Good Morning Sunday

From the waking up
to the breakfast in the kitchen,
this is a sunday
I have never really knew.

On my favorite seat,
basking in sunshine flooding in.
Music from the headphones,
Makes everything seem so at east.

A peek into my drawer,
half open as a stand for my elbow,
I observed amidst the mess,
my red colored birthday card.

This corner of a one meter square,
a little sanctuary out of mess and chaos
where I am most at home,
while I am home.

Let this last a while more,
the sunshine through the window,
the ease that I am feeling
and the morning before time strikes twelve.

The Locked Out

Armed with a key
but no entry.

Hours getting late,
I'm standing out here,
tired and reek of sweat.

Stood staring,
decided on leaving.

A walk down the pavement,
on the search for a spot
to rest and pass the hours.

Music over radio and cups of tea
makes hours bearable in minutes.

Survival on what little strength,
as my mental concentration dwindle
like battery of my computer and phone.

I'm done and wonder what I'm doing,
when the sun is up and those that follow after.

Does it end up a cycle,
seeing me in circles,
failing to find the end of the line.

Do not ask me to explain,
I'll fix it if there's a problem.

Its just not my style
and certainly not when I know
what is said will not matter.

Tearing off this roof tile by tile,
embrace the sun and weather.

I made what I have the necessities,
thrown out the missing stuffs entirely,
and what I got now is just a shelter.

This is not the way to lead a life,
gotta follow and trust your presume right.

Unfortunately this presume right,
are like reflections of your mirror,
sighted as left in your view.

Last Stand - Part 1

He maintain his stance,
Withstooding another strike,
But for how long more could he,
When you see his trembling limbs
And sore bloodied hands.

There was no intention
Of dropping his arms
But neither can he find strength
To make another swing of the sword,
Blunt and rusted to the hilt.

His limbs cry to him
And his mind wavering,
Facing the thought of defeat,
With each weakening breathe
Doused by the scorching wind.

good post.bad.

I could so much hate
the days I get
a much better writing
on my desk.

That the better post
are often companions
of gloom
and bad days.

Consider it
consolidation
to dark,
brooding hours.


Lest they turn around
and decide
to stay awhile
longer than you wanted.


So long the poet stays
sane with chiseled words
you can wonder
whether he is doing good.

Me and Cloud

Droplets from the rain cloud,
Yet to form a storm.
Treasury of greenery,
I'm looking at trees to be.
Gushes from the air,
Cold to the touch.
That is the day,
At half of the night

Lost Poem

I don't have a poem this time.
It's just me,
And a heart full of words,
Mind filled with thoughts
Of her.

The constant ache
That rings a bit too late
Bringing myself to reminder
How much I want to
Let her know how much i love her.

Where is my Juliet.
The one that is bounded
By her house and name
And by my words
She went away.

I do not see her
But i still feel her pain
Teary red and swollen eyes
And it is by my name
They came to be.

The logical mind
Does not match with
Emotional thoughts
Like how we were presumed
As a bleak stricken union.

Abrupt Stop

It came
To an abrupt stop.
No more
Humming of the engine.
Or whatever
Internal mechanics it consists.
Snatched some
Attention of the commuters.
Turn around
Made no sense of the situation.
Jerk on
And its back to normal.
Let's say
The escalator wants a holiday too.

Bright.Space.

Why is the sun so bright today?
Have i woken past the hour
And no one's here to wake me.
Perhaps the lack to need to
Might grant me some space,
A personal sanctuary in sight.

Mind ponders back and forth
Slightly right
With a bit more to the left
And hypothes the due reason
Was a sign of unimportance
Sadly speaking,
The mind was more than
Half convince.

More than 24

Wish for that additional 24 hours
Or a day if you would call it
in today our week of 7
So that we could
Have just that time
To complete what isn't

Second thoughts kick in
Of time being universal
And everyone will see
Their extended week
And what difference
Would that make

When it means its
An additional day
for work to jump on you
For people to make
That one request
Making your work essentially
... neverending

If only
That 24hours
Was for you solely.

Body in distress

Chillness in my lumbs,
Aching on my back,
Drowsy in my head,
And no heat to be sensed.

Stack up the blankets,
I could only feel fabric weight.
Drop my eyelids,
Spirit taking a retreat.


A half conscious man,
Onward on this words,
Seeking some verses
That tells of the moment.

This Moment

I am using anesthesia,
using music to numb my senses
to lose myself
before i resign to overbearing forces.

Let me find peace,
amidst them
while i am like a stranger
in a city i have yet to meet.

A runaway,
pursued by many,
trouble by the struggle,
trying to make ends meet.

Where am i
where am i really?
Have i really lost myself?
My desperate act of escape...

Writing

I've been writing,
I've been writing.
No more than a mountain,
no deeper than a valley.

The words they struck
a negotiation,
with my head.

That for now,
they'll take a break
from wires and circuits,
heading back to classic.

Of wood turned pages
and hard solid cover.
They'll be there,
for an infinite moment.

That is,
till convinced
to be back here
again,

Let them be shelter
by stars and twilight cover
and back to carbon,
they shall be brought to life.

I Saw Fear

Why would I be seeing fear,
one that I recognise
as something that chills me.

The day when distance closes
and gap is removed
from the space of time.

When one walks out
leaving the other
stranded in statsis.

Talks of eternity
diminished into columns of air,
into non existence in an instant.

Could you be here
and tell me gently
that this fear shall not appear.

Train. Noir.

Incidentally the tram ride
reminded of scenes
from stories of distant future
with a dark, noir setting.
Felt like monochrome
was used in capturing
each of those frames.

Everyone kept to their own,
not a single word was heard,
maybe some hard sounding breathing
and silent gazes to a corner.
Perhaps autheors back then
have often linked up
technology as the cause
of broken humanity.

Some way or the other,
either they are the pessimist
or do I sense
some reality to
their perceived truth
written in absolute fiction.

Missing you. With Rants.

Papers were bad today,
the morning run was good though.
Now I take the many little things
and try to enjoy the simplicity in between.
My phone seldom rings now,
maybe because you are not around.
I got a web-cam for three months now,
so you can see me and i can see you too.
Its not so much like a broken transmission
across outer space like in science fiction.
Taking about the screens,
perhaps I'm hitting a bit too many these days.
Of which they lasted a good time for me,
at the same time reminding me of the few we did.
A message that is sent,
but would not see a reply after that beep.
Neither on another channel would I
be able to savor the reminiscence of what is so deep.
Heading back to work then holiday again,
and the routine continues without much change.
This makes for a day's ranting,
before I get a good night sleeping.

Where art' thou?
I miss you.

Unfocus Focus

Breathless.
Endless panting.

There's no wind.
Temperature rising.

Sweat tickles down,
all sides of my head.

The knee jerking pain.
Am I landing my foot correctly?

Where's the distance marking?
What's my current timing?

Rounds to go.
Rounds to go.

No stalling.
No stopping.

Run, run run...
Keep the tempo going...

What did the rain say.

Rain.
The other thing
apart from restless days,
mind-wandering minutes,
and failed alarm clock
that is getting common.

That's the last quarter
in the manner
that I remembered
across the decade since
i notice the falling drops.

Where the day is often served
with a starter, the main
and then the dessert
sometimes in that order
or all mixed up together.

Ash-coated cream,
extra heavy rain,
added with chilling wind,
that leaves a feeling so mellow
especially in the bitter cold.

We had been questioning
whether had someone
simply tune the weather machine
wrongly or maybe haphazardly
thus explaining our misery.

Now it seems a bit more right,
and upon opening your eyes
a bit more wide,
you'll see that
for some other,
things still ain't really right.

Where water sweeps past
like an angry mob and
some lost their life
in an instant
while for others, hope.

The weather that i see,
compared with a previous year
feels more intense
like a person trying so hard
to be heard.

Throwing out everything,
to get attention,
like he's been ignored
for far too long,
that its unbearable.

So what does this rain mean?
For the better or the worst?
The calm before a storm?
And shall this be the calm,
we are all to face a disastrous time.

Clean Up Service

Let me be here,
to clear up your day,
I might be bad at the house,
but just listen to me for now.

Let the fridge,
offer you a cold drink,
cool off that anger,
and ice cubes to top it off with.

Broom and the dustpan,
sweep up the unwanted,
cleared to the last speck of dust
and no traces of dirt.

What else could I offer,
how about a good seat,
with comforting cushions,
for you to rest right here.

Just stay a while and relax,
things are not as bad as you expect,
keep that smile on,
and in here, you're home.

Phantom of the Order

They talk about
one of us,
a member of the order.
Now that we have split,
all towards paths
that might cross
and join together.
But this one they mention,
caught my attention,
for few would still do,
revisit this old location.
That he is fair,
that his skin is clean
from the sun's glare.
No glass upon his face,
to correct
distorted angles.
And seeks education
born not from
the ruling nation.
Where the people we have
are few and and within what we knew,
who could it possibly be,
lest the order has within,
a person that remain phantom,
right under our noses.

Hey Friend

Hey friend,
where have you been?
The pictures,
the writings
all stopped coming in.

Have work
been really pressing,
that time grew wings
to escape
imprisoning.

Does the calligraphy
still flow,
from your brushes' tip
while you enjoy your smoke
in your little breaks.

Simplicity streaks
across the sights
that you share,
of mornings and things,
we don't give another blink.

I wish for you that
may ink never cease
to be far from your reach,
and keep the pictures coming,
what might catch your glimpse.