pens and portraits

For three years, I was quiet. I bared no badges of ardor empathy

like a slave in full carriage it was heavy, it did not weigh sorely

just occupied, it left no room for a loud cry but for a soundless faith, oh there were rooms with doors leading to more open spaces. And it hid there like a secret. I went with the tides to come to a place of solitude, a place where nobody knew and a place where I was away. And each time the sun rises, I think about its worth. To a man who knew nothing and felt nothing, it might not be as precious as cotton on, silver rings and gold coins but to me it was priceless. When it was time to come home, I stared at the clock. “three years”, It felt like I was running out of time. It was like a masterpiece that I longed to end but not a single stroke was dabbed, it can’t be fulfilled nor can it be purchased. As I took soft, definite steps, of each step I was sure of. And with each step I was careful and quiet. His voice I can hear, but like a vision, it was a blur. I took more steps, and it was audible now. But I was taken aback when he looked passed me. I turned around and he came to her, closer now and said, “for three years”. I was again quiet.

There were many times I sought for the world. And it magnified an overall sense of belonging to many rather than just one. I knew it was wrong to want that. No. The world isn’t what I want. Rather it felt like its concept was easier. I wanted one but it wanted another. And that was okay with me. Maybe because I knew very well the impossible and knew less of the possible, or maybe it was I who was not that compelling and a whole bunch of facets I don’t really know of. And I’m not talking about patience anymore rather choice. Wherein this time I know I cannot disregard my plea but I choose to deny myself and what I want. I choose to lose and not argue, I choose to let go and not fess up. I choose to see this one happy.

Living in a world jam-packed of compelling whatnots and lethargic ignorance makes you cogitate more of sanity. Sometimes I wonder where chivalry might be. Had it died in the woods of timidity? Or had it been rooted all along amidst the ventricles of our hearts? -Still incapable of voicing out or done in feat for it is no longer a prerequisite. The notion of right and wrong were once two distinctive but plausible spheres that did not touch yet octagonal and diverse as of today. The realm has depleted absurdity but the nation does not have to be the world in retort. We do not merge with farcicality to make an alteration for the good; we make a stand out of the madness and contrive what’s left of the virtuous. We do not exist in flesh for nothing; we live for a rational purpose henceforth we can amend the mocking credence of the world and revive chivalry and importance out from dusk raves, broken dreams and rebel walls.

A voice was told quietly

with sympathy veiled and unsung

fervor barred weighty

uttered without trace, hidden and hung.

.

Awake at night in the cold submits

a thought to forget mingled in mind

ghastly downhill as it hits

bedrock spent I wined.

.

Casualty steered to unravel again

the truths that lie behind the curtain

petrified desires concealed and feign

now all it was, was hidden within.

Winter as was cold and will ever be frail

in blizzard, whipped-out its denial

of love panting beneath profuse layers

coating safe a summer

that is swathed around winter.

It then left the path in cold waters,

departs without waiting for spring

to come healing, summer sings

In agony it burns with the fire within

and lit up what spring brought to cling

a feast of blossom offerings

to summer that wounds and stings

it rains as it burned the pinnacle of spring’s depletion

as the sun stood still in declination.