Everyone gets to a time when they want something
To like, appreciate and love
Others wonder whether it will ever be so
Hoping that time will be
And Holding on to hope and the truth
That make life more bearable
So live through it – Your phase
Holding close to what counts most
And looking for what will last
Because like it or not
One day – Your cruise missile will hit
Till then
Enjoy your ride.
Post in response to this
Sleeping less, staying up
Doing the punching game on my notebook
I think, I wait, I dream in denial and happiness
I pray to God
“Oh lord let it be, grant me what I deserve.
God. Lead me to that decision which glorifies your name”
For this prayer is deserved of what I have been through.
I’d like for him to let me release the bird.
Let it fly in the blue lit skies.
For this gloomy face, I begin to hate this part.
That part of me that has fallen for that which God has made.
I am too sleepy. I need to wake up.
Apr 26, 2010
Apr 15, 2010
Karma is for real..
You can smell the silence as it sails past your door at 2:15am.
“I am scared. Scared of everything,” You whisper to yourself
You wish you could be somewhere watching everything happen.
“What if I hadn’t messed up?” you ask yourself.
Your thoughts fade into the sky up above and your imagination sets you into a state of silence. Even a whisper is too loud.
What if the sky was blue and it rained. Would the clouds have rebelled?
Would the stars strike because the moon is brighter?
Would butterflies complain that they are smaller than birds?
Would the stream complain that the river is large?
Or would short men ask themselves why basketball players in the NBA are tall?
“I don’t know. I do not know if any of those of are complaints,” You answer yourself.
You convince yourself that you are not complaining about anything.
You wonder what could have done to change the situation.
You try to remember your childhood. How you used to ran around, go for birthday parties, blowing bubbles, playing mum and dad, buying sweets, sharing, shouting at each, playing super Mario, running for the VHS recorder just watch beauty and the beast, Aladin, the princess and the frog and Animal farm, snow white among others.
All these are stuck in your memory.
“Where did things go wrong?” you wonder quietly on bed.
What did you do? What did you say?
You wish you could tell the world that no-one can create a cloud and add it to the skies.
“Am I revealing too much?” yet another question you ask yourself.
When you look at yourself in the mirror you see a reflection of what you did in the past.
The past seems so near like it has come to haunt you.
What do you do? What do you say? Who do you tell?
“No-one,” you answer
You take a minute. You wait, you think.
“Do they really have to know?” You ask yourself again.
But the heart wants you tell them. For deep down you know you can’t afford anything.
You resist any form of conviction and decide to move on.
“I will do this on my own. Besides I did this to myself,” you convince yourself.
And then you wonder whether she is interested in your drama.
Interested in a future where she has to live with you in your condition.
Whatever you are holding on to seems to be slipping away.
Your hands are shaking and before you notice there is shattered glass around you.
With your bare feet, you step on what is left of the glass. Slowly a red pigment gently sails out of the skin.
The guilt inside of you almost leads you to explode. You wonder if you are troubled.
You watch the world evolve around you. All the hope you had begins to diminish. You are tired of appearing to be your best. Pretending everything is ok.
You look like a stranded passenger in the middle of the Sahara, where the roads have been covered by the sand. From east to west, north to south, it is all the same.
Time check 2:30 am
You listen to the silence. All you hear are the mosquitoes craving to get inside the mosquito net.
The dogs bark at anything outside the gate, even a passing car.
You sigh.
You listen to the kind words of those who care. You listen to them in your thoughts. They are that loud.
“Move on. Move one,” are the words from those who are around you.
“To where?” you ask them.
All you do is talk to your own recording. Because everyone around is asleep.
You have become what you wouldn’t have desired to be.
You feel you are disappointed in yourself.
The optimism around you begins to become the feeling like the moon has appeared at midday.
You are on the verge of an anti-climax.
You count the raindrops. Each one that clutters the roof you count.
You are awake. You are thinking. You need a distraction.
Deep down you know things are going to get worse. On the surface optimism is written all over.
3:00 am
You switch on the DVD.
“I am scared. Scared of everything,” You whisper to yourself
You wish you could be somewhere watching everything happen.
“What if I hadn’t messed up?” you ask yourself.
Your thoughts fade into the sky up above and your imagination sets you into a state of silence. Even a whisper is too loud.
What if the sky was blue and it rained. Would the clouds have rebelled?
Would the stars strike because the moon is brighter?
Would butterflies complain that they are smaller than birds?
Would the stream complain that the river is large?
Or would short men ask themselves why basketball players in the NBA are tall?
“I don’t know. I do not know if any of those of are complaints,” You answer yourself.
You convince yourself that you are not complaining about anything.
You wonder what could have done to change the situation.
You try to remember your childhood. How you used to ran around, go for birthday parties, blowing bubbles, playing mum and dad, buying sweets, sharing, shouting at each, playing super Mario, running for the VHS recorder just watch beauty and the beast, Aladin, the princess and the frog and Animal farm, snow white among others.
All these are stuck in your memory.
“Where did things go wrong?” you wonder quietly on bed.
What did you do? What did you say?
You wish you could tell the world that no-one can create a cloud and add it to the skies.
“Am I revealing too much?” yet another question you ask yourself.
When you look at yourself in the mirror you see a reflection of what you did in the past.
The past seems so near like it has come to haunt you.
What do you do? What do you say? Who do you tell?
“No-one,” you answer
You take a minute. You wait, you think.
“Do they really have to know?” You ask yourself again.
But the heart wants you tell them. For deep down you know you can’t afford anything.
You resist any form of conviction and decide to move on.
“I will do this on my own. Besides I did this to myself,” you convince yourself.
And then you wonder whether she is interested in your drama.
Interested in a future where she has to live with you in your condition.
Whatever you are holding on to seems to be slipping away.
Your hands are shaking and before you notice there is shattered glass around you.
With your bare feet, you step on what is left of the glass. Slowly a red pigment gently sails out of the skin.
The guilt inside of you almost leads you to explode. You wonder if you are troubled.
You watch the world evolve around you. All the hope you had begins to diminish. You are tired of appearing to be your best. Pretending everything is ok.
You look like a stranded passenger in the middle of the Sahara, where the roads have been covered by the sand. From east to west, north to south, it is all the same.
Time check 2:30 am
You listen to the silence. All you hear are the mosquitoes craving to get inside the mosquito net.
The dogs bark at anything outside the gate, even a passing car.
You sigh.
You listen to the kind words of those who care. You listen to them in your thoughts. They are that loud.
“Move on. Move one,” are the words from those who are around you.
“To where?” you ask them.
All you do is talk to your own recording. Because everyone around is asleep.
You have become what you wouldn’t have desired to be.
You feel you are disappointed in yourself.
The optimism around you begins to become the feeling like the moon has appeared at midday.
You are on the verge of an anti-climax.
You count the raindrops. Each one that clutters the roof you count.
You are awake. You are thinking. You need a distraction.
Deep down you know things are going to get worse. On the surface optimism is written all over.
3:00 am
You switch on the DVD.
Apr 6, 2010
Through the woods he walks
A faint hearted soul searches for its comfort in the woods. Its dark and the sound of the ware wolves eases through his ears as he slowly clutches to his chest. The trees swing at the sound of the wind. The dry leaves fall off the trees at every footstep he makes. The moon has black patch as all seems illusive for his broken soul.
He knows good things are yet to come but there is something he must find. In the woods he must pass to make it. He remembers the Easter conversation with a 70 year old woman that will always stick in his head.
“Son, you look like you are troubled and need help,” The old woman tells him
He looks at the woman and ignores but she insists and repeats the same words three times until he decides to reply.
“Ok, now madam I am really not troubled and do not need any help. Am just in some rare state of mind,” he replies.
The old woman stares at the young guy dressed in black flare trousers and a Calvin Klein T-shirt. She laughs and giggles to herself.
“Son, you need to act fast before it gets late,” She says as she walks away.
All this he thinks as he tries to avoid the sound of the night. The bats traverse the woods and keep watch as the Owls are the source of light. He is avoiding the songs by Nightwish and Muse that seems to keep replaying in his head. He tries to think of some jolly times that always standout for him.
The look on her face brings back his smile. The sound of her voice brings back his confidence to move on. The time spent with her makes him want to keep walking. He chooses to keep the thoughts to himself and slowly scribbles a few notes about her on a leaf. A leaf that he leaves to fly. Inscribed on the leaf are the words that surround his memory. The words of his future. A future she is part of. A future that he is scared of because he waits for her to trust him. Something he must earn.
The woods get thick; the thorns skim through his skin leaving trenches. Trenches that lead blood out of the skin. The hyenas keep getting closer as the ware wolves get louder. He wonders why he did not take the bus. The bus would have been quicker. But he remembers the instructions he was given.
“Walk through the woods and inside you will get further instructions.”
Even if he was to take bus, he would be broke. He had worked for a month and he wasn’t paid. He had spent much of his holiday locked in his room trying to think his next step and getting worried about the future.
He tries to remember a few things that make him smile. That Easter weekend where he had to take care of his niece never seems to skip his memory. He looked like a father. He recalls the day in the supermarket while shopping for the niece to get back to school. There he was with the niece and they walked the supermarket buying all she needed. Then he notices people looking at him and talking to each other.
“He is good father. He shops with the daughter,” some say. And then others ask themselves. “Did the wife die? Why does he shop with the daughter?”
He smiles as he listens to all these people. He imagines himself doing the same for his own children in the near future.
The darkness grows thicker. There is no light but all he has to follow are the eyes of the owls in various tries. He is bitter about something. Something he did and always regrets but wishes to move on. He must relive each moment in order to find out the truth and deal with it.
As he approaches the end of the woods, there is the sound of drums. He looks forward and the brightness seems to appear at every step. He races towards the light and the ground ahead begins to get softer. It gets sandy and there is a soft sound of waves slapping each other. The sky begins to clear and the stars begin to appear. He reaches out his hand to let the gentle breeze to flow through his body. The sudden taste of freedom. He has overcome his fear, the fear of consequences. He now he has to take the next step. A step where consequence is his largest fear.
He knows good things are yet to come but there is something he must find. In the woods he must pass to make it. He remembers the Easter conversation with a 70 year old woman that will always stick in his head.
“Son, you look like you are troubled and need help,” The old woman tells him
He looks at the woman and ignores but she insists and repeats the same words three times until he decides to reply.
“Ok, now madam I am really not troubled and do not need any help. Am just in some rare state of mind,” he replies.
The old woman stares at the young guy dressed in black flare trousers and a Calvin Klein T-shirt. She laughs and giggles to herself.
“Son, you need to act fast before it gets late,” She says as she walks away.
All this he thinks as he tries to avoid the sound of the night. The bats traverse the woods and keep watch as the Owls are the source of light. He is avoiding the songs by Nightwish and Muse that seems to keep replaying in his head. He tries to think of some jolly times that always standout for him.
The look on her face brings back his smile. The sound of her voice brings back his confidence to move on. The time spent with her makes him want to keep walking. He chooses to keep the thoughts to himself and slowly scribbles a few notes about her on a leaf. A leaf that he leaves to fly. Inscribed on the leaf are the words that surround his memory. The words of his future. A future she is part of. A future that he is scared of because he waits for her to trust him. Something he must earn.
The woods get thick; the thorns skim through his skin leaving trenches. Trenches that lead blood out of the skin. The hyenas keep getting closer as the ware wolves get louder. He wonders why he did not take the bus. The bus would have been quicker. But he remembers the instructions he was given.
“Walk through the woods and inside you will get further instructions.”
Even if he was to take bus, he would be broke. He had worked for a month and he wasn’t paid. He had spent much of his holiday locked in his room trying to think his next step and getting worried about the future.
He tries to remember a few things that make him smile. That Easter weekend where he had to take care of his niece never seems to skip his memory. He looked like a father. He recalls the day in the supermarket while shopping for the niece to get back to school. There he was with the niece and they walked the supermarket buying all she needed. Then he notices people looking at him and talking to each other.
“He is good father. He shops with the daughter,” some say. And then others ask themselves. “Did the wife die? Why does he shop with the daughter?”
He smiles as he listens to all these people. He imagines himself doing the same for his own children in the near future.
The darkness grows thicker. There is no light but all he has to follow are the eyes of the owls in various tries. He is bitter about something. Something he did and always regrets but wishes to move on. He must relive each moment in order to find out the truth and deal with it.
As he approaches the end of the woods, there is the sound of drums. He looks forward and the brightness seems to appear at every step. He races towards the light and the ground ahead begins to get softer. It gets sandy and there is a soft sound of waves slapping each other. The sky begins to clear and the stars begin to appear. He reaches out his hand to let the gentle breeze to flow through his body. The sudden taste of freedom. He has overcome his fear, the fear of consequences. He now he has to take the next step. A step where consequence is his largest fear.
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