I wish I were
The moments before the first kiss
The passion in eyes when they finally meet
The breaths that skip a beat

I wish I were
The sweet priceless tears trickling down
The whispers which screams "You're mine"
The smell which is so familiar
The curling of toes and digging deeper

I wish I were
The one terribly yearned for in a mess
The hair curls that hides a gloomy face
The first breath after a coma
The moment of a caring touch in a trauma

I wish I were
The sombre instrumental I love
The dance of zealous passion
The making of reminiscing memories
The writing of profound poetries.

-

“With light, you do not really know,”
Mom said.
“You can never tell when it’s coming.

But with you, I knew.
I noticed every single detail
upon your appearance
up until your radiance
wiped the room we’re in.

Light flowed around you
like the way the stars
in Van Gogh’s canvas
moved with much vibrance
while everything else
rested in silence.

I fell for you so fast
that everything else
around us slowed down.

But you shine a little too bright
and I’m just one of the countless
dead stars collapsing
in the middle of the night.

I could tell how much farther
I have to advance so I can lessen
the metaphorical distance
between us and gather
the courage
to finally utter,
“I love you.”

-

For the better part of a long waiting period, I believed darkness could sing. The voice comes out in short flickers like the maximum energy surge before a total crash down. But I have been proved wrong and the gods of ego tell me I should be glad.

Sometimes the walls close in too fast. The ice shatters a little too loudly below my feet, because I’m too heavy for it. The rainbow only has one uniform colour of washed out blues. The orchestra only plays the grand piano with its alternating black and white notes.

I build myself a home and its comfortable. It feels like home.

But it’s a home I made out of things they left behind, the supposed allies. Things they named chances, things they argued about till daybreak, things they tasted and spit out golden. Things that survived...

No, I should not call this peace. Who ever thought cupid would stay young forever?

Who ever thought I could love myself forever?

-

(Part II)
For the better part of a long waiting period, I believed darkness could sing. The voice coming out in short flickers like the maximum energy surge before a total crash down. But I have been proved wrong and the gods of ego tell me I should be glad.

Look, apologies are hard. It’s a discomfort like the sneeze that’s dying to make that ugly sound from within your throat. But apologies are beautiful. Like the rebuilt bird house after the uproar.
But I’m better educated now and I know darkness is an amateur ballerina. It doesn’t sing its own song. But it does fight its own battles.

Cupid could be destined to stay forever young.
And home could be a forlorn face, colours could attest to heartbeats, lovers could part after a last uncomfortable kiss, birds shall always return to their young, mothers will always not know the best words to say.

I know now when a tragedy could feel like a garden play and when the indigo of the bell-flower can be so intimidating.
I know now that that walls can be held back from crashing down on me.
And I think I know enough for now.

-

Sometimes the walls close in too fast. The ice shatters a little too loudly below my feet, because I’m too heavy for it. The rainbow only has one uniform colour of washed out blues. The orchestra only plays the grand piano with its alternating black and white notes.

Sometimes I sit there on the steps shivering. Sometimes the music only suits a death, you know the background music in my head, like its all a movie. Sometimes cupid laughs in tragic undertones. Sometimes the flowers bloom only to witness fall and falling.

I build myself a home and its comfortable. It feels like home.

No, I should not call this peace. Who ever thought cupid would stay young forever? Who ever thought I could love myself forever?

But it’s a home I made out of things they left behind, the supposed allies. Things they named chances, things they argued about till daybreak, things they carried resting on their bosoms, things they tasted and spit out golden. Things that survived...

(Continued....)

-

Sleeping beside her, he looks at the watch: 2:39,
He counts the minutes till morning.
Forever sleeps as a promise between them, it's so heavy,
Leaves dent on their hearts, words evaporate from their tongues,
And love dies a silent death.

They look into each others eyes:
The stardust feels like sawdust,
Tears build canals on cheeks
Where love once felt its first kiss.
The nights dissolve as poison in their veins
And love dies a silent death.

The hands that held hers once, now tighten around her neck,
A sickening grip chokes her dreams,
She swallows her own tears,
Coughing out pain in invisible spurts
And love dies a silent death.

Distance creeps up towards them,
Like hidden roots growing under soil as a parasite,
It steals morsels from the tree they had planted with love,
They water their tree with misunderstandings
And love dies a silent death.

-

I keep on staring at the vagabond sky
Changing from blue to orange and back
to shades of pink to dusky grey
To darkness and pitch black.

I keep on looking at the falling leaves
Changing from green to crimson crowned
To rusty brown, taking their last breath
As they prepare to fall on the ground

I keep on gazing at the dark silhouettes
Changing from circles to tiny ring
To monstrous ones as they come from
Under my bed to grip me.

I heard change is the only constant in life
And to my faith you were the constant
And then you left and now I observe
Each and every change, constantly.

-

Don’t let your demons rob you of your dreams, taunting you as you watch the sun set and then rise again, desperate for just a few moments of peace.

I hear your cries in the night as the despair kicks in.
I hear you, exasperated and pacing in the hallway so as to not wake up your loved ones.
I hear you moving from room to room in your home in the hope that a change of location will help you find peace.
I hear you all night, rummaging around the house, looking in cupboards, trying out every snack you find, to keep your mind busy in chewing and with the taste.

The only time I don’t hear you, poor stranger, is in the daytime. In the daytime, you fight through every minute and every hour with grace and strength. You drag your feet hopefully through the day, saving as much energy as you can for the battle of the evening. You conserve the energy to communicate because you know your demons will zap it all away soon enough. You caffeinate and fill your body with carbohydrates in an attempt to store some form of energy.

You may find yourself going outdoors to ‘blow away the cobwebs’, but don’t allow them to blow you away too.

-

My warm whisper, intimate in your ear
You tremble just how I like
The crowd around us, totally unaware.

My breath on your bare skin making you free
While my mind keeps busy making your body blush
In places others can't see.

-

I can't remember your voice anymore. Your face is slowly fading in my periphery, that if I saw you among the crowd I'd definitely not be able to recognize you. I can't really say I have known you like the back of my hand because even the lines drawn on my palm looked unfamiliar for me to follow when you once traced them with your fingers.
I forgot how your smell once lingered in the chilly air of that December night, now all I feel is cold. The scar on your knee doesn't seem important anymore and the feel of your hands, I didn't know if it once made mine warm at all. Or maybe it did but it felt like such a faraway vision now.
And your name, the one thing I learned to whisper as a litany in the empty room of vespers, now sounded like a completely obscure language to me and I felt like I am just speaking in a monologue of gibber.

I am losing you even in my memory. But the thing is, it didn't scare me.

Not anymore.

-