Surviving

Paintings has lost its colours,

Songs are without tunes,

Poetry devoid of meaning,

Food stripped of taste,

The Sun no longer provides warmth,

The night is calm no more,

For without you,

I am no longer living,

Only surviving.

Desert

What once was a beautiful city,

Bustling with activity,

Filled with vitality,

Tis now but a desert,

Decayed beyond recognition,

An empty shell of what it used to be,

A place stripped of its former glory,

A sea of sand out to the four corners of the horizon,

Sand as far as your eyes could take you,

And you are in the midst of it all,

The sun burns unmercifully above,

Your lips chapped,

Dehydrated,

Your very lungs betray you,

With every breath exhaled,

Steals what very scarce water is left within,

And you crawl,

For your legs can no longer carry you,

The gravity, so thick in the heat,

Pins you on the desert floor,

And even in these bleak conditions,

Without even a slight chance of recovery,

Your brain cannot help but project mirages,

Of oasis full of lush greeneries,

Water as blue and as vast as the cloudless sky above you,

And you crawl, ever so slowly,

To that oasis that is just.. just a bit further,

Almost there.. almost..

It is.. within.. reach….

Forward you go,

Millimetre by millimetre,

Inching closer and closer,

But in reality never getting any nearer,

Even in such bleak situations,

Your brain can do nothing but hope,

Deceiving you that you.. almost got it.

My Sadness

To describe sadness is to describe colours beyond their words,

For everyone knows what it refers to,

But to describe it in detail is near damn impossible,

For green is green and blue is blue,

The words are limited in their description,

It cannot go beyond what is denoted by those words alone,

Oh how I wish I could explain what sadness is to me though,

For maybe the explanation of it could ease me of its burden,

Remove what has laid waste to my garden,

It is a mess,

And though I try my best,

You are a plague that I cannot force out,

Cause no matter how much I wanted to push you out,

Secretly my heart hopes that you would be with me throughout,

Time, space, distance,

Any sort of spatial differences,

It wouldn’t matter,

As long as we are together,

But no!

You are a dream that I must no longer remember,

An infestation of weed in my garden that I must not let fester,

Though to do that is what is killing me,

For my garden has already been consumed by weed,

And to pull it all out will leave nothing in it,

It will be void of any vegetation,

Just an empty lot devoid of life,

And the process will kill my every being,

My soul will scream indignantly,

My body will convulse violently,

My heart crushed entirely,

My brain burned out indefinitely,

This is dear, my sadness,

Destroying my only source of happiness. 

Jisim

Siapa kata perasaan tak punya jisim?

Apakah hati ku yang tenggelam bukan bukti pada keberatannya?

Apa hancurnya jiwaku bukan jawapannya?

Adakah keretakan jantungku perasaan semata-mata?

Tidak,

Perasaan punya jisim,

Ia sesuatu yang zahir,

Jikalau tak,

Takkan lutut ku rebah ke bumi,

Meratapi engkau yang tak ku miliki.

Bomb

To love is to plant a bomb in your heart,

And give the trigger to someone,

And trusting that they will never, ever, use it.

Hope; The Enemy

Hope is a torn man worst enemy,

For it blinds him with the promise of opportunity,

When in fact there wasn’t any,

Oh poor, poor, man,

He could never stop hoping,

For the heart wants what it wants,

His heart had no intention of stopping,

Let it be crushed,

Let it be stomped,

Let it be thrown around like dump,

It’ll just mend itself,

Hoping just for one more thump,

From the girl that makes his heart jump.

The Bench

A man sat on a bench in the park.

As he sat on the bench, he thought of the things it has witnessed,

The day the park recently opened, when everything was still new and clean,

The sight of families it must’ve seen, picnicking every weekend,

The whispers and promises between lovers who sat on it,

The silence shared between old married couples, content just by sitting on it together with their spouses,

The cries of a boy who scraped his knee, or who got lost from his mommy,

The silent tears of women who got left by their lovers,

The grief of men who’s life was torned apart,

It has seen a lot, this little bench in the park,

And it has always been there for everyone,

Providing people with exactly what they needed, never wavering,

The man stood up now, ready to leave,

For it is already dark, and he has to get home now,

He glanced at the bench and thought of the memory it must contain,

It’s significance differing from one person to another,

But it is just a bench,

And with that he left.