. . . . .
I know I'm not supposed to talk about you all the time, to every.body. because that means I'm flaunting. And flaunting annoys people. And annoyed people will later ask, "so, what's your progress with him?" though they can already see that there's none. And by that time, you will silently say, "nothing." and they will hear you said that word and so do you.
But then again, though it might be "nothing", I still can't stop talking about you. I don't know why.
This is almost like the feeling when I went to see my first orchestra. It feels like I'm the luckiest person on earth to have seen it. It feels like I have found definitions of my life. Though the orchestra ended at 10 p.m, it happened.
You happened.
Labels: earth, expression, fiction, numb
Friday, 1 February 2013 @ 13:14
“Sometimes we have to let it go,
honey,” said Mummy.
“I don’t think I can,” said
Cloud.
.
. . . .
November
Air were dancing with glee. Sunlight beamed its light onto them. They all look
blissful with their partners. Laughter was ripe among them. Then, they stopped.
Another dance would be performed. Their toes ready, fingers settled in
position. Soon, the Winter ballet started. November Air continued dancing on
branches of pine trees, bare oak trees, and the trees, too, swayed from left to
right, pleasuring grief and loneliness of the sharp air.
Autumn was about to end.
Sunlight went dim. In an instant,
everything turned darker. The music of Autumn slowed down. A hush was heard. November
air waned into nothingness. December Wind took charge. And every cloud in the
kingdom gathered.
White
flakes slowly fell onto rivers and lakes, friends with gills swam deeper
towards warmth, soon, the water stood still in tranquility.
Every crisp from every leaves
frozen beneath layers of coldness, furry friends lullaby their little ones,
humming soft notes to soothe their beating hearts, to calm their minds, while
the others waited for sweet dreams to visit them.
Cloud
was staring at the life under him hid themselves from the snow. He watched the
colour of Earth turned pale. Sighed upon the sad state of Earth, he refused to
give out snow despite his mother’s urges.
“I’m
worried that my friends will get sick,” Cloud said, denying his ego.
“Why,
they are all cocooned in their shelters, warm enough to catch a cold,” Mummy
reassured him.
“Come
on, chap! You’ve whined about this all November already! Look at Stratus, ready
and all. Why can’t you be him, eh?” Cumulus teased him.
Stratus
was staring at his own reflection on the big lakes. He was admiring on how much
he had grown darker, bigger, and tougher than his two brothers. Not even the charming
giggles of Cirruses could take his eyes off of himself.
In
seconds, snow had covered Earth. December wind had sprinkled crystals of
snowflakes everywhere, decorating Earth as they wish. The whiteness blinded
Clouds eyes. He turned his eyes off the surface and saw little by little, his
brothers began to fade away. Mummy was out of sight. He panicked a little.
Stratus became smaller and smaller. He watched his arms became shorter as
Stratus threw flakes upon flakes onto Earth. Later, he vanished. Cloud looked
for Cumulus. Then, he found him to be darker and showering Earth with freezing
droplets.
“Cumulus!
Stop! Stop pouring water! You’ll die! Stop!” shouted Cloud.
“Aww… I
know that. We all know that,” responded Cumulus calmly with a smile.
“Then,
why are you doing this?”
“Sometimes,
that’s how loving works. Aren't we to give and…”
“Disappear?
And not even a credit granted?”
“We
give to give. We do not ask to be given in return.” Then, the rain stopped.
There was not a single cloud left except for
Cloud. He looked for other surviving clouds. Nowhere. Nobody. Soon, his anger
grew.
We give to give. We do not ask to be given in return. The words
chanted in his head, repeating itself one after the other.
“Sometimes, we have to let it go, honey.”
“To let what go, Mummy? Raindrops? Snowflakes? Which one?”
“Love.”
Cloud hugged himself tightly,
cradling himself from left to right refuses to sacrifice his existence for
Earth. However, what’s left for him now? With no one around, isn’t solitude is
just the same as loneliness? And isn’t loneliness is no different than
disappearing? Unnoticed, his tears began to form drizzles that were then
collected by the wind. Some fell onto a robin with its right wing stuck under a
layer of thin ice. The water droplets melted the ice off the robin and later it
flew back to its nest happily. Cloud stopped crying. He felt grateful for the
robin. At least it didn’t die in this cold weather. He moved onto a grain field
and began to let out snowflakes, blanketing the crop from the cold air. Seeing
each grain lying underneath the sheet of snow sent bliss to his heart.
We have to let it go. He understands it now.
“Be warm, everyone. See you in spring.
I hope,” he whispered to Earth as he slowly vanished into thin air. The snow
finally stopped. And every living on Earth slept silently that December with
their wishful hearts of meeting each other again soon.
A slight tingle runs through the lungs, passing air, gushing blood, tightens muscles, a light wave of stream plays. The heart speaks again. It says, "It's time". Soft wind blows, caressing empty thoughts, bringing gravity into picture, lacing beads of yesterday into the necklace of present day, heaviness that one's been carrying. Fingers shakes, toes awake, eyebrows flinch, "It's time," gestures the eardrums. Shoulders shudder, sending signals of fear, excite feet to step further, halt. To be lost in time when it is said that "It's time", to be honest, when? "It's time," frowns forehead. Time for what? "It. Is. Time," knees jerk losing balance. Feathers up ahead, from a little nest, from a little newborn bird, down it falls, above the ground it goes. This is called, Time. Musk fragrance of leaves from old books, thrusts into nostrils, awakes memories, delivers worry about the future. Throat burns, lips dry, cold tongue, a scratch onto the crisp of mustache. A glance, a stare, an ignorance, this is indeed time. Intangible, moving forward, leaves no trail, provides no Going Back.
And as I grow emotionless, time prevails.
Labels: earth, expression, life, nonfiction, rant
Wednesday, 19 December 2012 @ 12:08
Ask the
world to feed you love
and the sun
will enfold you
its warmth
will remind you
of blankets
of the seas
the low tide
waves
soft
caressing your skin
comfort will
it bring
Ask the
world to feed you love
and the moon
will smile at you
its light
will guide your lips
from one tip
to the other tip
ear to ear
soon you'll
hear
crickets
sing
peace will
it bring
Ask the
world to feed you love
and trees
will embrace you
their twigs
will scratch the threads of your clothes
thrust into
your skin; from head to toe
blood shall
flow
still, the
leaves
will shelter
you forever
while you
stand beneath them alone
they'll be
the roof of your home
safety will
it bring
Ask the
world to feed you love
and
mountains will call out to you
their icy
tip breeze will eerily
echo a
powerful melody
of coldness
and agony
but dress
your mind with the garments of a king
and continue
climbing with arms reaching
one step
onto the other
your feet
will know no shiver
your teeth
will know no quiver
and when you
are up there
ask your
eyes to conquer
the every
delights of the earth
success will
it bring
Ask the
world to feed you love
and you will
find a coffee shop
its sensuous
design may tingle your heart
its
fragrance's divine; may toy with you mind
intoxicate
you to welcome yourself in
as lightness
dances all over your skin
and you will
float about
till you
drop on the floor
and you see
there before
your eyes
your ears
your nose
your tongue
a face
of a
familiar stranger
who rhymes
with your future
and when
both gazes meet
war will it
bring
sickness
will it bring
madness will
it bring
but so does
comfort
but so does
peace
but so does
safety
but so does
success
love,
will it bring.
Labels: bad poetry, earth, human, life, love