I hopped with the stick in hand Driving my herd grazing the land It was time, the sun was setting The green grass turned yellow, unforgetting It was a task, taking them downhill Ain't no human, hence, still I called them out, and whistled and squeaked Alert as they were, followed my lead The sun was setting right in front of me The far off field shone beautifully Crops swayed to and fro Trees casted a long shadow And there, at the foot, I saw a shack Lone in its place, missing track I stood on the hill, wondering of life Shut from the world, can anyone thrive? I started descending like a routined task Gathering my stock, adjusting my cask The pond glistened, an ocean of gold Sun neared the horizon, a story to fold Sky turned yellow, then orange, then red My eyes gazed with a thought in head Nature is pretty, a pure bliss How lovely would the Creator be, if creation is this! 'It's time to leave', my friends voiced I obliged, I knew I have no choice. I will return tomorrow, for I have experience to add Going home today, a rich twelve year old lad.
I opened my eyes to grim darkness Deathly silence piercing my ears Couldn't see my own body Just feeling the warmth of rolling tears I knelt and bent and pressed my hand Against the floor, losing steer Thumping of my heart, coldness of my blood Thoughts fogging my mind unclear I collided with something firm And I crawled up the stairs I tried the knob, opened the door Reality was finally here.
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.