Month: December 2013

Vengeance of the wounded..

Art work by Gino Rubert

Art work by Gino Rubert

From the moment I laid eyes on you, I knew you have been broken. I could see through your skin, I could see her doing. I could see how dire the cracks in your heart were, how dim the light in your eyes was, how your soul is surrounded by a potent dark aura. That’s when I decided, I shall mend you.

I set foot on the prohibited land of your ‘self’, I made an oath to myself that I shall be the one to bring the light back to your eyes. I shall be the saving hand that pulls you back up. I want to proudly say “I taught him how to smile again.” I shall be your remedy, my love shall affix your heart. My touch shall take away your torment.

But you’re pushing me away..

Every time I break your walls, you construct even higher unyielding ones. Your fear of giving me space is exhorting me to try more yet, at the same, fighting myself to not gradually lose hope. I’m not her, don’t profess me for her. I’m breakable just as you are. The only difference is that I have allegiance to mend you..


Compatriots In The Land Of Blue..

On this very peculiar day, I learned we share the same despair..

Caused by the correlated  factors, what do we have to spare?..

Impetuous, you left without looking back..

Subdued in the sombre nights, I cannot cease wondering..

What is it that I lack?..

Observing you fade, you suspend your steps..

Reaching for my hands with your back still turned..

My fingers quiver and my heart palpitates..

Is this suffering I sense or are you just blurred?..

Reluctant, I held your hands tight..

You whisked me off to you, gazed at me with your tear-glared eyes..

“Was it hard to put on a better fight?..”

A jigsaw kind of life..

Art work: Eduardo Mata Icaza

Art work: Eduardo Mata Icaza

It’s terrible, it’s terrible that we cannot piece together our life. It’s terrible that our lives are scattered to pieces in the first place!

After an introspection to one’s self attempting to define the largest pieces of the puzzle. We find that to most of us, these large pieces are occupied by family, significant others and faith.

But lets not disregard the minor pieces.  It is plausible to say that the minor pieces are salient, the pieces that without them the larger ones cannot come together. You may be wondering now what these minor pieces consist of? Well, they consist of our deep dark secrets, our goals and plans, our past mistakes, our painful memories, our foresight, our motives and countless other small bits that make us who we are now. Maybe its contempt to say this, but we always tend to subvert the paramount of the large pieces to become less attached. Family members are  mortal, love is perishable and faith is dependent on our inconsistent  state of mind.

Inspiration in abundance..

Artwork by Erica Dal Maso

Artwork by Erica Dal Maso

We cannot seek inspiration. Inspiration comes to us.  Solidarity is known to be the home of inspiration and creativity. Why? Because inspiration is individualistic, moreover, it is selective. Inspiration strikes those with untrammelled minds. Liberated minds that have no boundaries to their imagination. In addition to a free mind, inspiration feeds off passion and ingenuity.

The inevitable path of moving on..

Art work by by Aimee NG

Art work by by Aimee NG

We try, we try harder, we cry, we grieve, we become dejected, and then after giving up on our whys being answered, we become forlorn, All alone, helpless and disappointed. Now we are aware of how necessary it is to find a solution, something that gives us a kick back up. Back to who we were, to embrace life again. We look ahead and we see only one path, a path paved with flowers of life, scented with smiles and joy,  gesticulating  relief and peace of mind, At first, taking the baby steps ahead to that path,  we are possessed by trepidation of forgetting, we pause, our feet tremble “Can this really be it?  Can this really be my way back to being alive again?.” We recommence walking into the path, gradually, on the way, our hearts become lighter, our steps swifter and steadier, our head is held up higher, our mind becomes stable, our wilting wings revive, our eyes glaring. Finally, we reach the end of the path, new and complete, inaugurated to the new us we find life standing there, shaking our hands and saying:

“Congratulations, you have finally moved on…

Relinquishing our hearts as we watch them fade to grey..

Artwork by Mark Francis Williams

Artwork by Mark Francis Williams

Today, we watch helplessly as they drift away, away from hearts.. Today is the day we never thought would come, the day where all those glittering moments turn into lustreless memories.

Memories that dwell around as reminders. Reminding us that love may leave our hearts stranded, love may desert our souls.

One day, and abruptly, they blow a gust on the flame of our love and walk away.. We stand still and watch them move further and further away, so relentless, so austere. Leaving us morose.. Leaving us despondent. At this point, is there anything left to do other than giving up? Giving up on them, giving up on the fact that they might turn around and tell you “I can’t do this.” But they never do… Their empathy has been drained.

The erroneous labeling for the receptacles of our core..



These receptacles contain everything that we are, everything that is unfathomable to others, we choose to conceal it away in here. Safe, private and with no guard to keep or let down.   At certain times, we feel the need to have something for ourselves only, something to seek sanctuary in. We just cannot divulge what is in there. After realizing that, we set out looking for labels to plant on these receptacles.  Labels of what we choose to reveal to the majority of people. The majority that does not seek to open it, spill it and wade in to explore the inside. The majority that finds it fairly suffice

 to read the labels and see us accordingly. We all have enigmatic inner-selves that we are taciturn about. Now, to be realistic, there are few that choose not to see the label, in other words, find it unbelievable or too trivial to be describing us. To those people, we twist open our receptacles,  drip drop  some  to test their capability of acceptance.  If they accept us, we must make sure to not refrain from pouring.

Why? Because these are the people that will genuinely hang around.

In the end, we go through this enervating process of sticking erroneous labels on our receptacles in quest for that person to whom those labels are invisible. The one that desires to be overflown by us..

A facet of his..

Art work by Deion Choi

Art work by Deion Choi

An ingenious-condescendent he is. There is some kind of insistence on suppressing my soul from his side.I feel that it’s somehow consoling to him that my mind deigns to his narcissistic self. He is my euphoria, my very own euphoria is disguised in a tangible human form. A body of a man, a man that refuses to let me in. Maybe he is suffering and just spilling his suffering over me?

My despondency must come to an end. My heart is decrepit, he has such a powerful grip on it. He is keeping me to his self, he manifests vague affection that my decrepit heart finds oh so vivid.  I beg, I plead, cease your condescending self from capturing my soul. Denying that our minds are intertwined is nothing but foolish..

Talk to me, free me into you..

A myriad of confusion..

artwork by Marcello Castellani

artwork by Marcello Castellani

I’m veritably swimming in a state of internal paralysis. He, with his actions, with his  behaviour towards me, left me speechless.  I have no words to even mutter. I feel lifeless. A body without a soul. Is he in fact the the fuel to my life engine so called ‘soul’? How is it possible when I have known him for so little? Dubious, I say to myself “maybe I have done something wrong?”  On the other hand, this perpetual waiting is evidence to the naught of care he gives about me…  About my feelings.. About my very own being..

I’m being reviled by mind, resonance of its futility is devouring my soul.  Is waiting really futile? Will he ever be the same again? Will I ever be seen for the felicity aura I possess when I’m with him, Or will I be infinitely afflicted by him..

He is selcouth… He is himself

Art work by Antoine Cordet

Art work by Antoine Cordet

I look at him but there is nothing ordinary about him except his appearance. I look at him and I see depth, I do not know how ‘depth’ itself can be seen but I see it in him. I talk to him and I fall into a tunnel that does not seem to have an end. This tunnel is not like any other,its walls are elysian.  He, himself, is a sustainable shrine of eunoia. He and only he releases me into the labyrinth. My mind, my soul and my heart are a triangular playground for him to play in and oh he is one hell of player..