soul searching

the island

and then you have the weird one

who ran away

before she could utter the first word

perhaps he was just afraid

she was confused

like many others who did

he slipped with a million things in his head

whines to his friends

his loneliness blamed on luck

and on everything and everyone else but himself

shuts himself

not before others shunned him

sulks himself to sleep

sulks himself to tears

all these years

not willing to bite back

now bent and crippled

from all these bitterness

even solitude dessert him

ever more drifted

a floating cave of crumbling walls

in this ocean of many truths

where is the island?

without a hint of realisation

that he had been one

perfect love only probably exist in television land and even these days, you find tragedies more often than happiness in tinsel town.

but why do people not understand?

in my grandparents’ time, there’ was not a lot of preconceived notion of what love was about, let alone perfect love. many of them did not have the choices we have these days but did you see them fight, divorce and kill one another out of passion?

we have more choices today but yet these choices probably arose from the expectations we accumulated through our lives from books, television, film, magazines and friends. looking for the right one. looking for the white knight.

how do we get a grip? I don’t think ever. we’ll always need a reference point don’t we? to do what others are doing as well, to ensure we have a better chance of finding the right partner.

It’s like evolution. those who failed, suffered loneliness. those who succeed, granted happiness.

Still, success might just be transient. Won today, lost tomorrow, to the tide of insatiable pursuit of that perfect happiness.

Uncontentment, self-pity, social expectations intoxicates relationship and crumbles a couple inside out and before long, both wanted out and wanted someone else to rejunvenate respective lives, to find someone who could bring the zest back again. the springs in those youthful steps, the exuberance of writing little love notes, the thrill of that first kiss…

the funeral

the november cloud hung low

the ground laid wet and waste

a passing storm

a man’s life without much haste

the band stood stoicly

the clef, the pitch, the tempo

ready came the maestro

for a man’s last affection

the drum rolls

Sinatra’s “My Way” bellows

in his honour

off they march

from the funeral parlour

the ground rumbled a second or two

a plume of dust in the air

waiting since forever

for the man’s return

tis' electronic affair

a mere cyber foray

no encroachment of respective space

the veil of the LCD interface

punctuations exclaimations and smiley faces

dots and dashes

we pour our thoughts unabashed

this web of emotional mash

who is first to be rashed

beyond ones and zeroes

the flood that follows

the tentacles that grow

love out from this furrow

undo, delete; format

I must have been mad

contrived

confounded

those little expectations

had seep into my equation

miscalculation

i need verification

instead nothing went better

maybe wise was my fetter

tis’ electronic affair

vanishes into the thin air

i would rather imagine how it’s like

than having to go through the fight

cos the end would be the same

only difference lies in the stakes of the game

If it was ever meant to be that easy

then why does nobody fancy

surely love was meant to be tested

or maybe the examiner had cheated

I think as long as it’s an honest day of work, i don’t see why we can’t do it, or at least give people the benefit of the doubt.

You want someone to do work, you need to give them the incentive. In the bigger scheme of things, the cost would be small but the impact it produces would be great.

Everyday consistency level is different between different people. We have different peaks and troughs. If we recognised this, and put in the effort to overcome, or take responsibility, the day is honest.

how close our disparate lives could brush

yet be as far as tomorrow arrives

Her eyes fixated

To a distant memory

As near as now

I saw right through her

Like a glass

Her hand slid from mine

I broke like a vase

So fine I would drift forever

That split second

Inconsequential on any other day

An arm’s length apart

Like any other day

Eternity is incomprehensible

where do i stand beneath these stars

within the mysteries of all around

can i still hang on to your words

believe they are not by men and their selfishness

of many things that i have seen

all the promises that I have heard

they preach grace yet so unforgiving

they preach love yet refuse the other cheek

troubled my mind and rumbled my soul

still not convince and probbaly never will