I am not sure what inspired this one but I wrote this on my phone last 11 Aug 2013. I just had this feeling of not confining this text in my phone. This is a rough draft of an excerpt of a piece which I will be working on.
"He will ask you if you want the moon and he will promise to give it to you. He will use metaphors of heavenly bodies to express what he feels about you. He might give you moon but the day after tomorrow, you see him giving another moon to somebody else. You will realize that each moon though unique is not the only one of its kind which exists.
Now you look up the sky and hope for a meteoriod and mistake it for a falling star so you could make a wish. But my dear, a wish is as uncertain as the future that all we can do is hope. Do not keep wishing for the moon, for a falling star. Long for the sun. A ball of hot gas, a star! But not a typical star and yes there are a lot of stars but only few will dare to try and give it to you and if one returns scorched but empty handed. He might not be able to give you the sun but he will give you his world."
I am still waiting for that inspiration to come for me to finish this piece.
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D.B.R.S, 11 Aug 2013, at 12:32 a.m (GMT+8)
Sunday, December 29, 2013
My sympathy goes to the light posts
I was walking with friends one day at a city within the walls when suddenly, a realization hit me. I kept looking at this erect piece of metal with bulb stationed along the streets to provide light when the sun is absent from the sky. It sure looks stylish, very apt to preserve the archaic vibe of the city but I noticed that it looked lonely. I was plagued by what I saw that when I got home I wrote a little piece:
"The melancholy of a light post: it stands alone. You can't find group of light posts together. There is always distance separating them. You don't even have a name for a group of light posts: for a group of flowers, the arrangement is called a bouquet. But what would you call an arrangement of light posts? They light up the dark but are taken for granted even if they are serving their purpose. If accidents happened, they would be blamed. And they stay in one place. Witness a lot of things happening but can't do anything. Helplessness. Yes, at its height."
Writing this here made me wonder if it's a light post or a mirror I see.
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D.B.R.S, piece written 7 July 2013, 2:54 a.m (GMT +8)
"The melancholy of a light post: it stands alone. You can't find group of light posts together. There is always distance separating them. You don't even have a name for a group of light posts: for a group of flowers, the arrangement is called a bouquet. But what would you call an arrangement of light posts? They light up the dark but are taken for granted even if they are serving their purpose. If accidents happened, they would be blamed. And they stay in one place. Witness a lot of things happening but can't do anything. Helplessness. Yes, at its height."
Writing this here made me wonder if it's a light post or a mirror I see.
----
D.B.R.S, piece written 7 July 2013, 2:54 a.m (GMT +8)
Everything but nothing has changed
Alone, melancholic
Suddenly, a thought of you popped up
No rhyme
No reason
No warning
The thought caught me by surprise
At first it was not you, then it IS you
The reason, it became YOU
It's been years, have you noticed?
I never forgot
Have you been deceived?
It was not me, I do not know if it's me
Someone came so close, so dear
I decided to disappear
Without anything but a blog entry
I do not know if you read it.
But I hope you did.
If you did, then I think you knew
What I felt when I'm with you,
About you
When you left.
But it's you and the one who was not me, and me.
In a tangled mess
Not tangled and not a mess
But it was not me, I do not know if it's me.
And it's a mess.
-----
D.B.R.S, 19 Feb 2013 10:50p.m (GMT +8)
Suddenly, a thought of you popped up
No rhyme
No reason
No warning
The thought caught me by surprise
At first it was not you, then it IS you
The reason, it became YOU
It's been years, have you noticed?
I never forgot
Have you been deceived?
It was not me, I do not know if it's me
Someone came so close, so dear
I decided to disappear
Without anything but a blog entry
I do not know if you read it.
But I hope you did.
If you did, then I think you knew
What I felt when I'm with you,
About you
When you left.
But it's you and the one who was not me, and me.
In a tangled mess
Not tangled and not a mess
But it was not me, I do not know if it's me.
And it's a mess.
-----
D.B.R.S, 19 Feb 2013 10:50p.m (GMT +8)
Friday, May 3, 2013
The unsaid
Silence hugs our team as the news of our teammate's loss was
announced.
I thought of what I should say or do but then I just sighed
and suddenly a though pops into my head "I don't know
how it feels to lose your mother
but I know how it feels to lose someone so dear and I know grief."
but then, will my words have any effect? I'm not afraid to die
but I don't like the feeling of being left behind.
Sometimes, it skips my mind that life is so short and unpredictable.
And that the last goodbyes are always left unsaid.
the last thank yous are always unheard by the person
you are telling it to.And what's left is most of the time, regrets.
Regrets for words unuttered, thanks unsaid, apologies never
made, forgiveness never given.
Coz you know what,
no matter how expressive you are there
will always be regrets on the should've beens.
So how do we deal with this? We just move on? remember them? But remembering them means remembering the regrets?
How do we remember without remembering the regrets?
-written 27 Feb 2013
announced.
I thought of what I should say or do but then I just sighed
and suddenly a though pops into my head "I don't know
how it feels to lose your mother
but I know how it feels to lose someone so dear and I know grief."
but then, will my words have any effect? I'm not afraid to die
but I don't like the feeling of being left behind.
Sometimes, it skips my mind that life is so short and unpredictable.
And that the last goodbyes are always left unsaid.
the last thank yous are always unheard by the person
you are telling it to.And what's left is most of the time, regrets.
Regrets for words unuttered, thanks unsaid, apologies never
made, forgiveness never given.
Coz you know what,
no matter how expressive you are there
will always be regrets on the should've beens.
So how do we deal with this? We just move on? remember them? But remembering them means remembering the regrets?
How do we remember without remembering the regrets?
-written 27 Feb 2013
Monday, February 18, 2013
Not forgetting
Beyond Forgetting
by: Rolando Carbonell
For a moment I thought I could forget you.
For a moment I thought I could still the restlessness in my heart.
I though the past could no longer haunt me – nor hurt me.
How wrong I was!
For the past, no matter how distant, is as much a part of me as life itself.
And you are part of that life. You are so much a part of me — of my dreams, my early hopes, my youth and my ambitions – that in all tasks I can’t help remembering you.
Many little delights and things remind me of you. Yes, I came. And would my pride mock my real feelings? Would the love song, the sweet and lovely smile on your face, be lost among the deepening shadows?
I have wanted to be alone. I thought I could make myself forget you In silence and in song… And yet I remembered.
For who could forget the memory of the once lovely, the once beautiful, the once happy world such as ours?
I came because the song that I kept through the years is waiting to be sung. I cannot sing it without you. The song when sung alone will lose the essence of its tune, because you and I had been one.
I have wanted this misery to end, because it is part of my restlessness. Can’t you understand? Can’t you divine the depth and tenderness of my feelings towards you?
Yes, can’t you see how I suffer in this even darkness without you?
You went away because you mistook my silence for indifference. But silence, my dear, is the language of my heart.
How could I essay the intensity of my love when silence speaks a more eloquent tone? But perhaps, you didn’t understand…
Remember, I came, because the gnawing loneliness is there and will be lost until the music is sung, until the poem is heard, until the silence is understood…until you come to me again.
For you alone can blend music and memory into one consuming ecstasy. You alone…
----------------------
EXACTLY.
It has been a year since this poem was introduced to me and yet, the effect whenever I read this never changes.
by: Rolando Carbonell
For a moment I thought I could forget you.
For a moment I thought I could still the restlessness in my heart.
I though the past could no longer haunt me – nor hurt me.
How wrong I was!
For the past, no matter how distant, is as much a part of me as life itself.
And you are part of that life. You are so much a part of me — of my dreams, my early hopes, my youth and my ambitions – that in all tasks I can’t help remembering you.
Many little delights and things remind me of you. Yes, I came. And would my pride mock my real feelings? Would the love song, the sweet and lovely smile on your face, be lost among the deepening shadows?
I have wanted to be alone. I thought I could make myself forget you In silence and in song… And yet I remembered.
For who could forget the memory of the once lovely, the once beautiful, the once happy world such as ours?
I came because the song that I kept through the years is waiting to be sung. I cannot sing it without you. The song when sung alone will lose the essence of its tune, because you and I had been one.
I have wanted this misery to end, because it is part of my restlessness. Can’t you understand? Can’t you divine the depth and tenderness of my feelings towards you?
Yes, can’t you see how I suffer in this even darkness without you?
You went away because you mistook my silence for indifference. But silence, my dear, is the language of my heart.
How could I essay the intensity of my love when silence speaks a more eloquent tone? But perhaps, you didn’t understand…
Remember, I came, because the gnawing loneliness is there and will be lost until the music is sung, until the poem is heard, until the silence is understood…until you come to me again.
For you alone can blend music and memory into one consuming ecstasy. You alone…
----------------------
EXACTLY.
It has been a year since this poem was introduced to me and yet, the effect whenever I read this never changes.
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