21.11.15

action speaks louder than words

don't tell me how to love;

not today,
not now,
not tomorrow,
not ever.

no,
never.

show me.

10.8.15

black

black is achromatic,
neutral,
having no hue.

black is the color of void,
the very epitome of nothingness;
the absence of entity.

black is the symbol of
uncleanness
and impurities.

it is non-deity;
it is the only color that could
perfectly capture our existence,
for we are the mortals;
we are the sinners.

without lights,
darkness would still remain;
but without darkness,
lights' significance would cease to exist.

17.3.15

it's raining, again

raindrops crashes into the soil,
succumbs to the force of gravity;

mother of earth seemingly
wants to share its sadness,
but doesn't know who to vent to.

gloomy sky never fails to
stir the emotion of humans beneath it.

for some, rain makes them
feel calm and relaxed;
some also might be reminded of
their unrequited love,
reminded of someone,
somewhere.

meanwhile,
i keep imagining how it's like
to kiss your cheek
only for a fleet second,
how it's like
to hold your hands
amidst the pervading petrichor.

but you're out there,
holding your hands
with someone

somewhere.

27.2.15

inadvertent

i was wondering,
what was i thinking
when i decided to fall for you?

but then i realized,
i didn't;

i didn't think,
nor did i decide;

i just fell,
deliberately.

15.2.15

herds, herdsman

she's a mess.
a repugnant creature
who doesn't know
how to live a life,
merely surviving.
nods to everything she's told to do,
a wretched sheep
following herds of lost souls;
how does one never thinks for herself?

he's a mess.
a human with no humanity,
lost his every sense to feel.
delusional wight
blinded by the power and wealth,
his money-driven grandiose reveries
full of portentous capitalism;
big-mouthed, greedy mortal
who lech after status quo,
speaks in vanity
but no truth ever comes out.

8.2.15

signing a deathwish

your breath reeked of coffee and cigarettes,
i could sense them
beneath every single word you said;
a scent so pungent,
yet it never failed to make me feel
like i was home.

i’d never been fond of smokers;
but i liked this melancholy vibe you emitted
every time you inhale your cigarette,
or take a sip of your coffee.

i liked you the best when
you looked so vulnerable
with your hand holding a cigarette,
hair messed,
and mind stressed;
i once caught a sight of it and got
my eyes fixated on you.

maybe you were clueless
just how you could left me
so breathless,
i was wondering if it was
your smokes all along.

and before you knew it,
i felt like i wouldn't mind ditching oxygen
just to be able to breathe nicotine
alongside you.

some people said that
falling in love with a smoker was like
writing my own suicide letter.

if that was true,
i would let your habit consume me;
i would still give myself to die slowly with you;

until we both cough blood
from perpetual toxic we inhaled;

until our sleep-deprived selves weep for caffeine
you've always longed for the longest time.