In just about everything, there’s intrinsic beauty
that’s nothing but immaculate.
Like the freshness of blossoming flowers’ petals,
or the kind colors of the setting sun permitting the gazing.
Like the tenderness in the told love,
or the depth of the untold love.
Perhaps all it takes is the willingness to see.
None of this is making sense anymore.
My mind defying the reasoning,
and stalling to think, but
tunneling all my energy to just pound the heart
several times faster, all of a sudden, and
often to yank myself off my body
to force me look at myself,
to challenge and prove that I’m failing to
recognize myself coz I’ve fallen apart
long time ago through
the constant motivation I’ve always had,
to find things that only complicated my life,
eventually leading me to fear just about everything
in life, and that there’s
no way I rebuild myself.
I’m afraid to seek an answer, a way out of this sinkhole,
as all such efforts thus far only kept breaking me further apart,
one experience at a time.
Am I in the vicinity of insanity?
If I ain’t, I wish I’m taken right into it,
as quick as possible,
for I will then be sure that I’m insane, completely,
and that it is okay if nothing makes sense,
and laughter and cry are no different.
I think about it, and with a little effort, I’m sure as hell I’d know who that healthy passenger or crew member is, that had ham or green peas and farted into the beautiful sky while at an altitude of 20 thousand foot. I can even tell if it was just ham or just green peas that (s)he had, or both, also in which order and quantity, if at all (s)he had both. I can as well tell if it was a group farting in ultimate unison. But for the life of me, I don’t know why I cry sometimes for no particular reason. Is it due to malfunctioned hyperosmia that affected my brain, and half way through impacting my nose forgot to do so, and left me with melancholia?
I wonder what you seek in those
lone wanderers you come across
as you take rounds
gazing all the way into the
dark corners of their hearts
that lit up by the brilliance of your beauty
as they reclaim, and reveal theirs
to their forgotten selves;
beauty that lasts for moments as they
lose themselves to you in
moments that’re willfully vulnerable,
and full of love they seek;
the same love they once were fortunate enough
to have received,
or have had the greater luck of finding one who could
find meaning in the love that was given.
Is that what you seek, too,
you lone wanderer?
“Who would I tell how much it hurts
watching the branches go bare
as they let go of the leaves that they
once held so dear, so tight,
and I’m to be labelled
‘The Fall, that finds its glory in the leaves falling dead.’
while, I, indeed, am among the fallen leaves that lie lifeless,
hoping they rise them from dead,
for one last time, just so I can
tell them that it was the
very breeze that once taught them to
swing, and dance, and fly;
left, and right, up, and down;
and the very tree that cared, and held them
from falling, are the ones that abandoned
and took their lives, watched them die,
threw them dead to ground,
and that I’m just a scapegoat
they are accustomed to..
year after year, every year..”`,
weeps “The Fall” into a man
walking on the yellow leaves
lying all over, beautiful even in death,
turning their graveyard underneath into a serene sight.