One Reason 

Maybe. The. Only. Reason. We. Have. Broken. Dreams. Is. Because. We. Want. Everything. All. At. Once. 

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I Want To

Journey of a thousand miles begins with one step. What if I want to go more past those miles? Life is never what it seems. At least I have learnt that in the past few weeks. I had the privilege of taking a step back. To see a bigger picture. Picture of a thousand white roses. Up to date, I hardly understand why I started loving such a phrase. ‘A picture of a thousand white roses’. A friend asked me why I thought people get depressed over small manageable issues. And funny enough my mind was in fact, depressed. I wish I was bold enough to tell that one friend, of my nights, crawled up at edge of my bed, on the floor, the coldness of it all gently warming me up. I wish I had the courage to tell that one friend of the mornings I spend in the shower, with nothing but tears running down. I wish I was bold enough to tell that friend that actually some men cry, get confused, and contemplate suicide more often than not. But what stops them? A hope for a better tomorrow? A prayer silently made in the depths of a man’s deepness? Yet, they wake up, show up to fight another day. I wish that friend saw the tears behind my eyes as I answered that question. You see, depression is never a matter of just a small thing that affects someone. It is the series of small manageable things piercing in the depths of your deepness, drowning you from deep within till the days turn into nights of gasping for a breath, till the nights turn into days of digging inside yourself for just but a smile for others. Yes, for others to see you are okay. You see, every day you wake up knowing you will slit your wrists, cut your ankles, slice up your thighs. But after each day, you go to sleep dreading for tomorrow. Because it starts all over again. A loop of some sorts. You close off, becoming one with music. It keeps one going, I should know. But one thing about thoughts clouding every breath is you just want to feel. It doesn’t matter if its pain, or not. The very essence of dark rooms, solitude, creeps inside you and settles in like a plague. It satisfies you. Even when your phone goes silent for a week, you don’t mind but it eats you up, driving you deeper into the depths of an ocean of solitude. I should know. I wish I told my friend all this and much more, but time is never so generous. Friends seem always busy, even when meeting, just but a few minutes then they are gone. And for those good few minutes, half of them is spent on their phone. You wish your phone was as busy as theirs sometimes. Maybe then you would feel wanted, but for now you are stuck with the coldness slicing through your wrists. You just want to feel, to understand. The feel of being wanted, of being needed. Then the same friends wonder why you rarely go out. It’s perhaps because everyone is always on their phones except you. It’s perhaps because friendship lost meaning along the way. It’s perhaps because people don’t understand friendship anymore.

But what do I know about friendship? I’m just seated here, writing this in my head word by word, as my dear friend chats on the phone even after such a depressing question. I can’t wait to go back my cold, slithering floor, at the edge of my bed, maybe then they will chat with me so vehemently. Maybe I just want to feel more than the depths of an ocean…

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Burn

It burns inside, like lava soothing you from inside.

Picking up a blade to be slit down my wrist has never looked so enticing.

Deep down, I understand why that can’t happen again.

So my mind wonders, to the center of it all.

Where it all began.

An unforgiving solace through my wrists.

A burning desire to feel which I cannot.

In everything, I see darkness sipping through the cracks.

Not in, but oozing out of me.

Nothing but the sensational taste of tantalizing red wine, down my throat.

A new escape, perhaps.

Yet it burns with every swallow.

Waiting for the inevitable, to walk through that door.

I went straight there, as soon as I read it.

Hands sweating, heart beating slower than usual.

Stuck in a familiar offset balance.

We finally figured it out, incomplete creatures under the moon.

A need to be complete, together.

But still miles apart, in the same room.

She led herself in, sitting across the room.

Same room she threw her goodbyes from.

Our eyes locked, unlocking what was violently stored away.

You could feel her pulsating heart a mile way.

Her light blue turquoise dress, flowing on every inch of her.

Inches that once dripped with honey to be savored.

She wanted to confess, of a love.

She earlier excused herself, to wipe of her tears.

Previously my duty, not anymore.

Change is inevitable apparently.

Having silent conversations in-between the silence.

Her lips parted, pausing to allow the last burning wine down my throat.

I’m sorry, I can never live without you

Suddenly, my hands grew weak, letting the glass reach its final destination.

Pausing for a moment.

Because, I, more than anybody knew what the world was, without her.

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That Tired Bench

In a clogged world full of noise, I just want to be immersed in silence.

The depressing, dark-filled silence.

For not many find beauty in it, but agony and pain.

But what is a world without pain?

Would we know love if there was no hate?

Would we know what it felt like being complete without being broken?

So in the middle of that evening, I sat on that silent bench.

As people rushed to catch their evening bus home,

Seemingly to their ever happy homes.

I knew why darkness was beautiful, at that moment.

I understood why the best of time comes after the worst.

It wasn’t the cold evening breeze that made itself felt,

But the promise of a beautiful starry night revealed itself on the horizon.

So I sat there, on a freezing bench, breathing in sets of fresh air with mounts of foulness in it.

It must have silently seen worse days pass by, as I had seen better days come to pass.

And grew tired of them.

Nothing is ever perfect, not even the sincerest smiles of the universe.

Its flaws ensure its beauty never runs dry.

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Sinking Thoughts

It had been just but a few years, pretty rough, in my thoughts.

People had been through hell and back, yet I felt I was in one.

I keep on wondering what really I had accomplished.

Was I an inspiration?

Was I a role model?

Was I but an older guy like the rest?

I had dreams, I wrote down goals.

The law of attraction they said.

Pray more they said.

So I dug deeper into a muddy pool of quick sand.

Only that I wasn’t sinking.

I was stuck, sinking in my own thoughts.

Every day, I sat on the same chair.

Every day, I realized the veracity of my life.

Every day, thoughts of my dreams reminded me of what I hadn’t accomplished.

A cycle of never-changing days, each day absolutely the same with the next.

I also had dreams, young and ambitious.

I went ahead and took on life, a desire to do everything.

A desire, filled with castle-air promises.

Time, ticking away slowly, is of the essence.

An escape is all I needed.

Leave my mind behind, sinking in its thoughts.

*telephone rings*

My thoughts pause, just for a while.

The voice on the other end reminds me of my obligation.

The voice reminds me of my big dreams that got narrower and specific.

The voice reminds me of my small yet of magnitude accomplishments.

The voice reminds me of a home I’m to go to.

The voice reminds me of family I’ve built up.

The voice is a constant reminder that I’m still on the highway of life.

A voice, reminding me that I’m young enough to dream,

But old enough to do what it takes, to accomplish them, step by step.

Voices, mature enough to show me what I’ve build so far.

They remind me, through my sinking thoughts.

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Promise Me

It’s the last day of a long year.

Nothing has changed, really, to the better.

It is as it was, the first day of the year.

I’m still drowning in my own tears.

I can’t stop because of a heavy heart.

Everything in between the year was as beautiful as the universe itself.

A universe drenched in darkness.

As promises echoed through my veins, my smile got rearranged.

My laughter replaced.

It felt like heaven, the darkness itself.

Somehow it turned into my light.

Something about drowning,

Something about hitting the bottom was liberating.

Something about it was unexplainable.

The only way after hitting the rock bottom, was up.

But I needed to take my rock bottom with me.

For it fired me into everything I was.

A new being, facing anything.

I yearned for everything in-between the darkness and light.

Ships sink for letting water in, not mine.

Sailing with the gods, to let the darkness in,

For it was the source of my light.

Until when I’m full, I’ll drown in her darkness, her broken promises.

And my broken pieces will be liberated into the light of the darkness.

But just promise me to pause, and enjoy the liberation.

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Dream About Me

I get lost in my dreams, but I never stop dreaming.

Thoughts remind me in the morning that I am still human, not an animal.

Painting faces, coloring worlds but my own.

Save the best for last.

Yet my dreams swim alone in dark rooms, pretending.

Pretending it’s a world full of city streets and candles.

I don’t know what happens inside them.

I wish I could.

I wish I did call my dreams, late in the night.

Talk endlessly, living in self-mirages.

I wish I could hear its voices, in my head.

Guiding path of wonder and illusion of what’s to come.

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Shooting Stars

I wish I believed in shooting stars.

Maybe then I’d be living my fantasy.

Only then could I understand.

Why the sky is full of stars, to be wished upon.

I wish I lived in the moments.

Maybe then I’d realize how life sets you apart to your own journey.

I wish I forced my limits to the sky.

Maybe then I would understand what it’s like to be airborne.

I wish I jumped to opportunities.

Maybe then I’d have been far away living my dreams.

I wish life was unfair.

Maybe then I’d have accepted how fair it in its existence.

Life is a journey.

Full of wishes set out free into the universe.

At the end of every sunset, it doesn’t matter where I’m going or where I am.

All that is brought forth into the horizon in each sunrise is the importance.

An importance of whether or not I keep on moving.

The distance in-between serves as a reminder.

A reminder to keep on wishing, to keep on moving, to keep on building, to keep on growing!

After it’s all said and done, nothing will change how it began.

As a wish!

I’ve been drowned in so many wishes, but no regrets in the end.

Life turns out better than the wish of my wishes, every day.

Everyday, the stars keep on shooting.

So why regret and the sky is full of them?

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Bearers

We don’t need permission, just the blessings of the universe.

Nothing can prevent it, not even distance between us.

It’s only the connection we need.

A bond that grows stronger with each passing cloud.

Never to be broken, or thrown away.

What if we fight?

What if we grow distant?

What if we lose sight?

You asked, tears running its course down your eyes.

I failed to answer.

Not for lack of a response, but because I was ready.

To fight for this unbreakable bond, eternally.

To the heavens and back, to hell and straight back, I was ready.

A warm embrace was I could afford.

A journey we both needed to mold together.

A journey of enlightenment needed no rush.

You needed assurances, I had commitment.

You needed security; I had but my soul only to give.

You needed the world; I had but the universe’s vibration to offer.

I became a bearer of some sorts, opening up his soul.

A damaged soul that became light.

A damaged soul that reached deep within, that became love.

So that when you ever lose sight of our love, just look within me.

So that when you ever feel the distant, come and travel beyond me into our universe.

So that when we ever fight, it will be battle to be stopped before it begins.

I bear the silver platter, of tears and battles.

The greatest of them tears would be the tears of seeing you break into oblivion where love doesn’t exist.

Yet, deep down, you bear the power to see a state of equilibrium.

A balance of love and peace, cosigned within the universe itself.

So who are we to never meet, yet the universe needs us to.

No matter where you are, I’m right here.

No matter where I am, you’ll always be right here.

Because as long as we search for the end of the universe,

We will never cease to be the bearers of each other.

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Ropes

It comes rushing in.

Like a beacon of hope, of a cure long waited for.

Like the ranting, of a populous crowd, suddenly stops.

Like a warm ambiance suddenly being ice cold.

Like a tiger finally breathing in, holding on to a breath before jumping on a prey.

Nothing else seems to matter.

Like blood boiling to its temporal points.

It pounces on you.

It doesn’t matter if you called to it.

It just rushes in, devouring every inch of every nerve.

It is more than a want, less of a basic need.

You didn’t need it, but now that it’s there, you can’t seem to go your lifetime without.

You’re courageous, but it seems not to recognize that.

On a constant feeding, never ending to your limits.

Sweat builds up, bringing satisfactory feeling.

Of a position you wanted to be in for so long.

But there you were, next to the edge of the bridge.

Sure with each passing inhale, and exhale.

So you jump.

Sure enough you won’t fly, but trusting enough something will pull you up.

The rope tied to your body.

A security of assurance that once it’s over, it’ll be scrapped off your bucket list.

That rush of adrenaline, the moment you step of a bungee jump.

Realizations creep in, there’s a limit of how low can you go.

The sky has never been a limit.

The cringing limit of how low you can go before bouncing back up is the real question of your ropes to answer.

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