shrive

Your mouth could be a vicious beast, which can rip off the heart out of any body, any thing. So think deeply, express yourself carefully.

Your tongue could be a very sharp sword, that can cut off the head of any body, any thing. So watch the way you talk.

Oh please forgive me for I have sinned.

The God of Small Things

At a flea market he lives, chatting with everyone, everything he meets. With his microscopic lenses he wanders registering the world in his head: composing words and frozen live scenes. When the rest of us is too busy with everything gigantic and big and enormous, he scavanges neglected details from every nooks and crannies, puts them carefully in his big box to enrich his collection: towers of keepsakes and memories.

At a flea market he lives, enjoying forever sun beamed out from the loud crowds in his surroundings. He counts all the clouds in the sky and seeks for the greenest tree over the hill everytime he looks out the window. He distinguishes different colors of droplets of rain and paints his own rainbow out of them.

You would, wouldn't you?

Go to the ocean without water
Bathe yourself in its fanciful vapor
So you wouldn't lose your winged wishes
In the jungle of ripened rice fields

Delusions could be your redeemers
So go dance with their golden mirage
Choose your own shade of colors
Use their emotions for your private collage

Under this ancient tree
I will wait patiently
For you to come to me
Then no more I will be lonely

haste

Here is everything still in chaos. I have to tidy them up bit by bit.
I have no idea what is taking me so long to finish this one single chore, but I still need time.

I often have bad dreams of being left alone, being the only one left when everyone has gone away. Then I would try to catch up in order to be with the others again; but I just can't. I would run as fast as I can, run and run and run, until I wake up with sweat on my forehead.

I am still tidying myself up. Rotten memories under my bed. Fear on the dark corners. Anger on the ceiling, low self-esteem on the walls. Traces from almost three decades of life time. I have to tidy myself up and throw all self-destroying things away.

I still need time and no one would wait.

The Holy Flame

The burning tire keeps on rolling; setting in-gasoline-immersed-waste in flame. Everyone cries their fear, anger and despair out loud. With tears on their eyes they stand still..and hate. All that was precious was burned down. Now hate is their only treasure, that would be kept carefully, polished shiny, bequeathed ceremoniously. Until someday they forget why they are doing what they are doing. "Our fathers' fathers have been doing it the whole time, so this is nothing but holy!"

I've been

I've been trying to understand how the world goes
I've been craving to comprehend why everything happens the way it is
Why do I have to feel all the woes
Why can't I just have my peace

Fiends wear masks of angels
Friends are just shadows in a foggy forest
I made acquaintance with those masks of angels
I bathed in the shadows of that foggy forest

Without the slightest doubt
with overall trust and no pout

No one ever bothered telling me
masks cover genuine faces
A rock can shadows never be
No one ever bothered showing me their paces

I've been waiting too long
for a simple answer
to end my confusion