Monday, February 16, 2009

The Birth

The cry of a birth
of a joy, of a pride
joins now on earth
In the stroll, in the stride

O why, dear child, that you do ask
To take upon you, such big a task
to water the rivers, to bathe the seas
When the birds and the bees, their families cease

Welcome Joy, nevertheless
Hoping for you, it'll be painless
We're out of silver to line the clouds
and Rainbow's treasures, are deep in doubts

Through The Looking Glass

I beg of you, speak not a word
the less is said, the less is hurt
be still, be silent
and breathe with me, this savored moment

In frozen stance, you cringe watching
and through the glass, you strain looking
A sight, a vision, or is it a reflection
Afraid are you not, of this confusion?

Reach you not, for only in despair
and not for a moment, should you shed a tear
For all in all, still firm I'm here
only to you, not any nearer

I search hard for the cold sacred heart
and I seek deep, as it falls apart

The Ticking of the Moments

The ticking of the moments,
once gone unnoticed
Now pierces mercilessly,
bringing deafening silence
the loss I wished kept hidden
the hushed thoughts of my despair.

I fear I have lost what was not mine to begin with
Yet was so that it seemed within my embrace.
Again, I had stepped into the forbidden land
I saw was enticing.

I savored those moments,
and I breathed in each lent glory
But as fate may have it
my cover comes away
And become I a trespasser caught in a field of nothingness
nowhere to hide, to run
to seek flight,
not even in the mind

I await the punishment
none seemed forthcoming
Yet all so overbearing, overwhelming.

No motion, no movement can I make
Even if I had wanted to.
the vastness of this emptiness leads to no particular direction

To this, I resign,
as accept I must
my destiny, void of whatever reason,
though if given
would not have been taken.

I have but lost all desire to accept
Yet - in fear to returnto that path of deepened obscurity,
that this standstill
becomes most welcoming.

don't give Me your Love

Don't give me your love
for I know not what to make of it
am I to be grateful,
or should I be thankful

Don't give me your love
for I know not how to react to it
as to care, I'm unable
and to love, I'm incapable

Don't give me your love
unless you really dare
for to such feelings I'm unaware
for such, I do not care


I left that labyrinth
that tangled, wrangled burrow of unending maze.

The scars that healed over time, that very long time,
had taken the might and drained all energy,
leaving only
this endless lethargy.

I dare not approach that labyrinth again
I wish not to venture into that obscurity, that uncertainty.
I cannot anymore pledge this soul
that I have often over-pawned
yet unable to seek its redeem
without a hefty price paid - that now
in this destitute,
is beyond my destiny

once, I took the so called path untaken
braving all risks
for that dream of gain
only to be living those nightmares of pain

Forgive me, both my soul
and the heart that now asks of mine
I fear there will never be,
at any path, in any lifetime,
the longed and pleaded, sacred entwine

There should be no thoughts in Laughter

Every single incident had indeed taken place. Every single word had indeed been uttered.
Every single choke - lumping, curdling within which seemed like huge boulders tumbling down and hitting and bouncing off the throat walls, which had been painful to contain and swallow, had indeed been the past week’s palate.
They were served muffled with coughs caused by the non-existent sore, the kind of cough that enables you to turn away to excuse yourself each time one was coming - the painful sounding ones which may cause a tear or two, cured quickly by those gulps of water and quick wipe of the eye.
Then there were those endless frail attempts to find humour each flailing moment.
Every advertisement, every stupid, silly, nonsensical, sub-intelligent, meaningless sitcom, telenovela, whatever, any single thing, appearing or passing by, was made to seem funny, so that you could laugh away.
And I laughed. And I laughed and laughed till I wasn’t sure whether I should continue to laugh or just stop.
Never before had I had to think about laughs. About how I should be laughing, for how long, how loud, how no one should be thinking in the midst of laughs.
That’s the whole point of laughter.
You’re supposed to lose yourself in such escapades. You’re supposed to let your soul flow with the direction, or rather, lack of direction, when you laugh. You’re supposed to be in fits, or lost in diminished senses during laughter.
So it shouldn’t have mattered if the laughs were long, hard and loud laughs or smiles or snickers or whatever.. there are and should be no thoughts accompanying laughter.
And yet, there I was, thinking of what I should do next, when, and how, during my week of laughter. I was trying to make sense of such non-sense situations I was creating.
Which was all pure nonsense.
Only after laughs can you try, if at all, to make sense of what you’ve been laughing at. And most times you can’t. You shouldn't.
Laughters are not supposed to make sense. In the good sense... it's .. good non-sense for that spur of the moment, just that moment..
That’s why a joke you laughed at, or told, shouldn’t, and perhaps, couldn’t be repeated. It wouldn’t have been as funny, it may not even be or seem funny at all to another person when you try to repeat the same.
You might end up laughing at the joke.
Until you realize no one else is.
And they’re all looking at you – summing you up - as one who had just delivered a bad joke.

I Refuse To Cry

You have to cry when you are sad.
You may even cry if you are happy.
I am not sad, nor am I happy.
I am just standing here, alone, staring ahead.
Only – I am not looking at anything.
Everything is so brightly lit up yet all I see, feel, is bleakness.
So – can I, may I, should I?
I can feel the tears welling up within.
No! I have cried just too often before, too many times.
They say it'll make you better.
I don't think they meant to lie - but, crying usually only leaves me weary and weak.
I haven't been introduced to that kind of crying which could've made me later feel better.
But, even if it could ...
I refuse to cry.