Moving On

I’m moving to another site now, for reasons that I’ve summarised in the new site I’ll be using. Mainly because I hate the layout I’m using and because I hate my URL. I can very simply change those, of course, but I feel like having a completely fresh start, so yeah.

My new tumblr is now: http://prologus-et-epilogus.tumblr.com/

I’ll keep this site here for a while, but it’ll be gone soon.

‘In Your Honour’

I went through what it felt like to be treated absolutely worthlessly. Like dirt, or less than that. I thought about it for a long, long time. The reality of this ugly world we live in is that it’s dominated by power play. People in power or authority using it against those helpless to defend themselves. Between people and people, between governments and their people… I think it’s difficult not to associate all these with some form of power play.

Having gone through all that, my heart went out to all of the people who has been through a lot, because I now understand the agony. Even in different contexts, different situations, people everywhere must have felt a similar feeling. People everywhere have been subject to some form of extremely ill treatment.

And so, for myself, for everyone, I tribute this poem because no matter what, I think we deserve the honour and sovereignty of our individual selves.

‘In Your Honour’

Let the glasses be raised high, high up –
for you, for me, for him, for her,
for all of us born from wombs and of blood,
let us raise our glasses and roar our cheers
for John, for Jane, for all of our names
which now we sing loud and proud –

Never mind what they do to disgrace
our beings, never mind that they tag us
like dogs in kennels – let it be known that
our fathers’ names shall be worn with pride
and our fathers’ names we shall always sing
louder than any thunder they can call upon –

They with their power may chain our limbs
and engineer away the liberty of our births –
but our mothers’ blood that courses our veins
will beat wild as ever through our hearts,
and in this wildness shall our liberty be reborn
and once more live beyond their control –

For all the men, for all the women
of today, of yesterdays and of tomorrows,
no matter your voice, no matter your skin,
know that your agony has not gone unheard;
know that your pain has not gone unseen;
know that your names have not gone uncelebrated –

For here’s to you, to all of you
who endured, who endure, or who will endure
the rugged roads they force upon you –
let the glasses be raised to the roar of your names,
let us all rise and give our loudest applause,
let your honour always be remembered in ovation.

‘A Long, Long Road’

Emptiness stares coldly into your eyes from
every direction; from the road that extends
blankly beyond the sullen horizon – you ask
aloud where its end is, but only despair
replies with its scornful silence.

You try to heave your legs forward, but
it hurts far too much to walk. How
could you possibly walk? And yet you do,
dragged forward without compassion by time
to take that single step which fills you with tears.

You pray for mercy, you pray for rest,
but your prayers are scoffed and so
you have no choice but to walk on,
step after step down the long, long road
whose end never appears.

Untitled Prose

Another pathetic attempt to imitate Coetzee after reading his Waiting for the Barbarians.

—-

Perhaps, after a certain point in one’s life one’s duty is simply to recede into the annals of unrecorded history, joining the billions or trillions of nobodies that too walked the same earth and had their own joys, angers, sorrows, romances and whatnot. He is fading into oblivion, becoming obscurer and obscurer. Soon, his face will become a blur in the memories of those whose paths he has crossed. Soon, his name will surface amidst the most mundane of thoughts as a hollow attached with little or no emotion. Soon, his personality will not exist. Soon, he will be recalled in passing only as a silhouette, as something that occupied space in a time long past.

How tragic, that in spite of all he has done or tried to do, he has left no footprints behind. Then again, what exactly has he done? Is there nothing else he can do? Is there nothing else he can leave behind as a memento of sorts, something that people will remember him for? He sighs. Why does he even find it so important that he be remembered in some endearing way? He browses through the archive of memories in his mind, trying hard to search for people who would perhaps remember him.

A flicker of hope passes him, then disappears. Perhaps there are some who would, upon seeing his name in the obituary, feel in them a stinging sense of loss and a flood of memories relating to him. They would, perhaps, sing some praises and talk amongst each other about how he used to be such a fantastic person – the kind of thing everyone says about those who has passed on, disappeared into the heavens. They would, perhaps, remember him in that sense. But give them a week, a day, perhaps even an hour, and he would be hurled back into the zones of oblivion, forgotten, utterly forgotten. So this is the kind of life he has come to lead, without prospect, without future, without love.

A cold wind brews outside.

He puts on a coat, opens the door, and goes out to find some warmth.

‘Prayer’

I close my eyes and chant your name
to the silent sutras of night time
and hope the stars will carry my prayers
across the skies to where you are –

I bow to any and every divine
be they rooted in heaven or hell
so long as your roads are paved and lit
and all your adversities dissolved be –

for what else can I do but pray for you?
I heave a sigh; I let loose a tear;
I pray not that my lamentations end
but wish only for your happiness.

‘Dearly Beloved’

This was originally meant to be a poetic prose, but that’s way too much effort to accomplish in such a short - and rather uninspired - span of time, so I ended up producing a verse instead. It’s another simple one, at least in terms of language. I am becoming fond of ambiguity in writing, since it allows both reader and author to invent upon the verse with their imagination - giving it a formlessness like a fluid, allowing it to take various shapes.

Anyway, here it is. I named it after one of my favourite music pieces. I actually wrote another poem of the same name before, though I didn’t post it, and I was disappointed with the end result anyway so scrap that one.

‘Dearly Beloved’

That flickering silhouette, faded presence.

I reach out my hands to touch it,
but touch it not. There is something about it
that transcends the worldly,

something very dear.

There is no form to this silence, but
there is soul. There is nothing,
but there is everything, or at least,

everything that matters.

I chase after it, but it eludes me
inexorably. One moment it is close
and the next, it disappears –

but it is always there.

Where exactly I cannot tell, but I know
it is there, at every corner and every depth
of my heart, it lingers, ever so

dear and dearly beloved. 

It’s been so long since I’ve even used this dead blog. I’ve written a few things, though on rare occasions, though I haven’t really been posting them. 

I wrote this really spontaneously, and it’s just a really simple poem I wrote spontaneously. I didn’t bother with literary conventions, structures, techniques, or anything. I simply wrote.

I didn’t exactly put a lot of effort into this, but ironically, it seems to be one of my most heartfelt (personally).

I didn’t give it a title, though, since I couldn’t think of one.

Have you ever felt
your tears surging
from the heart,
flooding the soul,
past the throat and
into the back of your eyes,
hurling themselves against
and daring your eyelids to relent –

But you clench your fists,
grit your teeth
and barricade the tears
though a few leak
and you look away 
so they dry up, 
disappear –

 Then you pull your lips
so they form, roughly, 
the shape of a smile,
fixed so it doesn’t move
just in case even the slightest, 
most unnoticeable movement
is enough for those tears
to burst right through –

And finally the day dusks,
so you bury yourself in the bosoms
of a pillow amidst the silence
where no one foreign can judge,
and heave, heave so hard
that finally your fortress collapses
and lets loose the rivers of lamentation
that have so long been trapped –

And in its quiet way the pillow
hugs you, cuddles you,
offering no words of consolation
but nonetheless comforting you
in the most sincere possible manner
and acting as the best companion
you could realistically have.

Affections Touching Across Time (To Love’s End) reworked

I completely forgot that this thing existed. Not that I’ve been writing anyway.

I’m posting today since I have something to bury in this graveyard. Around three years ago, when I was Secondary 3, I believe, I wrote a poetic prose inspired by a piece of music I really liked - Affections Touching Across Time (also titled To Love’s End) from Inuyasha.

I decided to look at it and completely gave it an overhaul, rewriting it (with reference to the original piece, of course). In this post, I shall first post the newer version, before posting the old version too for comparison.

Much as I may be a poor writer, I guess I should be glad that I think - or rather am fairly certain - that I’ve improved very much compared to back then.

—-

Affections Touching Across Time (To Love’s End) [2011 version]

I miss the moist warmth of your tears staining my sleeves as you leaned against me.

I miss the sparkle in your eyes whenever you smiled at me.

I miss you…

Gentle waves swish upon an empty shore, dazzling the rising radiance of the morning sun into a smorgasbord of colours. So fine and small, particles of sand are relentlessly stirred into a swash of white and taken into the sea…

…a sea so boundless; a sea so inaccessible.

The gentleness of these waves is almost calming, and yet the selfsame gentleness is merely a facade for the brutality concealed beneath these waves – for these waves are inexorable in their might; for these waves never cease to sweep myriads of helpless sand particles with them. These are the waves that set the sea into relentless motion, as if they were the very essences that kept time moving.

Have you left me behind to watch on an empty coast while you swim in that beautiful ocean of serenity?

The dawning daylight is a scene of splendid beauty, and yet through these eyes, I see only a paradoxical darkness. A chilling breeze brushes across my skin; a stinging frost eats into my heart… I see a lingering image of you in the horizon, I see you in the midst of the rising sun, smiling…

…but you faded away. Further, and further… away from my powerless grasp.

That vague image of your beauty is but a flood of sunlight; sunlight that is no brighter than a moonless midnight. The wind blows, stirring the waves into ineluctable motion, just as they stir tears into my eyes.

Do you remember the promises we made?

“I wish… I’d celebrate my birthday this way every year!” And you blew the candles out.

“I want to hold your hand until wrinkles line our faces… no, only your face, ‘cause I’m never growing old!” And you held my hands, cuddling up to me.

Have you forgotten?

I grasped tightly. Cold grains of sand filter out between my fingers. If only I could be frozen in that memory, but even the most vivid of memories cannot match your warmth. Yet, they are all I have left of you… for my hands can no longer hold yours, and my eyes will no longer meet yours…

I don’t want to say goodbye…

I gaze up, into skies of halcyon blue. Fluffy white clouds drift lugubriously – I wonder, I wonder where they’re headed. Perhaps, obscured from my view, you are somewhere above those clouds, watching me… aren’t you? Yet, I cannot grasp you, for you are so far away… and my hands can’t reach you – not anymore.

 “Look at our footprints in the sand!” Your chuckle remains ever so vivid in my mind… and yet so distant, distanced.

That scene so fresh in my mind – two pairs of footprints in the sand – is no more. All that is left is a feckless trail that drags lifelessly across the sand. All that is left are memories from a time I cannot return to. No longer will the desolation of this beach hear the songs of your cadence, for all that is left is the melodious melancholy of silence… For as far away as you are is your voice – a voice that is now no more than a souvenir from a time frozen beneath a river that will no longer flow, a time inexorably frozen with my soul which pines for you so dearly.

Where are you…?

If only those were more than mere memories… if only you were in my arms right at this very moment… I gaze into the skies, I dream dreams – anything that could bring you a little – just a little – closer to me, but all hope is but a spectre of hopelessness… for time cannot and will not reverse.

I don’t want to say goodbye… but must I…?

A lone white dove flies slowly high up in the skies, headed towards the light of the horizon. Beneath this solitary bird, the waves continue their relentless motion, and the breeze continues to blow upon my skin. An excruciating frostbite wrenches me within, but my heart and soul will not relent – they will not return to me… for even now, they linger within the darkest corners of time, trapped in a cycle of memories set to replay without end.

The Sun of a risen morning cannot liberate me from my despair, but as I wallow deep within this painful bliss of memories so beautiful, I can only chant a silent prayer… May the wind take these final words across the ocean; across the sea of time I cannot transcend… May my affections touch across time as I bid you goodbye…

…I love you.

—-

And the original piece from 3 years back:

Affections Touching Across Time (To Love’s End) [2008 version]

I miss you. I miss your tears on my shoulder. I miss your smile.

Gentle waves swish upon an empty shore, dazzling the rising light of dawn. Particles of sand so fine and small are stirred into a swash of white, carried into a sea so boundless; a sea so inaccessible. The gentleness with which these waves caress the shore is almost calming, but it is the same gentleness that acts as a façade. For these waves are inexorable; for these waves sweep myriads of helpless sand particles with it; for these waves are cruel. These are the waves that set the sea into relentless motion, as if they were the very essences that kept time moving.

An ocean of serenity you now swim in, but left behind I was, to watch on an empty coast…

Through these eyes that have lost light, the dawning daylight was but a paradoxical darkness – darkness that was the world. A chilled breeze blows upon my back and brushes across my skin. A painful frost eats into my heart… I see you in the horizon; I see you in the midst of the rising Sun, smiling… but you faded away. Further, and further away from my powerless grasp. That vague image of your beauty was but a flood of sunlight; sunlight that was as dark as a moonless midnight. The wind blows and stirs the inexorable waves into motion, just as it stirs tears into my eyes.

Do you remember the promises we made?

“I wish… I’d celebrate my birthday this way every year!”And you blew the candles out.

“I want to hold your hand until wrinkles line our faces – no, only your face, cause I’m never growing old!”With that, you held my hand and cuddled up to me.

Have you forgotten?

I grasped tightly. Cold grains of sand filter out between my fingers. If only I could be frozen in that memory, but even a million memories cannot match your warmth. And yet memories are all I have left of you… memories that exist in fragments of everlasting pain; memories that wrench my heart each time they surface; memories so sweetly sorrowful. It hurts. It hurts being only able to think of you… For my hands can no longer hold yours, and my ears will no longer hear your invigorating voice, and my eyes will no longer see you…

I don’t want to say goodbye… but must I?

I look up, into skies so peacefully blue. Fluffy white clouds drift lugubriously… I wonder where they are headed. Perhaps, obscured from my sight, you’re watching me somewhere above those clouds, aren’t you? Yet, I cannot grasp you… You are so far away – too far away – and my hands can’t reach you… not anymore.

“Look at our footprints in the sand!” Your chuckle remains so vivid in my mind. I almost hear it beside my ears, and yet it is paradoxically so distant – so vague.

No longer will this empty beach be brightened by your voice… All that remains is this melancholic melody known as silence. For as far away as you are, is your vibrant voice, a voice that is but a souvenir from a time that will no longer flow; a time that is but a river frozen – along with my soul, my soul that pines for you so dearly.

Where are you?

That memory so fresh – of two pairs of footprints in the sand – has faded. All that is left is a feckless trail that drags lifelessly across the sand. All that is left is a scar etched right through my heart. All that is left are memories from a time I cannot return to.

And yet my mind lingers in that time, dreaming dreams about the times I had with you by my side. These are but memories now, but how dearly I wish that they were not mere memories. I want you by my side, but that hope is but a spectre of hopelessness, for time cannot and will never reverse.

Till death do us part indeed. Yet you abandoned me way too early… I have always wanted you by my side, but where are you now? I don’t want to say goodbye even if I must, but all I have left of you are painful memories… I can no longer hear your voice and I can no longer embrace you tightly in my arms. My heart and my soul will eternally linger in the most beautiful time of all – the time I had with you.

A lone white dove flies slowly high up in the skies, headed towards the light of the horizon. Beneath this solitary bird, the waves continue their relentless motion, and the breeze continues to blow upon my skin. Such an excruciating frostbite is indeed a novelty…

Within darkness, I am lost. The Sun of a risen morning cannot liberate me from my despair, but as I wallow deep within this painful bliss of memories so beautiful, I can only chant a silent prayer… May the wind take these final words across the ocean; across the sea of time I cannot transcend. Let my affections touch across time as I bid you goodbye…

I love you.

—-

And that’s that.

‘A Hazy World’

‘A Hazy World’

A dispirited gait, through a world
much too fast for his feckless pace.
Throngs both faced and faceless
pass him by and, into the distance,
vanish. Though frail, he staggers on,
his eyes void; an empty, faraway gaze.

Elsewhere, in the midst of nowhere at all,
a lone, lost soul sits, curled up, shivering.
Hope looms hopelessly beyond the shroud
of haze that envelops a world long
forsaken; a world long frozen solid;
a world which none shall be able to thaw.

The world sails in ceaseless motion, but he
stays stagnant in a hazy world, a web
of disillusioned delusions. He sees
silhouettes fading away into the fog;
he hears murmurs and laughter beyond his reach.
Quietly, he sits in a hazy world, waiting.

Always waiting.

‘An Imbecile’

I’m writing again. Ironically, my inspiration comes only in the dryest of periods, when I’m weighed heavily down by burdens and sorts, when life is driving me way too fast for me to have any hope of slowing down to reflect upon my poetic side and come up with a line or two. Whenever I’m finally free and have the time to write and want to, I always fail to, whereas I always have the urge to whenever I lack the time to. Is that a poet’s life? Aha, whatever, not like my writings make any difference.

I haven’t got the time to finish writing anything yet, but I’ll just post an old poem I wrote some two years back.

‘An Imbecile’
The lad over there,
The one standing alone in an isolated stop.
His life’s a flop,
Or rather, he’s one himself.

He’s a free scarecrow,
Cause even cockroaches cringe and cry
At his grotesquely geeky face –
Pretty much ripped off a blind man’s scribbles.
Don’t underestimate his gait, though feeble!
It scares pests away
And perhaps people too.

He’s perfection –
A perfect cretin!
Bet he can’t solve a toddler’s sum
Though maybe he can an infant’s one.
Don’t underestimate his inevitable stupidity!
It appeases dropouts and consoles billions.

He’s Superman divided by super,
Bet he can’t lift a pillow with his arm.
Don’t bother asking him for help,
For you’d be helping him instead.
Don’t insult his weakness!
For at least
Teachers save some time setting grades
For those little kid’s fitness test.

If indeed men were made by God,
This one’s probably a failed experiment.
Bet he can’t afford a candy for himself,
Bet he doesn’t belong to a social circle –
Though maybe a social aid group.

Can’t help but pity him,
Such an imbecile.
Well, at least he consoles you and me
We aren’t that bad after all.
Not when compared to him,
At least.

—-

I don’t usually write sarcastic poems, but this is one of them. Actually, the only one if memory fails me not.

Oh btw, first corpse brought into this dead cemetery for 2011. What an honour, dear poem, to be cremated first in the entire year! ‘Tis almost a revolutionary event!

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Themed by: Hunson