:- leaving it in absolute darkness

In This City

by melvin (the persona)

(picture taken in july '07 thailand - bangkok trip)

Imagine this

Silence fills the weary night

No music to serenade while the crows slumber

The stars shine dimmer here

In the city of no return

Where children starve

And alcohol impairs the addicted

Where drugs rule the sullied streets

And innocence is stolen away

Darkness reigns this city

Light casts more darkness; shadows

Where the cruel hides away

With their deceits and lies

Hope is lost so quickly

In this filthy city of the broken

Where even the cry and groan of children

Are quieted and ignored

Where even the most talented

Are shunned and their dreams crushed

Hate rules this city

Love is forgotten so hastily

Revenge burns their hearts

Splitting up so many more

With deaths of the pure

And killings of the wrongly accused

In this city where everything burns

Even these words burn to ashes

And blow away in the wind

This poem was composed, to discuss about vices being rampant in metropolitans, and how it can impale civilisations, on Dec 26th, 2007.

:- the walk of one's life

Walking till dusk

by melvin (the persona)

(picture taken in dec '04 new zealand - christchurch trip)

If only things were that simple,
to cruise through life smelling roses;
but the obstructions worsen the meadow fields,
and we unwittingly crush them beneath our soles.

Dreams sustain us through the madness;
goals give a finish line to our race.
Yet they change with every turn, around every wall,
and remain elusive throughout our paces.

Mistakes are made, and regrets are our baggage;
we will drag the burdens with us to slow us down.
Victories are just flashes of glams, sudden and unlasting, which allow us
to glimpse the road ahead before darkness descends.

Love is bitter, yet it is the bread that hold us.
Over and over it fills us up, only to starve us.
People whom we love sculpt our destinies and strengths,
yet leave us so cold and alone in the darkness.

There are others trying to race with the wind and to the end;
occasionally, we bump into one or two.
The bonds we form help us down the path less lonely
but eventually, we lose each other in the dark.

Alone is not a bad way it seems;
it clears your muddle-head and focuses you on the journey.
Cherish the short intervals during the quest you have,
but be prepared to walk alone till dusk.

This poem was composed locally, based on an inspiration of the long endless road picture (as shown above), which resembles the persona's singular never-ending life journey, on Dec 13th, 2007.

:- drowning in an imperfection world

Imperfection
by Melvin (the persona)

I'm constantly protesting that inner beauty is a plain lie,
because its hard to keep my spirit from breaking every time I cry-
and b R e A k down completely (inside).
Every time we c r e a k beneath the pressure of,
insecurity,
we lose all sense of inner beauty.
Maybe we just need to remember what it was like before the superficial masked our
hearts in stone.
I'm so lost right now that my reflection is unknown.
So I stare trying to remember how beautiful I felt when I was younger.
Before we were all clones.

Youth - that's beautiful.
Unspoiled innocence.

The child, before he grew up,
into a f r a c t u re d (shell)...
wrapped in an artifical blanket of self hate- self fabricated.
For no reason except...
media influence,
peer pressure for perfection,
and a cult of gloosy, paper cut out, models.
Stick figurines posing as supernatural beings and gods in the eyes of children,
lacking the strength to stand up and be at ease with who they are.
The child wearing an infectious smile and sparkle in her eye-
the kind that lip gloss, built of adonis and eye shimmer could never imitate.
He's beautiful,
on the outside because it comes from within and then he
f a d e s a w a y ______ before my eyes.
And I feel like a f
a
l
l
e
n
angel,
I use to be so special and now every time I try to fly I fall to pieces in the sky.

I know in my heart,my inner beauty... is the smile,
the one that graces, only, my face,
that reaches my eyes and radiates from inside.
That's beautiful.

My inner beauty may be ugly to the rest of the world,
and when that doesn't make me cry,
that's beautiful.

Imperfections make us beautiful,
Without them we'd all be the same,
vain,
superficial and lifeless.
That's me,
that's the me after I let go and forgot the beauty of my imperfections.

Still I'm just another disposable cliché.
There's nothing I can say that hasn't been said before.
I'm the adolescent (at least for now) with overused metaphors and over expressed expressions.
I'm not the only one,
drowning in imperfection.

This poem was composed, when the persona felt the need to address that imperfection is considered as an identity to each individual in the society, on Sept, 16th, 2006.

:- in touch with your senses

Sinuous Sensory
by Melvin (the persona)

I breath to see this world once
scenting the decaying woods in trance
Maximising my breathe to miniature wealth
catch me no more; for I attaining self-stealth

I aim to see this world
witnessing the sickly living with much frail
With watched self reproach and
self-disintegration turning to veracity
garnering my last sight in grave dismay

I yoke for my realist aural
pondering over the versatile mother nature
Unleashing moments of volatile furies
deafening and paralysing my innate curries

I budded worldly magnificents
glamourising extravagent garnishes within dishes
Tasting the global gentry norms
agonising misfortunate famine diseases form

I live to feel satisfied
stimulating every hormones and testosterones of mine
Erecting vertically world's greatest fires
pleasurising my much needed desires

This poem was written to discuss about the human's most valuable gift (or god's creation): our five senses, on Oct, 23rd, 2005

:- seeing "it" in a different spectrum

Why do we fear death when we know it is unavoidable?


'When I have fears that I may cease to be'
by John Keats (1795 - 1821)

When I have fears that I may cease to be
Before my pen has gleaned my teeming brain,
Before high-piled books, in charact'ry,
Hold like rich garners the full ripened grain;
When I behold, upon how night's starred face,
Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance,
And think that I may never live to trace
Their shadows with the magic hand of chance;
And when I feel, fair creature of an hour,
That I shall never look upon thee more,
Never have relish in the faery power
Of unreflecting love-then on the shore
Of the wide world I stand alone, and think
Till love and fame to nothingness do sink.

--- [ BREAK ] ---

Death is inevitable.

Life and death is like a spinning wheel. An onwards, ongoing revelation of unpredictable happenings. We celebrate birth with joy. And yet, we weep sorrowfully for death. Similar to a water mill, the water wheel will continue to spin with the presence of water. The spinnning action will cease when there is no on-flowing of the water (the presence of drought); and that clearly resembles and reflects on the begins of our death.

The fear for death should be embraced with much sense of consolation. We should live everyday to the fullest and warmly usher the gift of our tomorrow, our future. Every day, the sight of dawn warms our heart and console us with the clear signifance of the golden words, "We have survive for another day".

Indeed, life is exceptionally short. With only 24 hours a day and 3600 seconds per hour, we have to learn (eventually) how to organise and maximise our limited time span. Have we even consider the time taken, to keep our heart and soul in absolute solitude?

And yes, death awaits us. It is lurking at every crevices of our lives. Whether you like it or not, a twisted plan of God wil land you up in the forth dimension; awaiting judgement. The balancing scales between charity and misdeed.

Embracing rationalism and applying such notion may seems to be a laborious task to some. Optimism shall be. Pessimism may be. Each of us are given the entity, the right to make such life choice. Being optimistic will get you far, but at the expense of your realism. Pessimism works the otherwise.

To all, the connotation for death is melancholic. It is a communal taboo to speak or discuss about death, even in the advanced millennium.

I tried to see death in a fantasy manner. The presence of angels descending from the heavenly dimension, and extending their petite-size arms to me, in hope to receive death in a glorious manner. I welcome their presence wholesomely. A living life is precious. Doing or engaging in things, which we derived joy and pleasure, satisfy and balance out our emotional equation on the fear of death and happiness.

So... what are you waiting for?