"He looks forward for a chance Staring into nothingness To make the best of the unknowns To give a sense to the future. And when the lights shine upon him Giving him hope To dream and dream big He is lost in the whirl of emotions. The little that he owns That place that he stays Make him unsure still satisfied Of his decisions yet to be made. And so he stares into the dark Reflecting on his own self From deep within him The space foreign to him too."
I love how History never loses the taste of melancholy, On its tongue Like a broken stereo That plays the same Elvis song Over, And over Again. Yet time lives on its amnesia For all the times it witnesses A story, A pause, A revelation, Or a loss that fuels poetry, A poetry, that's often not just words For I knew a man Who gave away wishlists folded in paper planes To a girl that resembled his dead daughter A woman who'd stop wearing blue A kid who took after his colonel uncle It's such a shame To be a poet When I don't know how to poetrify a loss. I didn't know Until today, That loss Is written In braille, To fathom it, Feel it first.
Somewhere far beyond the focus of time I hunger for the life I have once owned Foraging about the forgotten lands For chunks of happiness thrown away And harmless ways to repair my failures
Years have passed since I have been here Carelessly roaming atop my glass shards Desperately trying to grasp the string That binds the shreds of hope Which I persist to believe are still there
But when the amber glow within my heart Shines against those pieces of glass Instead of conveying yearning reflections They turn into deceitful shadows Tearing my clothing of faith Stripping me of my determination
Obligated to walk barefoot along the shards I have become as frail as a ceramic doll Thrown against a wall of delusion As my scarlet petals run down my body Tinting the shards I have been walking on
One by one, my helpless failures rotten Infecting the glass path with coal Which is soon ignited by the scarlet petals Melting down the naked fool Who pretended to be a beautiful flower That only wished to escape the cursed garden And not to be forgotten as a pile of ash But remembered as a symbol of hope for the weak Encouraging the faithless to grow wings So they would not need to walk by the painful path I took.