Tag Archives: unknown

Colourblind Memory

And when I see you
I really see you upside-down
But my brain knows better
It picks you up and turns you around
Turns you around, turns you around
If you feel discouraged
That there’s a lack of color here…

~*~

It was an easy kind of self-destruction; the one I never had to beg for.

After a few nights of staying awake and listening to cheaply-constructed songs on the static radio, I was already haunted. Copper chain links that stabbed at the fictional horizon and left unstitched scars on the exposed wind. Shy vespertine flowers that bloomed in the most coruscant spectrums, but only when no weeping eye was there to witness their exquisite grandeur and compose concerto symphonies about it. An infinite, arrogant, wakeless kind of blue that rivaled every transatlantic and pacific direction that I chased; but, unlike the oceans of this planet so drenched and cold and jaded to the bone, no one is ever able to cross it, and no one ever will.

And violet. A damnable shade, akin to roses-not-reds and forget-me-nots, that violet. A bleeding, dirty kind of violet that left filthy, undecipherable Roschach stains everywhere. Splattering the bruises of my halted tongue, shading the asphyxiation of my untouched lips, violently overtaking the rock-steady sorry secret that was divulged and diluted all too late. It painted a tragedy that only the most damaged and paranoid artists could understand, and rending shreds of the purest agony down my colliding ribs that not even the most genius maestros and starving dilettantes could begin to dissect; for it was a foreign anatomy. A different unknown. A beyond the beyond. It was brutally twisted inside my veins and gauchely discarded somewhere in between sense and sanctuary, photographed and arrested in another postcard vintage lie. I could write graphite letters at the back all I want, but I’ll never swim away from the indigo waves in front. It was our holiday memory, drowning me again and again and again.

Absolutely useless. It couldn’t aid my breathing. It couldn’t save my sleeping. It was a disease that was highly susceptible only to my atrophied words and comatosed syllogisms—the same unfortunate ones that are now leaving my chafed fingers but never my wornout mind, like you, like you, like you.

Unrelenting. Unsuspending. Unending.

All my colours were inverted. And no one can turn it back the right way.

If there even was one.

~*~

Please don’t worry, lover
It’s really bursting at the seams
For absorbing everything
The spectrum’s A to Z
This is fact, not fiction
For the first time in years…

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Travel Thoughts

I’m not a fortune teller, I won’t be bringing news
Of what tomorrow brings, I’ll leave that up to you
I’m not a fortune teller, don’t have a crystal ball
I can’t predict the future, can’t see nothing at all…

~*~

I wonder sometimes, about fleeting things.

Sitting calmly and musing over tranquil thoughts on the top floor of a double-decker bus, watching tall foliage and even taller skyscrapers rush past my awe-stricken eyes, I’m basking in the excited beating of a foreign heart, a dearly beloved stranger, familiar yet unknown, warm blood palpitating fervently in a buzz of amalgamated emotions and hundreds of footsteps on the worn-down pavement. Yet I feel for my chest with a fluttering hand and find that mine seems to be dulled down into a quiet languor.

I dream of the future. And I dream of returning.

But the future tastes like a distant impossible nowhere—very much like this city that I’m currently traveling past—when the hands of my clock are still stubbornly stuck on the eleventh hour. I’m a broken compass with faded directions, and I’m never sure where the gravity is pulling the pointer towards, until I find myself lost without a second thought. I can’t ever be certain if there was even a north, south, east, or west in the first place. Maybe it’s just me and one big unfathomable plane of existence with no directions, no places to go, only nothing. And nowhere.

I don’t know where I am. I don’t know where to go.

I want to carry on despite all my crippling doubts paralysing my broken legs, but the crashing ocean is my tongue is salty and deep, and the nightingale has ceased warbling melodies in my throat. I think of could-have-beens and come-what-may’s, and I try to make it sound comforting instead of terrifying, try to convince myself that I’m going in a path that I intended to cross, and I’ll make it somehow. I attempt to wrap myself around the steady beat beat beating of this stranger they call a city, and I let the static sounds and captivating lights cradle me into its metropolitan lullaby. This is only one of the million strangers I have yet to make acquaintances with. And only a fraction of my time.

And I dream of hope. And I dream that someday, I don’t have to dream anymore.

The future is fleeting. But, perhaps, I might just have one.

~*~

This feeling keeps growing
These rivers keep flowing
How can I have answers
When you drown me in questions?

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Filed under Prose

Inside Jokes

They’re speaking in foreign tongues

Like a lost league or a dead language

To my native ear, it’s all new and naive

Unknown to me, unfamiliar and strange

But for all of us, it doesn’t really matter

If I don’t understand a single thing at all

For their genuine smiles are contagious

And the art of laughter is always universal.

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Filed under Poetry

i can do shameless too (and this one goes out to you)

As we wake up in your room
Your face is the first thing I see
The first time I’ve seen love
And the last I’ll ever need
You remind her that your future
Would be nothing without her…

~*~

a s h a m e d

of violent emotions

branded on the

underside of my

numb, petulant brain,

making dizzy patterns

and dainty waves

and tracing cicatrices

of infantile graves,

returning to plague

what i always confused

and refused to admit…

y e s  i  c a n  f e e l

as the argent feathers

on your hair are effulgent,

dwelling ebony shades

escaping the delight of

my aspired clairvoyance.

they spite me for being

no stranger to the beggar

c a l l e d  l o v e

for always greeting it

rather fastidiously and

tossing a merciful nickel

whenever i chance upon it

on a bustling boulevard,

instead of spitting and

sneering condescendingly

and holding back my

burning tongue to trip it.

am i cruel for being kind?

dear, you’re a halogen

h a l l u c i n a t i o n

and i am but a yonder

sabotaged daydream

and i shall keep on falling

victim to your musings,

like a burning ochre moth

to the sickly sweet fragrance

of the kerosene oil…

so, is that truly my solitary

t r a n s g r e s s i o n ?

for being able to accept

what i’ve always constantly

abhorred and denied,

only to discover in denouement

that i’m the only fool that’s

crashing unsteady bridges

and drowning in the process—?

i shall not be craven of

the grander bouts of unknown,

for i’ve my own armament

tucked and hidden away

in a four-chambered dungeon;

ready to slash and shear

at the abstract canvas which

they all mocked as an

i n s u l t i n g  a r t w o r k .

you are not incarcerated,

but i am yours perpetual to

black out to the moon

and i will return from my

stratosphere holiday carrying

a souvenir star, lifting

the light to you, so that we

will never have to be

a s h a m e d.

~*~

If you kiss me goodnight
I’ll know, everything is alright
Second chances won’t leave us alone
Won’t leave us alone
‘Cause there’s faith in love…

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Filed under Poetry