×× From the Fountains ×× | In the style of Pablo Neruda |
From the fountains of your love, I drink, Plunging my face into its depths. Once parched, wandering the nights, I feel quenched now as I taste your lips.
Your eyes are rivers of serenity, I get caught in their ebbs and flows; Grander than moonlight on a winter's eve, Grander than oceans of taciturn waves. The pink tones that decorate your cheeks Lure foreign sailors safely to your shores.
The heavens are woven with your ebony hair, I map the constellations between each star. Angels dance there where the aroma is sweet; Lilac, honey, and lavender--a concinnity.
With my fingers, I trace each curve and edge, Every blue vein, every hill, and every valley. Lands once unclaimed, I make them my own, There between your breasts, your heart calls me home.
Life has allowed us the privilege of experiencing something so ethereal as a freeze frame in the vast oceans of our day to day existence.
We stretch out our hands to grab it, but it eludes us. We try with all our might to hold on, to make it last. Our efforts, however, are vain at their best, and futile at their worst.
For with each passing moment we try to seize by clenching it in our fists, myriads more slip through the cracks of our fingers: where they become wasted, drifting quickly into the void of eternities past.
They find themselves filed away into the furthest recesses of our minds; there where obsolescent memories have not seen the light of consciousness since the moment of their conception. All of their innate potential has now become lost irremediably.
Moments have wings, you see. Beautiful wings, which allow them to flutter gracefully any way the everchanging winds of fate and of circumstance may blow.
They travel as an armada of ships sailing the seas; As a vortex of clouds enveloping the troposphere; as kaleidoscopes of monarch butterflies voyaging to New Mexico every year.
If only we could allow ourselves to rest right here, right now...
In this moment, where there are butterflies swirling on ahead in our own journey--opportunities for a meaningful life.
In this moment, where there are grand displays of clouds changing shape and form above--the evolution of the heart as it's tempered by the atmospheric pressure and elements.
In this moment, where we see the great ships sailing onward--the promise of exciting adventures to be had and battles to face as we press forward to our destination.
We cannot capture a moment, it must come to us: It comes to us when we are still, just as butterflies when they land in the palms of your hands for a rest before fluttering off again.
When you learn the art of stillness and serenity You will find that kaleidoscopes of beautiful moments flock themselves around you. They fill you with hope, joy, peace, and love.
When this happens, you are allowed the privilege to see it in action and up close. To feel its fragile legs upon your skin, To admire the intricate details on its wings. Each moment is unique on closer inspection-- Beautiful in it's own way.
Maybe if we took a second --as days seem to threaten leaving us behind in their wake-- to be still and calm our souls, To stop rushing around maniacally in pursuit of the perfect moment, To open our eyes for once in our lives, We may find that the perfect moment Is the one in which we're living now.
\\it takes a gentle soul, a patient heart, A delicate touch, and the eyes of a poet, To truly see the beauty hidden in every moment\\
My legs search for a home I don't have a connection to. They keep walking the distance on their own, tired yet restless, without any hope but with a will to keep on marching indifferently. It's been a while since I've taken a breath of relief, my legs have started to stutter, my lips have been totally sealed.
Words don't find a way out of my mouth now, they keep echoing inside my head. It seems like they have found their home there, inside of me while I myself struggle helplessly to call a place my own.
But while I'm failing to find solace anywhere, my mother, she seems to have found a home in me. While I struggle to see myself as anything more than a waste of space, my mother, she begs to differ, she puts all of her pride in me.
Cry. I want you to cry today. You've been holding it off for way too long. Or perhaps, you just finished crying. But don't stop, not today, not tonight. What's so special about tonight? Nothing. Other than the piercing pain in your chest, nothing is special. Cry till your eyes run dry. Cry till your headache gets numb. Cry all of it out.
What did they do? What did they do apart from showing their colors? You trusted them, again and they took it for granted again. They try to shut you up. They try to control what you say, what you do, what you think. They try with all their might. But you trust them, because you love them, no matter what you tell them otherwise.
Strangers can anger you, but them? Your tears are their thrones while you just stand their and just hand fan their egos. I understand that most of you don't have any other choice. It's in our blood, it's in our personality, the way we behave is the product of what we've seen. The way they behave is the product of what they've seen. Step back tonight.
What's happening in your chest right now? Can you feel it move gently? Or is it tight as ever? How about your sniffles? Can you hear them? Can they hear them? Most of them can, but they choose to ignore it. Why? They won't bend down to do a 'stupid thing' called apology. How are your eyes? Do they burn tonight, just like mine? Can you feel the dryness that hovers in your mouth? Lie down. Let those tears fall.
I know that you hate to bring your tears for display when they're around. But sometimes, we can't help ourselves. Sometimes the rapid blinking just spreads the igniting burn. Sometimes the clenched jaws move roughly enough to see seen. Sometimes they just see you cry. Most of the times they ask you to stop. But not tonight.
You want to scream. You're screaming inside and you badly need to scream out right now, out loud. But you won't, will you? They're sleeping peacefully, perhaps miles away from you, across your room or even perhaps next to you. The stability in their breath irks you to edge. The ubiquitous silence irks you to edge because all you want is to hear something hopeful, maybe even your scream.
You've been trying to breath in and out to control yourself. But I say, don't do that now, not tonight. Let yourself lose control. Cry, scream, do whatever that makes you vent out the hurt, the betrayal, the agony, the sleepless nights, the disinterest, the pain, their voice in your head, their criticizim, that was imposed by them on you.
Don't stop. Don't care. Are they aware of the gut-wrenching pain you go through every day? Do they do anything about it? No? Then don't care. No matter who they are. You're a human being. And you deserve to be treated like one. Lock the doors if it helps, throw their voices out of the window. Just listen to your voice.
Talk to yourself. Some think it's delusional but I believe it's actually relieving. Talk to her or him. Talk to the person inside you who never let their voice out. Who was shushed on any occasion. Or Talk to the person who never got heard. No matter how many things she or he said, they were never heard. Be there and listen to them, Talk to them. You have a lot to catch up on, you have a lot to talk about.
Their story may not be much different from yours now. Or maybe it is and you're facing newer challenges. But think carefully. How are you here? You grew up from that. You grew up from all the hurt. You grew up from their callous nagging. You grew up to be who you are right now at this moment. Maybe who you are now is not what you really want to be. Maybe you lost who you wanted to be. But, unlike the fact that I stopped using the term 'grow' here, doesn't mean that you have to too. You're still going to grow from this and perhaps one day your future self will talk to you, seeking comfort where they'll get exactly how they want it.
You are in a tough place. But tonight I ask you to hold on. Hold on to your cries. Hold on to your screams. Hold on to their tired young voices. Hold on with everything that you have left. Hold on to me, hold on to yourself. Heaven is place that's not too far away. You will get there. You have my word, you will get there. And when you do, you will remember how you talked to yourself back in those days and how much that helped you to be where you are. Hold on. No matter how hard it is, hold one. It's the only way out. For good.
America has fallen under a dictatorship where all freedoms and rights were taken away. One man, who goes by the name Jace, aka Zero, will raise an army to bring back peace and freedom to the country he once called “Home” before America met its “Fall.”
Suddenly, an explosion erupts among a crowd as Jace is trailing through while being chased by five men in military uniforms. While getting held up by some protesters, he quickly has to find a way to escape the uniformed men.
“Where can I...ah, there it is!” Jace says as he spots a small alley and starts to head towards it. He loosens the straps of his backpack, takes it off, and throws it over the fence covering the entrance. As he jumps, he realizes that his bag seems a little lighter than it should.
“Crap! It must have fallen out somewhere around here!” exclaims Jace, as he searches for the laptop that fell out of his bag. He’s suddenly grabbed and thrown to his back by two of the men who caught him. They aim their guns at him.
“Sir, we caught the intruder. What should we do with him?” One of the men asks into the radio on his vest.
“Just hold him until we get there,” the voice from the other side of the radio says.
“You heard him! Don’t move a muscle, or we will shoot!” the other man says.
As Jace is sitting there, looking around, he spots his laptop under the dumpster. “Listen, guys. I don’t want any trouble. Everything is just one big misunderstanding. Yeah, a misunderstanding.” Jace says to the men.
“Oh, so it’s just a misunderstanding that you broke into a top-secret facility and stole plans for a raid that is securely under wraps? You mean that misunderstanding?” the man who spoke into the radio asks.
“Uhh...yeah, no, you got me there,” Jace says as he lets out a chuckle while inspecting his watch.
“What’s so funny, you piece of rebel crap?” the man questions.
“Oh, it’s nothing. Just waiting...” Jace answers.
“Waiting? No one’s coming to save you. You’re all alone now!” Says one of the men.
“Wouldn’t be so sure about that!” Jace says, and suddenly another explosion goes off. Caught off guard, the men look around as Jace gets up and grabs onto the barrel of one of the men’s guns. As he aims the barrel at the man who spoke into the radio, the other pulls the trigger out of fear, not knowing it’s aimed at his partner, shooting his colleague.
“Man down! Man do...” The other man calls out as Jace takes the gun from the man then aims it at him.
“Don’t say another word, or he eats his own bullets!”
To Jace’s surprise, the man standing shoots and kills the injured man and yells, “We don’t negotiate with terrorists!”
“Well crap, there goes that plan,” Jace says while diving for cover as the man starts to open fire at him. Jace lands behind the dumpster his laptop is under, but soon realizes his backpack is still out in the alley. He quickly searches around for something within reach that would help him grab his bag but finds nothing. He peeks his head out from behind the dumpster, nearly getting shot by the man, then quickly retreats as he searches for something to distract the man for just a split second.
“If I can distract him, just for a few seconds, and draw his attention, I can get the upper hand!” While searching, he notices a rock. Jace grabs the rock and throws it over some metal trash cans. It hits a trash can, and the man quickly looks around, thinking there are more people nearby. Suddenly, Jace makes a run for his bag. The man catches the eye of Jace and opens fire, but barely misses, shooting behind his feet.
Jace then throws the backpack behind the dumpster where he was hiding and jumps towards it. Reaching cover, Jace puts the laptop back in his bag, devising a plan to escape this man. Needing to act fast before more arrive (as previously mentioned by the man on the radio), Jace checks the magazine to see how many rounds are left, “Eight. I have to make this work somehow.” Jace reinserts the magazine, checks the chamber, and sees another, “Okay, eight, plus one. That should be enough to work with!” Jace thinks of a better plan, knowing how the man won’t fall for the same trick twice. As he looks around, he notices that the man is standing next to a waterline. “I have to make this shot count because, if it doesn’t, we are all screwed!” With that said, he quickly comes out of cover and fires two shots at the waterline. The first shot misses, but the second one barely grazes the line. Nothing happens. “Well, sh...”
The man starts to open fire. Simultaneously, the line bursts from the pressure built up, tearing the part grazed by Jace’s bullet. The man gets thrown to the side by the amount of water pressure shooting towards him.
“That went better than expected!” Jace says as he straps up the backpack. He starts to take off, running down the alley, and, at that moment, the other three men who were chasing him arrive. They follow and open fire at Jace, but all miss, or so Jace thought. Jace climbs up to a roof and starts jumping from building to building, trying to escape the men chasing him, then jumps down onto the main road on an overpass. More men surround him. There is no way out.
“You’re out of options!” one of the men yell at Jace. “There’s nowhere for you to run! Just turn yourself in!”
Jace jumps up onto the side of the overpass, signaling all the men to aim their weapons at him, and yells back, “No! I will never give myself up, not to you and not to your leaders! I will never obey you or your laws! There is only one law I obey, and that, my friends, is the law of gravity.” Then he leaps backward, off the overpass.
They are all shocked after witnessing what he just did. “Look!” one of the men shouts. They all see Jace on top of an eighteen-wheeler.
“Where do they get these crazy sons of guns!?” the head of the team shouts as he throws his hat to the ground, “That was our only chance, foiled by some stupid kid! Let’s regroup. And I need a search party out looking for this kid!”
An hour passes. Jace bangs on the roof of the truck. The driver slams on his breaks, shocked at the sudden sound, not knowing Jace was up there. When he slams on his breaks, Jace goes flying off the top of the truck. “Well, dang, don’t let me down too easily!” Jace says with a chuckle. The driver gets out and asks Jace if he’s okay and about why he was up there. The driver also notices Jace is bleeding from his side and starts to panic, “I’m so sorry! I swear I didn’t mean it! I didn’t!” Before the driver can finish his sentence, Jace tells him it’s okay and that he wasn’t the reason he was bleeding.
After he reassures the driver, he lets him go with no hassle. Jace then starts to head into Hawlings River Regional Park, where they have their main base set up but hears a sound. “Who’s there!?” Jace yells, holding his side to try not to bleed too much.
“You’re too loud!” he hears a male voice say behind him.
“Maybe if you weren’t loud, you wouldn’t have gotten caught,” Jace says as he turns around to see who is speaking to him.
~•~~•~~•~~•~~•~~•~~•~~•~~•~~•~ The frame on the wall speaks to me in a language lost in memories...
In these desolate hallways, we speak as if we understand each other’s meanings, and, sometimes, the feelings do bypass the barriers set between us- or so it seems. It’s within those occasional moments, inside the maze we call home, when our minds sync up, linking us to a world belonging to antiquity, that we realize language isn’t the key needed to free the truth from our grave of history.
And if I think about it this way: how our stories of “back thens” have strayed away from the realities we remember, then it only makes sense to, first, recognize that we’re both wandering inside the same maze. Eventually, our paths will converge, and when they do, it’ll be because we saw a glimpse of an entire page- not just a line or two.
I await the moment when we will have finally found the record book, of lives we lived, written in a language fathomable to both of us from there on...
It is then that the airy whispers of the halls, shuffling our memories, will have been swept away into the cob-webbed corners. It is then that the tombstones of “formerly known” will crumble down into tiny specks of rubble between our toes to be stamped upon like melting snow, or dust grown cold, and frosted petals will bloom to reveal the face of “nowadays.” It is then that it will be me staring at you and you staring at me and neither of us feeling absolutely alone between the walls ever again.