Tag: Life

24

*soft knock on the— *
Oh, uh… There’s no door anymore.

*ahem*
“I’ve come,” and swiftly passes through the doorframe.
“Oh, is it time already?”, motioning towards the chair covered in 10-month-old unwashed clothes.
“Mind your step, it gets slippery,” indicating the greenish puddle in the middle of the room,
The navel of anxiety and self-induced e.d.
Tripping over a rolled up traditional carpet: “Where do I, uh…,” and scratches head in slight puzzlement.
“Right there. No, not there. There. Next to the— Nevermind, I’ll show you,” and crosses the unlit 23-square-metre room, past a slightly red-tinted razor lying on the bare floor. “Uh, nevermind that. Thought it’d only be 23, but I guess life sure did find a way around that preconceived notion, huh? Since it’s about to become 24, might as well use up all the space, right?”, lets out a forced laugh.
“Sure, uh…”
Dusting off the cracked mirror broken in a previous anger episode: “There. All waiting for you. Have a seat. How do you like it?”
Awkwardly squeezes in between the bloody shards: “Um, is this it?”
“Yeah, I’ve been refurbishing. Trying out a new look. The old one was getting boring. Had it for 23 years, you know?”
“Yeah, um… I see.”

Studying with a scrutinizing glance: “Why did they send you? Should’ve paid closer attention. You stick out like a sore thumb.”
“Uh, why? What’s wrong?”
Scrunching nose: “Too beautiful for this house. Come on, people, keep up. I can’t possibly have you. You don’t fit in.”
“Uh—”
“Now I have to either make you fit in or refurbish all over again. Do you know how long it’s taken me to make it all work together? No, of course not. Of course they don’t care. They just send in whatever they want and expect me to bend to their will. Hmph, like that has ever worked out for them. Yeah, right. Watch me! I’ll do them one better! They’ll never send in anyone like you again!”
“Why? What fault have I?”
“Come on! Don’t you see it?” Sighing: “You’re way too beautiful for this,” gesturing defeatedly towards the messy house, shoulders slumped.

“Now I have to change either my house or you. And you’re far too beautiful to be altered… And I’m too beaten down to refurbish and remodel ALL of this”, pointing to surroundings.

“But who says you can’t have both? What if we can all stay like this?”

“Oh,” stopping in her tracks.
“I’d never thought of that…”

– My 24th birthday
24 feels too beautiful and graceful for me

Cemetery

Wilted flowers, empty alleys, pilgrim winds and grey tombstones
Holds the hidden cemetery for the melancholic soul.
Memories of passing moments are engraved on each tombstone
For the person who revisits, feeling evanescent, null.

He travels the world forgetting some of them, but he returns.
Every now and then, he visits and remembers who he was,
What he chose, what he experienced, all the people whom he met
And that’s when he stops. He feels like it all was yesterday. 

He looks at them with mixed feelings: happiness, sorrow, regret.
When did they all turn to cinder? Nostalgia. And something else.
Realising what they’re made of, he feels powerless. For they
Are all dust—just like his being. Might not see another day.

Crestfallen, he starts to ponder on his life and what he is.
In the silent cemetery, lonesome winds scatter dead leaves.
Cemetery for life’s moments—numbers growing every day,
Until only one large tombstone—with his name—will take their place.

– Patricia

22

Another day comes to an end,
Another year of my life.
I look down at my hands again
And stare in desolation.

The life I build with these two hands
And with the power of my mind
Just seems to pass me by so quick
Without the presence of my heart.

I feel the moment, though I don’t,
Only deceived by my own eyes.
I live and breathe and my heart beats
And yet fulfillment I can’t find…

Another day comes to an end,
Another year of my life.
Yes, I’m the birthday girl today,
But I won’t be tomorrow…

– Patricia

Oblivion

Down in the valley of the shadows,
Where scattered skeletons resided,
No green grass grew, no peaceful meadows,
Only the mist of those misguided,
Their remnants: doomed to lasting silence.

No sound escaped the nameless graveyard,
No echo told the world beyond it
The screams of those who entered blindly
And never came back—shh, the silence
Is sacred. Words don’t go unpunished.

The more they screamed, the more they suffered,
Only prolonging what awaited.
The more they ran, the more they valued,
As all their efforts brought more shadows,
The hunt—more interesting each moment.

Forever doomed to be forgotten,
Their names—never called to remembrance.
No memory of them existed
Once they entered the endless valley,
With no way out, the silence—timeless.

Down in the valley of the shadows,
With silent screams and lonely remnants,
No spark of life was left untainted
By gruesome creatures who all wanted
The hope, relief and peace it carried.

– Patricia

Intrusive Thoughts

First, it happened when she smiled
At a lovely blossomed rose.
“So delicate and so pretty!”
Cut it! said a passing thought.

It came quickly and was gone then,
Quick as the death it had claimed.
She forgot about it soon, then,
As it wasn’t hers at all.

The next time such thought appeared,
She was chatting with her friend.
Suddenly, mid-conversation:
You’re so fake! You just pretend!

This time, it lingered a moment
Before being gone again.
She acknowledged its existence,
But quickly ignored it, then.

Third time was when she was swimming:
What if you just stayed down here?
She just swam up to the surface,
This time feeling bits of fear.

“I’m not sad and I’m not angry,
Nor depressed or hurting, so
Why do thoughts like this appear?
Is there something wrong with me?”

Time and time again she noticed
That such thoughts would come again:
Sudden, real and disturbing,
And nothing of what she felt.

One time, strolling through the city,
One time, when feeding her pet,
With her family or driving,
At night, when the sun would set.

One time, watching children playing,
Or when basking in the sun,
When embracing her grandparents
Or when hugging her dear mom.

Push them! Hurt them! It’s so easy,
Look at them, so vulnerable.
All it takes is one short second
And then it would all be done.

Drive over the edge—so simple.
She stepped on the brake so hard:
Breathing heavily, she started
Questioning her state of mind.

Troubled and concerned, she started
Doubting that she knew herself.
For some time, she felt like she had
Lost her sense of who she was.

Till one day when she decided
To accept them as they were.
She would never act upon them;
They just came and they just were.

Coming, going, she would know them,
Yet she knew herself, as well.
She kept living, breathing, smiling,
Each time bidding them farewell.

– Patricia

The Train Station

The passengers all come and go,
The trains as well, that I do know.
Some make it to their goal on time
And others don’t at all, sometimes.

Some stand there still and petrified,
As years pass till they decide
What destination they will try
To get to – never asking why.

Some get on board at the last time,
Some come here early, at nighttime,
And some don’t want to leave the train,
As pleasant memories fade away.

Some journeys end before the stop—
Chaotic speed, fear and teardrops—
While some arrive on time, as planned,
With joyful hearts in their homeland.

The people come, the people go,
And all the trains that are do so,
Only the station stays in place,
Always the same—birth and death race.

– Patricia