Rambles

For the poetry enthusiasts and those who enjoy eccentric thought processes

faraway

This sounds cruel, but I want to remember your moments of vulnerability because you so seldom let them come. We will talk and reach such towering levels of laughter and animation before we fall silent again, both gazing far off into the distance, perhaps thinking of what to say next or allowing time to naturally pry our conversations open. Sometimes I look at you and the grimy light glows like a faraway lantern in your eyes, rising slowly in the night. My heart clenches a little when I remember- you’ve been to darker places than so many of us have been, emerging braver amid this crowd as you speak about him in wistful retrospect. In the moment I only feel the deepest love of a friend for you as you say his name and smile. I want to tell you that you are more mature than a grown-up; stronger and more powerful than whatever mighty sword we sometimes allow age to wield over us.

Wisdom does not come with age but with experience. This is your wisdom my dearest friend; you’ve been endlessly brave.

honest conversation

Today has made me feel that maybe time is a prerequisite for honest conversation. Being caught up in a flurry of activity in our lives has made superficial talk so necessary and prevalent as we feel the pressing urgency of the present. But sometimes it is lovely to just dive into deeper questions and more truthful words as time runs and you remain rooted to the seat; the hands of the clock lose their hold on you.

But maybe it is because it is so rare that it feels so wonderful.

conversation

There are some days when the cavern of conversation is my only reprieve from a hellish reality. I need to be enclosed in this temporary space, to lose myself in big talk and small talk and useless talk and be led away to a world where only stirrings of words and buildings of dreams exist. The wilderness outside this refuge is a tumour of insanity that impales my brain, and it pricks deeper and deeper until I lose my thoughts and existence.

matches

i am a match aflame

falling through the distinct darkness

imminently struck out by the winter winds and biting cold

it is in a most painful Tableau when the glowing spark dies

slowly and abruptly

smoke rises and the tendrils drift

through unfeeling particles as a charred smell injects into the

crystallised atmosphere

but in time these burnt out matches

won’t matter

suppressed by layers upon layers of falling snow in a dozen bitter winters

and even the cold will eventually be a better preservative of its relics than our

fallible human memory

soon we will be free

My stomach is sick with saccharine glazed donuts and coffee overdue by five hours, but we leave the brown napkins and the graveyard of brain cells behind as we venture into the late night. The barista greets us a friendly goodbye with a smile that hasn’t aged in five hours; I am mentally exhausted but his brightness makes me summon a weak expression in response.

Immediately we see the bridge, an intricate structure of white steel that only looks more mystifying in the dimness of night. A lazy crowd filters around us as we try to capture the beauty of the moment with inadequate smartphone cameras. But the lens cannot replicate the softness of midnight waters that simmer in purple haloes, the glaring streetlights that drown themselves in waves to be reincarnated as gentle golden suns.

The most unextraordinary asphalt paths somehow became magical as the skies darkened; at least in the moment it seemed so. I almost believed that they could lead me anywhere.

lucky

How do i pour out my heart just like this?

People say that lovers are blind, so sensitive to every charming attribute and perfection yet so aloof to every point of weakness, every gap in the canopy of stars. But friendship is not like that. Friendship is the soft hand that gently pries your eyes open, making you starkly aware of every speck of dust and glitter that drifts in the current of your conversations. Friendship builds on the struggles you go through to come to terms with the flaws that are so real. It steels you inside so you come out stronger and more resistant to embers, it makes you accepting of every mistake and malleable to every need.

I admit that sometimes I feel we are untethered like kites with snapped strings flying in the wind, going north and west and south in pursuit of different dreams and different crowds. But that is a phase in every friendship, and what a man needs is patience and understanding to collect his kites where he set them apart. Our affinity and the troubles we’ve tided through are strong enough to change the winds; with the experiences we’ve shared we can steer ourselves back. We will always find ourselves next to each other again; I am sure of that.

Other times we are confetti afloat, the fireworks exploding when we are intoxicated with the pure joy and fantasy of the moment, magical nights living realities in parallel universes before our real life drags us down from the clouds. We are not the epitome of the vibrance of youth, not the life of the party, but we are stereotypes of ourselves and this is what no one else can ever be.

It hasn’t been a completely smooth journey, but nothing worth holding on to ever is. I hope our words continue to roll off each others’ tongues in natural waves. Let us be raucous and crazy because we have no one to be embarrassed in front of; let us enjoy quiet moments because we have no one we need to impress.

in the house of God

sunlight falls through stained glass and

mutely vibrant shadows colour your cheek

we sit listening to hushed tones in a reverent place with

ceilings tall enough to house the clouds and skies

the flowers are not in their natural resting ground

but they bloom beautifully in his heavenly love

the water draws me in this deep night

in the darkness forever i wish

to hide

i feel at home under this purple sky

drifting in a fantasy, earphones plugged in

listening about streetlights lit up like dim cigars

beside glowing cars that flicker and are gone

troubles overlain by darkness and space

here i belong in my own land of peace

the water calls, the water calls

autumn moon

with dilating irises as dark as the troubled night

i wonder if the moon is a mirror of emotions 

if he gazed at the moon thinking of love would that

celestial light in his eyes descend on me today

would the moon collect golden gleams of emotion in a perfectly symmetrical palette and

reflect the perfection of pure human feeling to the world

or are the dark specks brushing its surface the tails of regret 

of an elusive moon goddess who ceased to exist by her lover’s side

centuries ago?

if only such a place existed!

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