after all this time, you still haven’t said it, and the words I dream, unspoken in my head. Locked away in wild imaginings, my desire, a spark thrown in wet kindlings. Unable to catch fire, the light is but a flash, momentary and swiftly gone. A photograph kept in a box of made up histories, and not for long, it too will be forgotten, along with all the memories of what could have been.


In search of ground

I was there.
And fell again.
A broken floor caved in and I sunk into the dark.
Like a switch that clicked, the light has gone.
That’s how it is when you haven’t hit the bottom,
living every day in anticipation of the fall.
Always in fear of not knowing how deep the next one is going to be,
and how much the impact is going to hurt,
when you fall into nothing more than just another platform.



Lifeless Eyes

Sarah jumps out from a bus and dug her hands into her pockets. A taxi driver palmed the horn as she kept her pace at the pedestrian on a red signal, her tousled hair swayed with the wires of her earphones blasting the latest album of Paramore. She walked around a man who stood on her way to discuss a charity organization, and ran over the hand of a woman taking a selfie on the sidewalk. She turned into an alleyway, tapped her wallet on a black sensor, and pushed a heavy fire door until it slammed on the back wall. Within minutes, she was in and out of the female changing room, now dressed in a corporate uniform with her nameplate fixed on her lapel. As another door closed behind her and the linoleum floors turned into marble, a curve slowly took shape in her lips, and with a gentle voice, she greets a lady on the other end of the reception desk. A few taps on the keyboard and an exchange of credit cards and keycards, the lady thanks her politely then walks away as the next person in the queue comes forward. Sarah’s mouth and hands moved with purpose, but her eyes stared at each person as if they were no different than the figures on the screen. It was the same eyes that looked passed the people on the street. Eyes that pointed on the floor. Eyes that once frequent the night sky to see the stars.

Loud thoughts

What are we without the noises?
Without the wailing of a baby?
Without the panting of a runner?
What are we without the incessant chatter?
Just silence and emptiness
And maybe patience and independence
We wait for someone to make a sound
Someone to smile and say hello
And then the world becomes loud again
We run away from each other to find silence
And in that silence, we find that all we need is each other
So we shuffle from busy offices to solemn places of worship
From blaring streets to calm lakesides
From a raucous market to a warm bed
In stillness we find self-awareness
And in noises we find expression

Wasteland

Miles of bare emptiness expands beyond the eye
The desolation of a desert is not a land of nothingness
It is a rich field of uncondensed body of knowledge
Unhampered, untamed, uncontrolled by the biases

No kings or alphas running the pack
No boundaries keeping our unsullied inhibitions
Here beauty runs its own bewildering course
Here freedom reigns equal and infinite

Limits are conceived from a space contained
A box that is drawn with lines sketched with lies
Idealism is a single idea made rich
While a universe awaits the mind unchained

Step into the soil of limitless grounds
With arrows pointing in aimless directions
Capture the force of unlimited possibilities
Run towards the sky, swim into the earth

Downfall is only the regulation of gravity
Erase the laws and acquit the liabilities
Obligation is the nuisance of our immunity
Our summary is the handicap of the unabridged whole

Let us be susceptible to significant differences
Let our variances confuse our singular definitions
Equality is born in the middle of contrast
If you don’t have all sides, you will never have a centre

Break free to the assumption of the great unknown
Realise the probability of the world indeterminate
The wilderness is not a barren acre of void
But a vacancy unchartered, indefinite to the ascertained