Wednesday, 5 April 2017

Royce

Sometimes I talk to myself.

I mean, I've tried. Some days I talk to others.
But no one responds, as though I am non-existent.

Ten years I have haunted this white tower.
Ten years I have overlooked the foggy river.
Ten years I have seen the construction of the bridge to cross the foggy river, and the countless times they have failed. Why do they try so hard? Why do they build a bridge to cross into that which is unknown.

I'd like to tell them that. Actually, I have told them that. But they wouldn't listen.

Or maybe they can't listen to me. Do I even exist?

Ten years, I have sat in this white tower.
With this gift I wrapped ten years ago.
This gift I prepared for the unknown guest beyond the foggy river.

Ten years ago, they celebrated the master plan to build a vertical bridge and to lower it to cross the foggy river. They could only build it vertically, because no one dared to step into the foggy river. Tales were told of the dangers the rivers possessed. They hoped that when they lowered the bridge, the secret of what lied beyond the river would be discovered. But ten years later, bridge after bridge released, and bridge after bridge collapsed. No one knew how long the bridge had to be. Some collapsed because they were too short. Some because the structure was unstable. But ten years later, no one knew what was beyond the fog.

Ten years of building. Ten years unrequited.

Monday, 27 February 2017

Everyone gets a trophy.

I could blame you. I could blame her. I could blame him.
I could blame them all.

But truth be said, I can only blame myself.
In the game of chance, you win some and you lose some.
I won two days ago, and I thought I would win again.
Unfortunately, fates had it otherwise.

Without hope, there can be no disappointment.
It is better to be hated sometimes, than to have never been loved.
It is better to have been disappointed sometimes, then to have never seen your dreams come true.
Without losing, there can be no winners.
Participation trophies are a joke.

Friday, 30 December 2016

I stood at the gates of the gladiator arena.

You could hear the crowd roaring, their cheers deafening. The air was dry and sandy. 

The myths, the legends and stories were aplenty. The story of the warrior who upon stepping out of into the ring having his head chewed clean off. The story of the double-headed beast that breathes fire. The story of the prisoner that fought a legion of soldiers and stood tall on the mountain of dead bodies at dusk.

I wiped the sweat off my forehead and let out a sigh. They say the chemical reaction in your brain for both the feeling of nervousness and excitement is the same. I tried to calm my nerves by faking a half-smile, telling myself that this was mere excitement.

“Are you scared?” asked my fellow prison-mate standing next to me.
“Yes.” I replied.

“Well, then let’s be scared together.”

Thursday, 29 December 2016

Reckless dancing

In my youth, I thought myself wise.
In my pride, I danced with folly.
I made gambles that were risky,
Of advices, I heeded none.

In my youth, I thought I knew,
The inner and outer workings of life.
I saw the world as my colouring book,
Thought myself too mature for it.

Step after step, I chased after air,
Running and jumping, but landing on my face.
Never once stopped to consider,
That maybe I haven't figured it out.

I was always chasing perfect moments of grandeur,
Never stopping to smell the roses along the way.
Little did I know that the journey,
The little fragments of moments in between make up the destination.

Now I will never relive those memories,
My hopes can't change reality.
The way they are played out in my head,
They are, but untouchable.

Now that I am older and slightly wiser,
This is my only resolve.
In every step I take till death,
That I think myself none the wiser.

Monday, 10 October 2016

His smile, wider than I remember it to be.
But I know. I read his diary.
The pain he's going through.
The loss he suffered.
The smile isn't real.
It's too perfect to be real.

---

I am tired. I stay awake at night, because I'm afraid of closing my eyes. I tell myself I'll be okay, but then every time I shut my eyes, the images just come back. They are burned into my eyelids. And I cannot unsee what I've seen.

Will I ever find rest or respite from this nightmare?
Maybe I'll just have to learn to sleep with my eyes open.
Resentment I see, maybe subconscious.
Maybe it's conscious, but I just try to deny it.

Maybe I'm just not ready to let it go.

Wednesday, 5 October 2016

Let go

Holding on to nothing,
It's time to let go.
What you think that was, isn't.
What you wish there is, a mere illusion.
It's time to let go.

The past you created did not exist,
The happiness you wish for has long vanished.
The desperate attempts are merely empty clutches,
Can man really clench wind in their fist?

I wish you bluebirds in the spring,
To give your heart a song to sing,
I wish you health, and more than wealth,
I wish you would go, and never look back.