Dancers on a Black and White World

Maybe miracles do happen.
Because that's when the heart takes over
and something beautiful is born.

A pair of dancers
on a black and white world.
They are themselves,
and the world is plainly the world.
No worrying about what is around,
all dedicated to their dance.

The dance that says they are sad,
the same dance that sings their joy,
the dance that talked about
each and every single moment of their life.
They lived in those moments
and the dance that would take flight.

Once a while
there's only one of them left.
While it does not stop,
things seem much slower
and it feel not so happy
all of a sudden.

The world might be black and white,
deprived of colors,
its still up to the two
to decide how to put what they have together.
Whether its full of glee or not so happy,
this is where they tell their story.

I spend this wee hours reading,
about people around me,
their individual stories
of themselves,
and the people they love so deep.

The piano piece
that accompanies me tonight
certainly served its purpose right,
to pluck at my heartstrings
and make me write.

Polished Slipper

Ain't all glamorous with a brand,
i'm the person with two sides of me,
and follow you to wherever you'll be.

I'm that pair of slipper,
...that'll you go everwhere in,
for i'm simple to start with.

Just like i'm not the first,
and not the last either,
when i'm considered worn out.

The moment of rejoice was short-lived,
I should have at then,
revel in it while I still could.

All things gotta go someday,
why is it this time and me
who'll be marking down this date.

Our story started with two,
now it ends for me alone
but your story still carries on with two.

hopes. Build.

A house by the sea,
how is that?
Or you prefer one
that overlooks the greens.
I guess that's for me,
very much nature, away from city.

Of stone or brick,
that I shall make.
The shelter that house you,
and our home it shall be.
These hands will toil,
to provide what you may need.

Thousands of sunset,
uncountable of nights.
Days and years,
passing by.
Witnessing the story,
of you and I.

Till now,
it can only be a dream.
Saving for the magical touch,
to make it reality.
Saving for that the special one,
to set these hopes free.

change.

Making changes are tough.

It’s an unknown zone.

Out of your comfort zone.

But I want to make changes.

For the better.

Not wanting to be stuck here anymore.

Outdo myself,

be a better man.

Everyday,

without fail.

Story of a Rock

What does it mean to love.

The word they speak of it
all the single time.
Here a single man seeks
to find it and understand.

He can shed no tear
the last had nearly dried
since the witness of
a kin on deathbed.

Wants to be strong,
like a pillar of stone,
so threw away everything,
made himself a rock.

Nothing could pierce through
that hard solid shell.
Nothing could bother what's under
that hard solid shell.

One day he felt
like he never did before.
What exactly was it.
He had no idea at all.

Everything he entrust
to crusted protection.
That he no longer knew
what is call feel.

Did this new feeling affect him?
Not on the shell it seems.
Then what exactly was it?
Much deeper it seems.

It was a seedling,
one that found a path
through a crack
in that hard solid shell.

Growing and stretching its roots,
binding onto him,
now its part of the rock,
as the rock is part of the seedling.

The feeling made him
want to pull it out,
but yet he wants to
be the source of that new growth.

Day by day it went,
the seedling just grew
and this moment,
the rock came to know,

the thing he's been looking for.

受不了

I'm tired.
Really tired.
The whole plan was suicidal.
But who really saw it coming.

Lose the battle,
lose the war,
is there no land
we can stake a claim on?

Pressurizing grip
suffocating
like a constrictor
caught on you.

我真的累了.

Nearly a Scottish Play

Double, double toil
and trouble.
For this season,
even the witches' potion
will not compare
to this defiled moment.

Even what was forged
through the ages
shall now be denounced
and burnt to ashes.
All that remains,
are that of anger.

Betrayal was injustice,
the culprit thus face
the branding of his name
with irremovable taint.
Now a call to fairness,
but none will pay heed.

All words that come
go down the corridors
where even echoes
shall lose their way.
And the people who hear
shall cease to remember.

As the pigeon will see
that here we do not have
a thane who murdered
out of greed and ambition.
Just a man who step
on one tale too many.

No prophecy around here,
lest one dark and secret,
so whatever happens
to the thane and
his betrayal would only be
left for time to reveal.

A quiet night can get so comforting with songs in your head

Beautiful.
The strumming coupled,
with the voice of my angel tonight.
I see her face not,
yet so much to her song I'm deeply caught.

No.
Not gonna be like the fish,
caught in the fishing net.
Savoring each note,
making sure the tune cease to stop.

Amazing.
How a quiet night can get,
so comforting with songs in your head.
It ease you and calms,
relieve a day's worth of weighing load.

Relax.
And fall into smoothing shade,
a private moment, a secret date.
Before it reaches an end,
enjoy the song.

To Purge the Source

Its vicious,
malicious in nature.
Extending its claws
leaving no stone unturned.

It spares nothing in its path,
particularly to the core and central.
What strong presence
with such unkind intent.

Leaving me worse that dead,
the torment comes slowly.
I try to make an escape,
but sees no path ahead.

Even if I'm still hold a last breathe,
the fighting spirit could be extinguished.
Burnt off into thin air,
blown to traces of nothingness.

Yet its more like a poison,
that slowly eats you from within.
Reaching to each and every vein,
and leaves its taint uncleaned.

Making you its home,
there is no running away.
And how much you wish you could
go deep in and pull grab it all out.

But this venom has finally,
meet its nemesis.
Saving me,
my salvation from torment.

Alas somehow,
responded, my call for hope.
Once again re energized,
I know I'm cured.

How long would it last,
before it makes past this moment.
And sneak in
for another attack.

Not again is it getting through,
for I'm more more ready this time.
Tracing to the souce
and removing it all.

Up to the Down

Up, up into the sky we go
till we were sent crashing
into the land far below.

Air like a jet quickly gushes in
floods all the senses
overwhelming all know feelings.

Suspense
got redefined
in the moment of mid air.

Both space and time
transcend by the descend
and the afterthought that never leaves my mind.

Asphyxiation, overtaken
turned into muffled
by an invisible hand bent on silence.

My body continues feels the flight
though my feet firmly stands
upon refined sand and granite.

Journaling in 7 mins

Did this while on the workshop. A 7 minute process where you just let your thoughts flow and pen down whatever comes, even if it is 'blank'. Lucky for me, the words are appearing. Perhaps its the topic.

Why i choose to
to be a volunteer.
You ask me,
I don't know.

But i did ask
this question
to myself long time
ago.
And lots of time
before.
Sadly to say
there never was
at all once
a conclusion
to top it all off.

One thing maybe
i can be
slightly
very much sure of.
Is that
while volunteering,
the feeling
i'm getting
is so much fun
and happening.

We had good times,
and bad,
with sweat and tears
but we don't stop
for it is
a team
a team that score
that's why we do not
wish to stop.

Forward and forward we go.
As long as everyone
is here together,
there we'll go.
No bed of roses.
No summer breeze.
As long as
everyone is together,
there we'll go.

Anyway,
there was once
i did wonder
what life would be
without volunteering.
So dead and empty,
i dare not dream.

That's for the 7mins. Shorter than i thought. But it was good.

Dreaming of Waking Up from a Dream

Weirder and weirder dreams seem to go
but other than here,
where else could things take on a different flow?

A failure attempt
for making the scheduled evening run
for i lost to the comfort's temptation.

If not for that,
how else could this post come about,
to talk of the weird cycles of my head.

No recollection of what went prior
to my waking up
from my sleep in dream land.

All i could find
was myself on my bed
trying to make sense what was going on.

Answer i found not,
except my glasses which i wore
though i had few to begin with.

Something was wrong,
a cut that all suffered
to the frame and lens.

The slice was clean
and by no means
are works from chance.

So as i sit there thinking
bringing to me astonishment,

as i faced a minor change of scene

Still in my bed
with the lenses gone
lying there with my blanket and all.

Way. Lost.

Sometimes you feel lost,
tired, don't know where to go,
like the lights been turned out,
running in circles in a round about.

Sight getting dimmer,
temperature going lower,
even the feeling of failure
also got intensified further.

Just keep heading on,
the walk seems ever long,
and to where you wonder,
despite telling yourself it doesn't matter.

Maybe you'll find a way,
soon or perhaps taking days,
but if you can't find yours
no one could bring you out from lost.

Overwritten

Start keying in words,
new contents,
replacing the blank.


What was once written,
now replaced by
things totally unlike.


Like a castle after siege,
intruders rushing in,
claiming the treasures within.


So what's left of the denizens
after the conquest
now the occupation has come to a rest.

Hidden away,
or probably whatever took place
would need them seeking solace.

Now all that newly written,
the ink with its traces
left to the successors.

But what used to stand before
and almost lost
now faces a new reform.

let it burn

The smoke,
the smell
so clearly in sight.

Yet all passerby does
is avoid and move away
from plain sight.

Those already there
choose to be oblivious
to that flame in the bin.

Let it burn,

let it burn,

let it continue burn.

Carry on with your lives
so long its not your possessions
caught in the fire.

Who knows what else
the flame will consume
to appease a growing hunger.

Once its too big
and far from contained,
it will really take its fill.

Let it burn,

let it burn,

let it continue burn.

Insanity by Solitude

These walls,
white with a unreal ceiling,
was quiet,
save for
the ventilation of the room
and my body system.

The chair,
with wheels and cushioned backing,
i am,
thankful for
the comfort provided that is
much needed for some thoughts.

The clock,
with three hands moving non stop,
it goes,
tick tock
upon which i stare at
hoping for some enlightenment.

Her

I feel comfy when I'm with her,
the feeling that someone
understands and cares,
maybe more than i do.

The one who brings the smiles,
shows that lonely is not at all
what i look for
and that i have the capacity for one more.

Knows me like a friend,
adores me more than one,
and my companion for
the long walks and more to come.

The Seer

It might take a seer
to see past
what is before our eyes,
and awaiting to happen.

That is affected
by our decisions,
and hopefully,
all is not pre-determined.

Otherwise,
actions and decisions
would have been
all in vain.

Extra pair of gloves,
checking the blind spot,
another round of check
with a trip to the to-do list.

Precautions we might take
to avoid the pitfalls
hidden right before us,
escaping potential tragic story.

The best choice
can only prove its worth,
at the very ending
to the person having the last laugh.

So can we hasten
the scenario a little bit
even for a tiny weeny bit will do,
and spare me the agony of waiting.

Would someone,
get me a seer?

Certain

Certain things
still hold a certain sense
of uncertainty
until it can be made certain.

Who knows

Who knows
what tomorrow holds,
despite all that you can plan.

Who knows
where the wind will blow
despite what the weatherman may say.

Who knows
when chances will come knocking
despite everything is under your constant gaze.

Who knows
how the ending will be
despite you being the pen and author.

I don't. Do you?