I Love The Cemetery

Walking along the cemetery was fine, the weather in its gloomiest scene. The wind cold as it has been for days now, fewer sparrows brave the skies, a sudden hymn came by me and I placed myself in a trance.

From afar, the place looked like a desert of marbles, white cement & greens. I was thinking if ever in any chance possible that I made the cemetery a place of meditation, a prayer room, or some sort of emotional freedom space. In that, I really have a lot of space to become totally free.

I stared at it, looking like a tourist seeing a panoramic view or perhaps some monk finally seeing a paradise to feel the presence of some mystique force. I couldn’t get away with the fact that someday, I’ll be lying my rotting body beneath this land of decay and mundane-ness.

 Yet I find the cemetery an endearing thought worthy of words spared for countless ideation. I could stand there for the entire afternoon, mooning over lost time and searching for some meaning amidst indefinite display of festering and eerie silence.

The sky went deeper in grey and slowly goose bumps crawl through me… like it was some dead person’s fingers tracing my spine, a cold embrace from the surging wind and the blissful feeling of getting a little chill.

I love the cemetery; someday I want to spend time within the bounds of its white walls, crumbling slowly with time, unnerved by some lifeless being haunting the moldering depths of its moisten soil and with its silence killing a child his time, unafraid of what lies beneath the barren white, inspired of it’s perfect calmness.

Finding Peace

The most perfect of afternoons came by with laughs, a good walk and some few stop-over’s at small food booths to lay away hunger and thirst. It was s’pose to be a planned visit weeks before, a small gathering of friends to meet some agendas of a future event to end up with good times from a good company.

That was a couple of hours ago, just a few minutes of bidding goodbyes when this thought came to me.

I love long walks, and going home at the strike of 7pm was nothing so new to me, the night was in its darkest still, fortunately the skies offered consideration for the stars to shine, a bustle of busy night-goers flock the street, for some home will be their stop, to a few unknown to me as the night brings them their foreseen time. I enjoyed these stolen times, a time for myself, a nightly outburst of thoughts and to add, the northeastern wind kissing my uncovered skin.

In all, everything in a blur of ideation… was at peace. Silent. Tranquil.

There are times in life that we search for the better meaning of peace, the thought of even the whole world would succumb and give itself up for an understanding of the word. But for all at stake, blood has to be spilled, relationships broken, foundations crumble… in a point of view I speak nothing of politics, or disbanding wars, and even organizing a movement for world union!?? I don’t!

A simple thought like anything else, I found peace in some way or the other by just walking alone, being one with the night, experiencing to many may think mundane, regular & quite a common moment but on those lengthened strides I did, there was serenity unmistakably felt. A slow yet fulfilling flow of stillness through my veins. Unmasked. Pure.

The query baffles me even more, why do we have to search an endless broad thought when we have had it spent in our lonesome times, at the calmness of our minds and the hushed moments stolen by chance!??

A Nightly Spur

With a delayed flight come a good scrutiny and a not-so-maudlin moment.

All alone with the slow ticking of my phone’s digital clock as I wait for an hour more as my best friend’s flight displayed delayed on the arrival’s bulletin. Eating by with a hotdog sandwich and a bottle of water to waste away thirst every little while, I was never new to the place; cars zooming here, people going down, greeting goodbyes, few sentiments as they bid the best of the voyage’s luck, for some being frequent travelers of the town tow away their luggage to the counter for check-in. Common. But in some of oddest ways I find the entire airport scene entertaining, thinking how a man-made place so artificial become stuffed with emotions, creating a whole new idea of the place, people converge to this one place and say their deepest of joys to see loved ones come home, crying to those who would leave them, some of farther lands to go unknown to those they left here if when they’d be coming back, many would bid goodbyes like they’ll be losing their loved ones for such long times and finding myself laughing as I would hear that this will just be a short passing as soon was then to come.

A little more while, the arrivals area was busier than ever, 3 more planes landed and flew at the shortest of intervals. A busy night it was.

Finding myself amongst the crowd was how I used to be overjoyed every time my mom and I would go fetch my dad at the airport may it be for Christmas, New Year, Graduation or just some lengthened vacation… I would cower as I hear the loud zooms and mechanical grunts of the plane as it lands on the black tarmac, the reeling of the rotating baggage holder thingy as it caters everyone’s luggage to its proper owner, the shouts of airport porters, taxi hailers and the smiling crowd who just can’t wait to see their beloved visitors.

In all, my sappiness came in as I thought it did as cold drafts embraced me as I stroll the entire parking lot and going to and fro on the sidewalks of the airport. The few moments to steal to become corny and outright dramatic, but ‘twas a fine night to put it all to waste.

All The World's A Confusion

The flowers lay scattered on the floor,

A withered stone dying as the rain pounds it to ashes.

That sort of existence that spells irrational thinking,

The kind that speaks for no reason, abiding yet inane.

All I want to see was the quintessential signs to what makes a thought behind every lie made. To dispose origin for no other cause of its birth. To explain science besides the nurture we get from literacy of mankind. A fraction of solution written or expressed, to enlighten whatever chooses to hide. A blasé greeting over some idea that such commonality conveys mundane-ness.

There is no clarity in broken glasses, only shards of pain.

A joke in every smile, spells hurt.

A curse over a few valued guests, a true person revealed.

Karma beyond the measure of doubt, a ruthless sin is priced.

Speak less of what shan’t be said.

Speak more of what pleased is right.

Do more than what is expected.

Expect less than to what noble thing done.

Who could not impale himself of wishful thinking, expectations running about to some desires un-granted, wants never given, needs demised to insufficiency and life deprived out of insensate frustrations.

Closing all doors to lock yourself in, pleading that no one will open it, wishing that even you won’t give in.

To cry at the peak of what seem the shameful of situations one can hide from.

Finding some lost soul over the scarred tombs lay enveloped by moss, clothed by the gray mist, shadowed by every fallen leaf. Looking up at the skeleton of a tree that used to be this graveyards beauty, now a barren excuse for a miracle of life. Sucked by the withering storms that came passing it, all the rains that cried with it, the feared sparks of lightning that tried to lay ash on it, and those creatures that shed away precious parts from it, leaving it crawling back to growth.

Staring now at the time, the sandman knocks on my eyes telling me to foresee what lies ahead. Death by its side patiently greeting me… where could be my companion?! Am I seeing things?! Or I just make what I want to think?!

In choosing what feels best, than to love and be loved… to pursuit the idea of a humdrum emotion. People would eye me the way a criminal would feel on guilty as charged. The complexity of human sentiment over his own. The curse of apathy with trying to choose what to feel and not to express. The fear of losing the strings one so dearly tied and created. Every spool of proven time in every given moment cherished, enjoyed and experienced are the unavoidable truth that time can on no account turn back… it passes so as those that death visits a dying man.

I couldn’t lay sleep as all these stances picks like a playing piano over a dancing rumble of rocks.

Like teardrops on a rainy day.

A drop of blotted dew on a gloomy afternoon.

I have nothing. Nothing at all.

A curse of nothingness damaged to the core, bloodstained & aching. Lost in my own sarcasm. A disdain on everyone’s face. The blemish of what was done & the wounds of scars that’ll be forming soon.

I have no reason to stay awake, lay wasted on my bed, thinking of nothing but my imminent death...

...PsYcHoSiS...

Fire ignites when combustion occurs, so is electricity produced when a positive and a negative force react, sound from a bell is made when it is ringed and sparks would clatter from embers hiding amongst the worn out heap of ash when tossed around. Usual. Common. Phenomenal one may see it so. Yet, in all these facts one thought brings up… a Start.

Everything seemed so right. It all started like the same “how are you” and “how you’ve been”. Just that. Nothing more. Enjoying a good sms-chat. Regular Adult-wanna-be’s trying to act like they’re all grown up. But in those tiny conversations some things left unsettled from the past contrives some new things that can barely keep up from what was left before. It’s like digging in from an unfinished hole to making either a deep patch of emptiness in the soil or just doing some hard work without the most of reasonable details to where this certain scheme is going to.

I know. All these are confusing and queer that I find it quite un-interesting & insensible.

This page even would look like some psychotics daily diary and some random therapist could just find this and diagnose me with a disorder. I guess, that’d be some thought I should’ve written about in the first few lines.

I can’t finish this! To tell you that… and one may say, I’ve waste too many a page in my entry to even have the audacity to publish this petty thing to be a manuscript in my blog. But who effin’ cares.

I don’t give a damn!

Portrait by Bill Shain

http://billshain.com/Page04.html

A Random Afternoon...

Sitting here… all alone, ideas, thoughts and some stuff creeping inside my head. Asking myself what better things to do besides staying still and moving about the house!? I really don’t have the single of clues to what interesting activities besides cleaning up the yard trickled with fallen leaves from the trees surrounding the house. Nothing more but afternoon chores I’ve grown accustomed with, thereafter, I sit, eat, move about or if not look endless over a blank web page thinking what decent phrases would spur out of my busy stagnant mind.

What happens now?! What’s next!?

Looking up, all I see is a blue sky with scattered clouds moving in, passing by, blown off by the wind.

The wind kisses my cheek every now and then, the soft rustle of the leaves that go by with it; the playful chirping of every bird nestled on the trees, and the glary streaks of the setting sun.

These past few days, all I can think of is work but not totally moving or if not, staying for that annoying ring hoping that somehow it meant I’m up and vacation’s over. Yet, all I have are a few inane missed calls and blank inboxes filled in with telecom updates. Boring. Blank. Useless.

Mocking the time, every day all I have to think about in every waking hour I have are the chores I’ve thought about every night before I die to a melatonin-filled tantra or those things that are yet to be done. Routine stuff.

What goes after this!? What happens next?? Queries so broad any thought of rationalizing would be some ridicule to oneself as it is unsolved even simplified thought measure of intelligence or dumb-wittedness.

I can go no longer with this literacy as the human attention span as abide to mine is no shorter than an hour and no longer than the aforementioned statement.  Suffice it to say; the looming darkness would soon be embracing me as the cold drafts shall tickle my toes, making goose bumps creep along my spine… stars would scatter in the night sky and I hope the moon would bring light tonight. But it will be hours from now before all these sceneries happen.

For now, I’ll wait for the sky to turn purple and the sun to glow blood orange. The setting of the sun is about to start and the day is almost at the end… where would I be??!

I’m in the best place in this world. I’m where I want myself to be. Standing still, watching a beautiful random afternoon.

Loneliness

Cold drafts blows through the window and all I can do is lay victim on every freezing tingle I get from it. Winter winds from the north pass through the country hinting that the white-flaky holidays are coming in and frosty, darker nights would be looming from the corner at every purple sunset.

It’s half past 11:00pm and the clock ticks like no unusual occurrence. Normal. Mundane.

A blue paved page lays blankly for my eyes to see and my mind to fill with ideas I don’t have the single clue what may mean. Looking through it as every click matters nothing but some idiot’s incapacitated plea for attention. Noting more like some dense belief over something so unreal to fill with life even in its inert of existence.

Say, boredom has its benefits and the setbacks could just be more tormenting than dealing with the fact that some productivity could be well earned from it. To add, boredom has its twin… depression comes all too easy as it goes to hard.

I may say it might just be the weather, rain have had its untimely visit since the early streaks of sunlight.

Or maybe because I chose to be depressed, sad, lonely… thinking what could’ve been. Filling the frustrations in things I can never have. Playing the saddest of songs. Looking at some person’s face I can never be with. Speculating on thoughts that could never come across my basic thinking. Dreaming wildly over minute ambitions that would mean a lot.

There is no drama in life. There is only hope.

There is no fear or doubt. Only the strength to face the odds.

There is no sadness. Only more tears of joy.

There is no broken. Only a choice to be success.

There is no death. Only the will to live.

Love beyond measure.

Happiness amidst every grief.

There is nothing incomparable to what one can get to what one can’t think of but to what one can do.

Cold. Rain. Frost. All to sum up, this sad hymn I play as I choose to be depress and bored to make this few reasonable piece of literacy.