I’ve found out that i need another outlet to continue my bit act as a half netizen, with wordpress literally a source for me to spew words, i need a new platform to splutter and grow.
hello tumblr.
To leave it as it is, was the agenda nonetheless.
The day was perfect. The sun was at its glorious best, with the clouds mimicking sleek white threads, as if emaciated, across the pale blue cloth of the hanging sky. With no warning whatsoever, something touched you faintly on the head, and then your shoulder. There was a shriek, a queer sound you made once you saw what it was. You turned instinctively, curiousity levels up a notch with adrenaline engines in overdrive. It was a fifty dollars bill!
You look up, head throbbing with expectancy, eyes furious with joy and wonderment. The sky was indeed raining dollar bills, hundreds of them, all falling and fleeting like its traditional rival called rain. As your hands reach out to claim your prize, your long awaited dream to build dreams, you find yourself losing consciousness. The sky grew hazy and bleak, with the sun consumed by the blanket of swirling mist, which gradually crawled its way to the ground where you were standing.
An irritating, yet familiar sound broke the dearth silence as you enter into a state of coma like submission. The sound grew louder and louder, as if the decibels were increasing exponentially, threatening to tear apart your eardrums, threating to render you deaf.
You squirmed, stretched, and a jolt of light broke through the walls of the inky darkness that you’re submerged in. You blinked, you shielded yourself, you took a moment to recover from this sudden attack of migraine like pain. You began to look around amidst the cacophony of car horns and noisy birds and an occasional random drum beat; oh yes, its time to wake up and go to school.
Sometimes, time stutters but leaves you a trail of dust the minute it feels like it. And how it has already touched the early part of September, when spring is slowly but surely edging out the chilly months of winter. It wasn’t that long ago it seems, that i was still in the midst of struggling, albeit like a runner running towards the finishing line; but with the finishing line backing off at the same time.
A big change people say, a huge leap of faith. It sounds so cliched, so overused but really, everything happens for a reason. You live life once, you live for it, you live to make it good, to make it worthwhile and make it worth living for. To live a life doing things that drives you through the thinnest of times, that brings joy through the toil and tears, isn’t this what everybody is searching for?
For all sad words of tongue and pen, the saddest are these, “It might have been.” – John Greenleaf Whittier
He wasn’t really aware,
of what was to come.
Seeking so much,
but was left with none.
As time rears its head,
to signal of the gone and the lost.
As time spaced itself out,
to drag on the pain and make hoarse.
Dreams became like lost souls,
wandering with no aim.
Claiming to put him,
back from where he came.
Stymied were the emotions,
haunted by colluded dreams.
Safe and sound he ought to feel,
as time should now; rightly beam.
Sit and watch. Just sit and watch.
There was only so much that could have been done, there was only so much that should have been done.
The way things unfolded, like an unblemished red carpet being rolled out to accomodate thoughts, and more thoughts.
Like the way the sun would rise to scatter its rays, chasing away the dark and putting colours back.
Where once were awashed with colours, now stood a blank portrait, now stood a forlorn wreck.
Sit and watch. Just sit and watch.
As the then and now fused to confuse,
as the past and present held hands, to form a ruse.
Tricked, all were.
So do sit and watch…
just sit and watch.
It seems to me, that the lateral vantage point where you seek a release from the present, where you take a breather and look at the dimming commotion and ruckus created by people in this suddenly alien world; is just to keep moving on, and in better words as described in the book of Phillipians, “forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead.”
The sonic pace of life, the prudent measures of philosophies, or perhaps the stoic representation of a compulsive generation striving to achieve at “all costs”, make for a bottomless mosh pit filled with blinded obsessions. Grasping dreams and holding on to them tightly is never a wrong thing to do, and will never be wrong.
if then was just a facade of choreographed mistakes, it wasn’t regretful, nor an assumption of fate
The night was still, with the chill insipid. As the eyes lay claim to a myriad of stars, how so I wonder if time would relinquish it’s sole responsibility, for now.
The past few weeks were incredibly nerve wrecking, like shades of perpetual darkness blotting out the entire landscape, painting the oiled sun black and greying those magnolia pieces floating out in the once lit sky.
Or probably, like masses of inky fluid slowly filling up a bottle and shutting out all traces of light. Hopeful for a sledgehammer to be in full swing of it’s real purpose, taking apart the tangled web of uncertainty, taking apart the ill effects of negativity.
And so those hands were once again clasped, and prayers were once again whispered. For nothing can compare to the glorious definition of a miracle, for nothing can compare, to the grace of receiving one.
