I remember your hell,
At a heartbreak hotel,
You were talking,
So bravely, so sweetly,
Leaving us sad,
On the unmade bed,
While the figurines wait in the streets.
Those were the prisons,
That was New York,
We were running for the money,
And the flesh,
That was called love,
For the workers in thought,
Probably still is,
For those of them left.
Oh, but you fall away,
Didn't you say,
You would turn your back on the clouds,
You fell away,
I never wanted you today,
I miss you,
I don't miss you,
I miss you,
I don't miss you,
And all of the gun-cladded clowns...
I remembered to tell,
At the secondly bell,
You were famous,
Your scar was a legend,
You told me again,
You'd prefer a handsome man,
But for me yo would make an exception.
Oh, clenching your fist,
For those like us,
You were oppressed by the picture of beauty,
You fixed your mask and said,
"Well never mind,
We are ugly,
But we've got the music"
Oh, when you ran away,
Killing me babe,
You just turned your back on the crowd,
You ran away,
I never wanted you to stay,
I'd leave you,
I won't leave you,
I'd leave you,
I won't leave you....
And all of that dancing around...
I don't mean to suggest,
That I love you the best,
You can keep track of each falling German,
I remember your hell,
At the heartbreak hotel,
That's all,
I don't even think of you that often...
Saturday, July 25, 2009
Thursday, June 4, 2009
The Road Not Long Enough
Just a bike ride,
In the night,
Where the animals follow the light,
To find shelter,
To find hope,
Like the razor in time for the angry man's dope.
And the moonlight,
Is countered,
By eyes.
And she waits under the trees,
The stars following me,
And the world wears a mask,
With balloons at each ends,
And the task,
To professionally pretend.
The lake was gone,
And the sea was invalid,
I told her to look for a key,
A sign,
A ballad.
You're drowning,
But you can't swim.
A gritty remark,
Am I that dim?
And then a war ensues,
Between dissatisfaction,
And moths do wait,
In orderless actions,
And you leave me,
With a doubt,
Or a growing sense of decision.
Somebody is in your arms now,
Somebody else seeks out your throat,
And that somebody,
Is the body,
Of reflections,
On that lake.
Because the key,
And the sign,
And the ballad,
Is an angel,
That you ridicule.
And angel,
That I took,
To be you.
And the stars all agree,
That the leaves,
And the veins,
Made up of copper terrains,
Are a nightmare.
As the bike ride,
Of the night,
Ends,
With me there.
And the wolves,
Like the squirrels,
Stalk the arms of endearment,
Like elation,
Like a rogue.
Like a nation of hungry frogs.
In the night,
Where the animals follow the light,
To find shelter,
To find hope,
Like the razor in time for the angry man's dope.
And the moonlight,
Is countered,
By eyes.
And she waits under the trees,
The stars following me,
And the world wears a mask,
With balloons at each ends,
And the task,
To professionally pretend.
The lake was gone,
And the sea was invalid,
I told her to look for a key,
A sign,
A ballad.
You're drowning,
But you can't swim.
A gritty remark,
Am I that dim?
And then a war ensues,
Between dissatisfaction,
And moths do wait,
In orderless actions,
And you leave me,
With a doubt,
Or a growing sense of decision.
Somebody is in your arms now,
Somebody else seeks out your throat,
And that somebody,
Is the body,
Of reflections,
On that lake.
Because the key,
And the sign,
And the ballad,
Is an angel,
That you ridicule.
And angel,
That I took,
To be you.
And the stars all agree,
That the leaves,
And the veins,
Made up of copper terrains,
Are a nightmare.
As the bike ride,
Of the night,
Ends,
With me there.
And the wolves,
Like the squirrels,
Stalk the arms of endearment,
Like elation,
Like a rogue.
Like a nation of hungry frogs.
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
Trip To Nebraska
I was on my way home,
The telephone lines,
Were my stream,
Was my dream,
Even a plastic foam.
The sun was always with me,
But then so is everyone,
The clouds they hide behind,
The things they keep in mind,
When things are just a little lost at sea.
I thought it would be easy,
Just like the other day,
When I lost my bayonet,
To the lady in grey,
When I didn't have anything to say.
A trip to Nebraska.
I wanted to leave you,
But you were always by the roadsides,
Waving back at me,
When I long to be,
What I wanted to leave.
And you told me to reason,
Of butterflies and prisms,
To make love of everything,
But I was thinking too much,
I was conscious of the fact,
That I've lost my touch.
What do you see from Hawaii,
Looking into the wooden box,
Of bombers and tanks,
Of leaders in ranks,
Of commercials in boxes too.
I wanted to be with you,
But then I got angry,
And I dropped the cynic off the hills,
And I was trying to make truce.
But you see what's wrong,
Of me trying to write a song,
Is the fact that I'm trying,
That I'm trying to belong.
End.
The telephone lines,
Were my stream,
Was my dream,
Even a plastic foam.
The sun was always with me,
But then so is everyone,
The clouds they hide behind,
The things they keep in mind,
When things are just a little lost at sea.
I thought it would be easy,
Just like the other day,
When I lost my bayonet,
To the lady in grey,
When I didn't have anything to say.
A trip to Nebraska.
I wanted to leave you,
But you were always by the roadsides,
Waving back at me,
When I long to be,
What I wanted to leave.
And you told me to reason,
Of butterflies and prisms,
To make love of everything,
But I was thinking too much,
I was conscious of the fact,
That I've lost my touch.
What do you see from Hawaii,
Looking into the wooden box,
Of bombers and tanks,
Of leaders in ranks,
Of commercials in boxes too.
I wanted to be with you,
But then I got angry,
And I dropped the cynic off the hills,
And I was trying to make truce.
But you see what's wrong,
Of me trying to write a song,
Is the fact that I'm trying,
That I'm trying to belong.
End.
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Help I'm Alive (Chaos Theory) [The Party]
Vacuum of doubt, of change, of delirium, of love, of serendipity, of the face in the mirror.
Vivaldi. January 22. 1974
His sleeves was tucked in the most unusual way. Was there a battle to prepare for? Amidst the rave, the carpet dance floor?
I was the man on the island. The crowd was my sea. Salty was their demeanor, but helpless were their waves. I couldn't think of a better night to think.
And then he walked up to me with a glass of colada.
"Have you passed the suitcase?"
"....yes. But I'm not sure if we've got the right location"
I remembered it clearly. The grin he hid inside the mask of empathy. There was no modus operandi to this mission. It only had a goal.
"...and we've done everything possible to get it"
"How bout the owner of this place?"
"He's drugged"
I locked myself in the bathroom after that conversation. One was for the taming of adrenaline. The other was the goal. It was to happen here.
Oh Allah, I am afraid. I am afraid and doubtful. Don't let me be the accomplice of Shaitan.
Could I have materialize such a thought, I would.
Could I have stopped the whole atrocity, I would.
Could I have answered the door, I would.
"Open the damn door!"
But I couldn't.
"Hey, it'd be all over soon"
"What will be over? I don't like the sound of that. Na-ah"
There was that empathy again
"Yarhamukallah"
My mind was dislodged of it's altar. Time was immaterial. Life was immaterial. I was material.
That means it will hurt
Soft voices. Like breeze in a nuclear reactor.
"You have the trigger, Simon"
Blood ran cold. There was nothing else to interpret. Except for a resounding din of "No other....God....Muhammad"
I'm in a toilet. God forbid this will be my grave.
And the door was still being hammered at that time.
It was all wired. The sewers, the argon lighting. I didn't know why I was there.
"YOU HAVE TO GET OUT OF THERE. THIS IS NOT RIGHT. YOU ARE IN A CRAZY CONSPIRACY. NO ONE 'NEEDS' YOU. A PROP. THAT'S WHAT YOU ARE"
Vivaldi. January 22. 1974
His sleeves was tucked in the most unusual way. Was there a battle to prepare for? Amidst the rave, the carpet dance floor?
I was the man on the island. The crowd was my sea. Salty was their demeanor, but helpless were their waves. I couldn't think of a better night to think.
And then he walked up to me with a glass of colada.
"Have you passed the suitcase?"
"....yes. But I'm not sure if we've got the right location"
I remembered it clearly. The grin he hid inside the mask of empathy. There was no modus operandi to this mission. It only had a goal.
"...and we've done everything possible to get it"
"How bout the owner of this place?"
"He's drugged"
I locked myself in the bathroom after that conversation. One was for the taming of adrenaline. The other was the goal. It was to happen here.
Oh Allah, I am afraid. I am afraid and doubtful. Don't let me be the accomplice of Shaitan.
Could I have materialize such a thought, I would.
Could I have stopped the whole atrocity, I would.
Could I have answered the door, I would.
"Open the damn door!"
But I couldn't.
"Hey, it'd be all over soon"
"What will be over? I don't like the sound of that. Na-ah"
There was that empathy again
"Yarhamukallah"
My mind was dislodged of it's altar. Time was immaterial. Life was immaterial. I was material.
That means it will hurt
Soft voices. Like breeze in a nuclear reactor.
"You have the trigger, Simon"
Blood ran cold. There was nothing else to interpret. Except for a resounding din of "No other....God....Muhammad"
I'm in a toilet. God forbid this will be my grave.
And the door was still being hammered at that time.
It was all wired. The sewers, the argon lighting. I didn't know why I was there.
"YOU HAVE TO GET OUT OF THERE. THIS IS NOT RIGHT. YOU ARE IN A CRAZY CONSPIRACY. NO ONE 'NEEDS' YOU. A PROP. THAT'S WHAT YOU ARE"
Friday, May 1, 2009
Alleys Incandescent
"Tonight we beg,
Tonight we beg a question,
If a married man,
A married man bangs a Catholic,
And his wife dies without knowing,
Does it make him unfaithful, people?"
Channel 3. Jackie Collin was a madman. A madman who smiles at the people and say "Hey,
you're like me too, you just happen to get away with it". Polly was sure he was behind the bombings if it wasn't for the fact that he gave a speech on the 'Terrorist of Our Generations'.
"The old men are to be blamed. Have you noticed that all of the people you really despise have either facial hair or something along the lines of that? And not one of them are completely bald?"
He was speaking to rabbis. Rabbis in the terms of "children who are most likely to commit suicide and are rather Jewish at that". He hugged all of em. Made a few friends.
Jackie Collins was himself bald.
And as they say, the angel arrives amidst all the chaos with the burden of baggage.
60th Avenue was a thin demarcation. Of rats and chop suey cartons, to high rise flats with puppets who solve problems by dodging them.
*knocks on the door*
"Whozzat?"
"Er...Polly, I'm here to rent an apartment"
"Shit here, Molly? Your twin is here?"
"Fuck off"
The doorknob turned. And behind it were whispers of anger, or rather, Polly thought, of humor.
The moment a crack was visible between the thresholds, there was a shriek.
"YOUR FUCKING CAT IS AT IT AGAIN"
"er....hi"
It was as though they had forgotten that someone knocked on their door only seconds ago. A scream leads one back.
"Who do you look up to in life?"
"Er....do you always interview potential renters?"
"Is it the Man?"
"How much money do you have?"
"All the money in the world"
"That doesn't make sense"
"Well neither does the latter"
The apartment was predominated by a kitchen, with a stove as big as a small car. The saying here is that if you can't stand the heat..
"GET OUT OF MY HOUSE"
"Hey Molly, let's take this into consideration, we've got a new roommate here.."
Polly smiled at the man who was being harassed out of the premise, it seems that people are always so thoughtful of her at the verge of them leaving.
And then at that moment, her mind drifted away to thoughts of the Painter.
"...I mean you're gonna need some extra hands"
"Can I use the bathroom?"
And she finds herself in a claustrophobic space.
Who killed you, and brought you back to life?
Who made the land parched, but gave it seeds to thrive?
Meanwhile, in the darker ends of the street. Jannie smokes a herb, whilst staring at the turrets in the sky.
"My time is near"
She was 15, and inappropriately, well-off as a human being. Her father, Stan had broken many ties of relations. With the grace of a politician, Stan treats everyone like dirt, but loves his daughter so. But with all of that considered, Stan wasn't campaigning anything.
"Next please"
Charisma is the very last thing they care about when it comes to banking. But Stan was murdering people's integrity without the knowledge of even the smallest of microbes.
"Smiling is charity? Then beggars should be better off at Disneyland"
Jannie walked up the fire escapes, and saw a woman staring blankly into a mirror.
"Extremely vain, aren't you?"
In her James Dean jacket, and torn denims, Jannie gave the impression of having relations with lawyers, investment bankers, parliamentary members and most importantly, fast food cashiers. In fact, she gave such a strong impression at that, that those people seem to live inside her.
"You're new here aren't you?"
"....well, not to you. No. I've heard about you"
"...OH...YOU'RE LILITH's FRIEND"
"Mmhmm, but you're not a prostitute"
"Hahah, no, no I'm not"
"But is Lilith a prostitute?"
"She buys souls, if you get what I mean"
"Oh...but"
"Hey, care to be my sister for the night?"
"..alright"
Polly didn't want to be anyone's sister at the moment. But she figured that if Jannie and Lilith are affiliated with each other, then they must know where she's heading.
"So Polly, who are you working for?"
"Huh?"
"In this world, everyone's working for someone"
"Oh, well I'm still in college.."
"Are you a Buddhist?"
"..no"
"Good"
The Painter came out of her mouth like a random tale of a pet's death. Jannie didn't look shocked though. But for the first time ever since they first met, Jannie wasn't smiling either.
"The Painter...he's the kinda person that gives hope to people who are dirt y'know. We don't want that"
"What do you mean?"
"He told you to come here, not Lilith"
"Yes...but how do you know?"
"He does that to people.."
"So you know him?"
"Everyone does. Different names go around"
"Oh God...."
"So you're on our side now at least"
"No, no I mean..."
"We take doubts and appreciate it as a value. You, Polly, are on fire"
Polly was in a state of destitute. Who was she to choose? All of those psychological thesis seemed to make more sense now, but it left her in a greater state of lost.
"I'm sick of other people making decisions for me"
"That's the superego we're looking for"
"Why does everyone here give the impression of recruiting members into their own cliques?"
"Hey, the sky is falling. You either be happy with people or pretend to be satisfied on your own"
"Why can't I stand alone then?"
"Because loneliness is an opium that deludes"
It was raining again. But now the drops of water sounded as audible as the hissing of a serpent. A serpent who is mad for the lack of hands, and bites everything he sees. A serpent, that Polly called, the Britney Spears of Mother Nature.
There was a garden on one of the rooftops. Polly only started noticing it when a lightning seemed to struck a wooden surface instead of an antenna. Jannie was asleep now. So Polly's opium is now extant, in the small island of life amongst the sea of desolation. Although death is subjective, 60th avenue wasn't and will never be anything more than a one-way street.
"Hello..?"
A familiar face appeared drifting over a broken park bench. But no...this one has wings on him.
"Hello Polly"
"I'm not gonna ask you how exactly do you know my name"
"Haha, Molly's got a strong fury in her voice, doesn't she?"
"..oh"
Gypsy negros were dancing in her cerebellum at that very moment. The pigeons on that man's shoulder seemed to send message scrolls to her brain, telling her that magic is believable. And that beggars cannot read minds.
"Hey let's step on the grass patches, the rain seems to make it sparkle doesn't it?"
"Alright"
"Take off your shoes"
"Not until you tell me your name"
"Oh...I'm Gabe"
The garden was beautiful. And not even in the relative sense. It was small, but the leakage of the hose water, like tears flowing in intervals between blades of green, made Polly feel like she was a giant over Nature's field.
But she did not feel free...
"I'm gonna give you 10 things"
The burden of power made her think about the man who she slept with just the night before.
Who is she to choose?
"You know, what's down there maybe satisfying, but when it rains, 'tis here is the last place to flood"
"Haha, good to know, but I'm staying at the apartment downstairs"
"Why don't you stay here then?"
She tried to hold her tongue from saying the silliest things
I'm not worthy of your roofless home, and the endless river that flows beneath,
But neither am I willing to suffer,
So forgive me, when there's no one else to forgive,
It does not matter, whether I'd be the last one to live
Flicker, flicker. Thomas Edison loved his failures. If only he could see 60th Avenue in the rain.
Never seemed to light up the darkness. But attractive, nonetheless.
"Fireflies hahahahahha"
"What's so funny?"
Tonight we beg a question,
If a married man,
A married man bangs a Catholic,
And his wife dies without knowing,
Does it make him unfaithful, people?"
Channel 3. Jackie Collin was a madman. A madman who smiles at the people and say "Hey,
you're like me too, you just happen to get away with it". Polly was sure he was behind the bombings if it wasn't for the fact that he gave a speech on the 'Terrorist of Our Generations'.
"The old men are to be blamed. Have you noticed that all of the people you really despise have either facial hair or something along the lines of that? And not one of them are completely bald?"
He was speaking to rabbis. Rabbis in the terms of "children who are most likely to commit suicide and are rather Jewish at that". He hugged all of em. Made a few friends.
Jackie Collins was himself bald.
And as they say, the angel arrives amidst all the chaos with the burden of baggage.
60th Avenue was a thin demarcation. Of rats and chop suey cartons, to high rise flats with puppets who solve problems by dodging them.
*knocks on the door*
"Whozzat?"
"Er...Polly, I'm here to rent an apartment"
"Shit here, Molly? Your twin is here?"
"Fuck off"
The doorknob turned. And behind it were whispers of anger, or rather, Polly thought, of humor.
The moment a crack was visible between the thresholds, there was a shriek.
"YOUR FUCKING CAT IS AT IT AGAIN"
"er....hi"
It was as though they had forgotten that someone knocked on their door only seconds ago. A scream leads one back.
"Who do you look up to in life?"
"Er....do you always interview potential renters?"
"Is it the Man?"
"How much money do you have?"
"All the money in the world"
"That doesn't make sense"
"Well neither does the latter"
The apartment was predominated by a kitchen, with a stove as big as a small car. The saying here is that if you can't stand the heat..
"GET OUT OF MY HOUSE"
"Hey Molly, let's take this into consideration, we've got a new roommate here.."
Polly smiled at the man who was being harassed out of the premise, it seems that people are always so thoughtful of her at the verge of them leaving.
And then at that moment, her mind drifted away to thoughts of the Painter.
"...I mean you're gonna need some extra hands"
"Can I use the bathroom?"
And she finds herself in a claustrophobic space.
Who killed you, and brought you back to life?
Who made the land parched, but gave it seeds to thrive?
Meanwhile, in the darker ends of the street. Jannie smokes a herb, whilst staring at the turrets in the sky.
"My time is near"
She was 15, and inappropriately, well-off as a human being. Her father, Stan had broken many ties of relations. With the grace of a politician, Stan treats everyone like dirt, but loves his daughter so. But with all of that considered, Stan wasn't campaigning anything.
"Next please"
Charisma is the very last thing they care about when it comes to banking. But Stan was murdering people's integrity without the knowledge of even the smallest of microbes.
"Smiling is charity? Then beggars should be better off at Disneyland"
Jannie walked up the fire escapes, and saw a woman staring blankly into a mirror.
"Extremely vain, aren't you?"
In her James Dean jacket, and torn denims, Jannie gave the impression of having relations with lawyers, investment bankers, parliamentary members and most importantly, fast food cashiers. In fact, she gave such a strong impression at that, that those people seem to live inside her.
"You're new here aren't you?"
"....well, not to you. No. I've heard about you"
"...OH...YOU'RE LILITH's FRIEND"
"Mmhmm, but you're not a prostitute"
"Hahah, no, no I'm not"
"But is Lilith a prostitute?"
"She buys souls, if you get what I mean"
"Oh...but"
"Hey, care to be my sister for the night?"
"..alright"
Polly didn't want to be anyone's sister at the moment. But she figured that if Jannie and Lilith are affiliated with each other, then they must know where she's heading.
"So Polly, who are you working for?"
"Huh?"
"In this world, everyone's working for someone"
"Oh, well I'm still in college.."
"Are you a Buddhist?"
"..no"
"Good"
The Painter came out of her mouth like a random tale of a pet's death. Jannie didn't look shocked though. But for the first time ever since they first met, Jannie wasn't smiling either.
"The Painter...he's the kinda person that gives hope to people who are dirt y'know. We don't want that"
"What do you mean?"
"He told you to come here, not Lilith"
"Yes...but how do you know?"
"He does that to people.."
"So you know him?"
"Everyone does. Different names go around"
"Oh God...."
"So you're on our side now at least"
"No, no I mean..."
"We take doubts and appreciate it as a value. You, Polly, are on fire"
Polly was in a state of destitute. Who was she to choose? All of those psychological thesis seemed to make more sense now, but it left her in a greater state of lost.
"I'm sick of other people making decisions for me"
"That's the superego we're looking for"
"Why does everyone here give the impression of recruiting members into their own cliques?"
"Hey, the sky is falling. You either be happy with people or pretend to be satisfied on your own"
"Why can't I stand alone then?"
"Because loneliness is an opium that deludes"
It was raining again. But now the drops of water sounded as audible as the hissing of a serpent. A serpent who is mad for the lack of hands, and bites everything he sees. A serpent, that Polly called, the Britney Spears of Mother Nature.
There was a garden on one of the rooftops. Polly only started noticing it when a lightning seemed to struck a wooden surface instead of an antenna. Jannie was asleep now. So Polly's opium is now extant, in the small island of life amongst the sea of desolation. Although death is subjective, 60th avenue wasn't and will never be anything more than a one-way street.
"Hello..?"
A familiar face appeared drifting over a broken park bench. But no...this one has wings on him.
"Hello Polly"
"I'm not gonna ask you how exactly do you know my name"
"Haha, Molly's got a strong fury in her voice, doesn't she?"
"..oh"
Gypsy negros were dancing in her cerebellum at that very moment. The pigeons on that man's shoulder seemed to send message scrolls to her brain, telling her that magic is believable. And that beggars cannot read minds.
"Hey let's step on the grass patches, the rain seems to make it sparkle doesn't it?"
"Alright"
"Take off your shoes"
"Not until you tell me your name"
"Oh...I'm Gabe"
The garden was beautiful. And not even in the relative sense. It was small, but the leakage of the hose water, like tears flowing in intervals between blades of green, made Polly feel like she was a giant over Nature's field.
But she did not feel free...
"I'm gonna give you 10 things"
The burden of power made her think about the man who she slept with just the night before.
Who is she to choose?
"You know, what's down there maybe satisfying, but when it rains, 'tis here is the last place to flood"
"Haha, good to know, but I'm staying at the apartment downstairs"
"Why don't you stay here then?"
She tried to hold her tongue from saying the silliest things
I'm not worthy of your roofless home, and the endless river that flows beneath,
But neither am I willing to suffer,
So forgive me, when there's no one else to forgive,
It does not matter, whether I'd be the last one to live
Flicker, flicker. Thomas Edison loved his failures. If only he could see 60th Avenue in the rain.
Never seemed to light up the darkness. But attractive, nonetheless.
"Fireflies hahahahahha"
"What's so funny?"
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Friday, April 17, 2009
This Blue
A field of maiden grass,
Of patches from the tromps of survivors,
Of giant entrances,
And liquidized views,
I see the stars,
On top of you.
A bed of opposites,
Directions connect,
But I digress,
And stare at the speck,
When the eyes turn warm,
And the heart turns wild,
But the face is as soft as a yaks
To own this land,
The green and parched,
While heavens bounty,
Are left untouched.
I seek to call your name,
To call you by one,
But to forget is the same.
The wrong things are written on the table,
A slight remark, a witty fable.
"Hold my hand as it falls into space"
While rockets fall and turtles race.
So I came back,
To a house of indifference,
But that lead to a place,
Of might and complacence.
A falling star,
A supernova in the veneer of a blush,
I seem to talk to you,
As though my love for you,
Is to love a rush.
Cause you would leave me forever,
Where as the option of staying isn't mine,
"What has it done to you?"
Only choices - made divine.
To speak is an art,
Harms the soul and mind,
Of misleading lies,
You thought to be divine,
Logic has a heart,
Only recklessness, the faith that undermines.
How to miss a white horizon?
Have I been turning my back to the sun?
The sun that only comes out at night?
"I want your number, if that's all right"
Hell is near, tangible and there,
So why is heaven so far, so out of reach,
Yet everywhere?
And then I walked upon a flower,
Guilt was my salt,
Why did I leave it there?
And it wilts,
While Sirius sparkles down hopelessly,
I wanna say,
That even if all good is at bay,
It will never disappear,
Just like the moon today.
Embrace black embroideries,
That reminds you of coal,
A dictatorship,
In the hill of a mole,
It is a blessing that you can't read my thoughts.
It's just that one thing led to another,
Relevant to all, and connected to the other,
And as I hold in my arms a figure of the eternal,
The devil goes on "For what shall make you detrimental,
Is a prosecution, and it too a tradition"
I miss you, you know that
This blue,
This sky that we forget to look up to,
We are not reaching the stars anymore,
Just a straightforward journey of finding doors.
This blue,
The water that cleanses,
Before the morning dew,
Eyes half-closed and the carpets are dense,
I want to hear you,
To listen to a view.
This blue,
An aura under a machinery of current workings,
Beggars who wait by public phones,
Because hope is something you cannot really see isn't it?
The beauty of Grace, is that it leaves you alone.
Sometimes the beauty of Grace, is that it makes life unfair,
I will pretend that you're not there.
To alleys incandescent and racial riots.
Dah nak subuh.
Of patches from the tromps of survivors,
Of giant entrances,
And liquidized views,
I see the stars,
On top of you.
A bed of opposites,
Directions connect,
But I digress,
And stare at the speck,
When the eyes turn warm,
And the heart turns wild,
But the face is as soft as a yaks
To own this land,
The green and parched,
While heavens bounty,
Are left untouched.
I seek to call your name,
To call you by one,
But to forget is the same.
The wrong things are written on the table,
A slight remark, a witty fable.
"Hold my hand as it falls into space"
While rockets fall and turtles race.
So I came back,
To a house of indifference,
But that lead to a place,
Of might and complacence.
A falling star,
A supernova in the veneer of a blush,
I seem to talk to you,
As though my love for you,
Is to love a rush.
Cause you would leave me forever,
Where as the option of staying isn't mine,
"What has it done to you?"
Only choices - made divine.
To speak is an art,
Harms the soul and mind,
Of misleading lies,
You thought to be divine,
Logic has a heart,
Only recklessness, the faith that undermines.
How to miss a white horizon?
Have I been turning my back to the sun?
The sun that only comes out at night?
"I want your number, if that's all right"
Hell is near, tangible and there,
So why is heaven so far, so out of reach,
Yet everywhere?
And then I walked upon a flower,
Guilt was my salt,
Why did I leave it there?
And it wilts,
While Sirius sparkles down hopelessly,
I wanna say,
That even if all good is at bay,
It will never disappear,
Just like the moon today.
Embrace black embroideries,
That reminds you of coal,
A dictatorship,
In the hill of a mole,
It is a blessing that you can't read my thoughts.
It's just that one thing led to another,
Relevant to all, and connected to the other,
And as I hold in my arms a figure of the eternal,
The devil goes on "For what shall make you detrimental,
Is a prosecution, and it too a tradition"
I miss you, you know that
This blue,
This sky that we forget to look up to,
We are not reaching the stars anymore,
Just a straightforward journey of finding doors.
This blue,
The water that cleanses,
Before the morning dew,
Eyes half-closed and the carpets are dense,
I want to hear you,
To listen to a view.
This blue,
An aura under a machinery of current workings,
Beggars who wait by public phones,
Because hope is something you cannot really see isn't it?
The beauty of Grace, is that it leaves you alone.
Sometimes the beauty of Grace, is that it makes life unfair,
I will pretend that you're not there.
To alleys incandescent and racial riots.
Dah nak subuh.
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