Serenity

Everything seems beautiful at a certain point.

Moments differ for each person. Even if both share one experience at the exact same time, the mind registers a unique kind of memory.

There’s that fine line that separates the reflection the eyes see and the way the heart responds. One may feel happy when a smile breaks the monotony of the day, but shatters the moment for another.

Drop of Life, One by One

The rain keeps falling on the roof. My head’s hurting from its constant tap, tap, tap. I haven’t heard any other sounds since two days ago. Now, I’m longing for the breeze and even the shout of my neighbor. Why does it have to be raindrops?

Out of all the sounds in the world, why this sad, far away memories lingering to me?

I know that I yell at people sometimes. Making too much noise, but it’s just right for certain events. I never thought that I’ll miss all of those today.

The echoing tap, tap, tap…

Boring at times

Lonely for the rest.

Even with great effort to sleep, the raindrops keep me awake, feeling that longing. Crawling farther away, closer to the dark, solitary light.

Walking across the street, waiting for the light to turn green. I know I’m safe because of that blinking light of a peaceful remedy. My right foot leads the way with the left to follow. Slowly, but never so sure.

Tap, tap, tap
Still hitting the notes in my head

Screeching sounds take them to the end.

Breaking Free of My Writing Paralysis

20150518_picI haven’t written much for weeks. July is almost done, but I’m still floating across the flight of my mind. This is the phase I consider as my writing paralysis. A state of writing depression when nothing seems to “inspire” me to pick up my pen and start writing. Maybe it’s the weather or my personal predicaments right now, or worst my laziness.

I hate the days when I feel too lazy to write. Instead of working on a poem or a story, I would simply grab a book to kill the time. Even though I have dozens of reminders (notes) about different storylines that I want to work on, I still procrastinate. Escaping the responsibility of writing, and simply hoping for other distractions/chores/excuses to come by. This habit got me paralyzed for so long, that I couldn’t even finish writing a two stanza poem. 😥

However, over the weekend, I was able to slowly go back on track with writing assignments and free writing in front the TV set. This new habit gradually made me grew familiar with the distractions around and work my way out of those.

For now, I am still writing Exploring Limbo. Luckily, I’m able to work until the second part of the collection. 😀

Then for the meantime, I’m continuously focusing my writing in my hub. There are multiple informative articles that I’ve done which helped in my steps to writing again. Hope these will be a good start to write more.

Fickle

Raindrops keep on tapping my window. They try to go through the roof. Each drop stays on the glass and leave for a while. I simply stare and bare the cold covering my feet, going up my legs. I lay lazily on the sofa, trying to scribble some profound words of wisdom. But as my senses come back to life, I can see the empty pages I made. Almost a hundred empty pages, stories of my life, written with a pen with no ink to breathe in life.

I never really saw the pen, I only like the feeling of holding it tight and scribbling some words to describe my day. Some days are almost always the same. Some days are very different that I have to fetch a dictionary to guide my through my writing. Other days are just too tiring for me to even hold the pen. They just stay in my memories.

I really want to see the world, but I’m too lazy to take a step. Too fragile to try and see things for myself. I simply get the remote control and switch on the tube. Now, I can be anywhere in the world.

I’m not really sure if it’s laziness that leads me to my misery. More than that, I think it’s actually fear. It’s devouring my whole being, chopping my feet, legs, and arms to make me immobile. It’s numbing my whole body, slowly but precisely. Soon, I hope not, but soon it might find my heart  and make it numb, broken, or dead.

Lazy Days

Jenny wakes up at six in the morning

Stares at the blue sky above

Closes her eyes and goes back to her dreams

She is safe, she feels safe

Half past six in the morning

She feels the sting from the burning sun

It’s time to work, time to walk

She taps her skirt to straighten it

“I’m ready.”

The roads are filled today

Busy as always, she thought

The horns erupting from here ’til the end

Drivers shouting everywhere

“Roads are closed ahead. Alternate routes.”

Jenny smiles.

Early OT for her work

She walks near a black SUV

Knocks on the window

Waits for the response

Knocks again. Quiet.

“The third’s the last.”

None.

Empty hand

Empty stomach

It’s eight and she got four pesos in her hand

The traffic jam is gone

She walks to another street

Ignoring some shadows talking

“Her parents must be lazy”

“How could they let her find money for them”

“Such a pity”

Jenny walks

Squeezing the 10 pesos

It’s nine-thirty.

Empty stomach

Empty streets

Jenny’s lazy parents,

as the shadows said,

Are lying still under

some burned woods behind

The slums were burned the other night

Twenty more families fled,

many children left

Some were kept under the rubble.

She feels safe,

abandoned.

Safe is a lie.

She’s eight and it’s her first day of work

She got 10 pesos, but left alone in this world.