Come Back

Sometimes, I feel …

That you might just be a voice from another end of a long tunnel

Lost somewhere inside a vague dream, playing senseless inside my head

While your hand must have tried to reach for me,

I am sorry that I ignored and let you slip away

Inside the dark currents of my nightmares

I hear your endless cries being washed away

And your voice faltering into the dim silence of my dreams.

 

 

– I.K.

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Of Dreams and Longing

I search for your face among a sea of crowd. People coming and going – alien to our existence, obtrusive to their existence, their thoughts and souls as transparent as the air they breath in.

I seek for your sign, like how petals of a flower lie in waiting to bloom when the sun rays will fall on its limp wispy body.

I gaze across the distance, in hope of seeing your figure, your silhouette approaching towards me to embrace me again with kisses and futile promises.

I lend my ears to the open air, with a sorrowful longing to hear the subtle beats of your footsteps or the melodious pitch of your smooth flowing voice in the back of my ear and, inside the depth of my heart.

Yet memories remain a reminder of the future we decided and the past is buried beneath the sands of time. I shall keep waiting, hoping and dreaming that one day the wind changes its direction, that time finds a way to shift his sails, that the heavens open and the moon smiles,

as we meet again above a bridge of shining stars,

as two souls entwined in the cycle of love.

Memories In Death

You are imprinted along the folds of my memories,

What is life but the transience of a waning breeze?

You are etched across the markings of my scars,

What is life but the leaves dwindling from their thrones?

You are a reflection of my kindred soul,

What is life but an echo fading into the air?

You are a piece of me, strung into the cycle of my being,

What is life but a rose withering after its time approaches?

You are within the pages of my heart,

What is life but the passing of moments gone by?

A sunset across the hills

Lifetimes of memories, joy and grief

Until they are no more than a flicker that sparks

As your eyes close and you smile

With your last breath and your last moment

For me to remember always till

My life shrivels too beneath the dust below.

Solitude Within A Solitude

Nothing feels more mentally agonizing and rueful than the feeling of loneliness. I’ve walked throughout the twenty years of my life with it, bearing it like a stone covered beneath my heart. One of the very first feelings I felt as a child was of being lonely.

It was the feeling of being abandoned when I waited for my grandfather to pick me up after everyone else have left school for their home. It was the strong bulging pain in my throat when my parents boarded the plane without me. It was the betrayal I felt after being forgotten by a friend I trusted and valued so much. It was being excluded in everything people did and everywhere people went to. It was of being distant and oblivious to the chaos of 3 am parties, alcohol and teenage sex. It was the high school cafeteria thrumming with laughter and shouts and I, sitting alone at the corner of the library, as I silently observe.

It was the feeling of entering into a world I was a stranger to, a harsh perilous place I was yet to get accustomed to. It was longing the presence of my loved ones when all there stood before me was the darkness and the cold, brooding emptiness.

It was missing those good yet short memories that passed by, which have left me now in the abysmal circle of void and confusion. It was missing my old self, longing to return to a past that’ll never come back.

But time moves forward and I had no option but to follow its obscure path.

Loneliness was I, in a world that was so full of people but where I still felt like a pathless wanderer, moving from home to home, like a soul with no body.

Silent Hallways

In the silent hallways,

I tread through dark corridors adorned by flaming torches against dying walls

I hear-

Lonely footsteps echoing off into the distance but without a soul in sight,

The pitter-patter of leaking water hitting the desolate floor,

Of an old vinyl record crooning mournfully in the empty ball room,

Of a somber melody whistling gently against the backdrop of this solemn tune,

And if you lend your ears and listen so carefully to the music ringing in the air,

You may hear the soft sounds of gleeful laughter and a woman’s voice calling out wistfully

To the fleeting wind.