The Pen Frees The Soul

Think. Feel. Write.

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There is so, so much in me

I do not know where else I can so freely show it

other than this pen held by a lonely hand

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Trickle

Drip, drip, drip

Tiny trickles

Slow and silent

No heed paid

To each tiny drop

Drip, drip, drip

A flood forms

At times a calm river

At times a raging storm

All in a blink

Of an ignorant eye

Drip, drip, drip

The trickles go on

Unrelenting

Unwavering

Stopping for no one

Where has all

Our time gone?

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I gave others enough feathers to fly

and I, in turn, lost my wings

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Bread

Life is like a loaf of bread

Sometimes you get spread with jam

and what variety of jams you could get

Blueberry, hazelnut, grape jelly, coconut etc.

Sometimes you get the classic spread

of butter or peanut butter

and they’re just as tantalising

Those are the exciting days

Sometimes you get toasted for too long

and you’re left with burnt faces

and you’ll be either saved as still a precious food source

or thrown away without a second thought

depending on the mouths you feed

Sometimes you are always so available

in the cupboard or fridge

always so ready to serve hungry appetites

but there are days when appetites change

and you sit and wait

and sit and wait

until black mould invades your neglected body

turning you repulsive at first glance

Regardless

people will keep looking for you

on the shelves of grocery stores

Your name is the first they scream out

when they suffer from starvation

You can only hope

that you land on the hands

of those who will treasure every bite

without wasting a single crumb

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We Live As Nature

Are we not trees

with sinewy roots growing deep

Are we not waters

with crossing channels and tributaries

Are we not winds

that command light breezes and strong gusts

Are we not echoes

of sounds from within and out

Are we not nature

capable of nurture and destruction

Are we not who we are

to live as one and all

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Child of August

An August dream

was the first light that shone on me

Night of the silver autumn

into which I was birthed

This season of end

is mark of a new beginning

Blessed I am

to be fated a child of August

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I see a young bud

fresh from the ground

Thinking that always

the sunlight will be soft on its head

the raindrops will be gentle on its leaves

Not knowing that

the sun is capable of scorching heat

the clouds are capable of pelting storms

Whether it withstands

the inevitable, capricious weather

and matures into a sturdy plant

or withers away the moment

nature turns unkind

Its fate is unknown

Nevertheless

at least for the moment

it is brimming with wonder

at the new world

I wish I was a child again

filled with hope

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The world is both kind and cruel.

Living is both a reward and punishment.

Is this why we are trapped between heaven and hell?

A place where good and evil survive on one another?

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I have a love-hate relationship with love.

I take pleasure in falling in love,

but I also hate it when I do.

It’s because love can be either something that heals,

or destroys,

and there is no telling which is going to happen,

until you dip your feet into its pool.

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I had a vision

of what could have been

the two of us together

but alas

it ignited into flames

we became blurry figures

caught in the waves of fire

until both of us turned to ash

and the world is left

an eternal darkness

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Serendipity

A word reserved

for a rare find

that only few deserve

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Cherish me

Like a bee cherishes a flower

And like the bee

You will have all the sweetness

I can ever give

In my blooming days

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Hush now

The weight on your shoulders

will soon be lifted off into the darkness

Your breath turns soft as cotton

Your skin feels the gentle caress of silk

Your body is now akin to the lightness of clouds

Your mind is now nothing more than a temple of freedom

Sleep my darling

My darling self

You deserve peace

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Your empty kisses hurt like thorns

Your empty touch sends icy shivers

Your empty love thunders down like a hailstorm

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I regret that I’m not perfect.

I also regret the inane regrets of being imperfect .

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I am glass

Uninvited thoughts crack through

Fears seep along the broken lines

Until catastrophe shatters me to pieces