I'm in a Cage

I’m in a Cage

I’m holding liberty’s hands
with red-hot ash
kissing my ankles, still
sore and numb from yesterday’s run
I’m touching her soft, fair skin
with thoughts of tonight
and heartstrings still knotted together
with yesterday’s theory of flight.

I’m watching her dove-like eyes
dreaming of tomorrow’s light
with chains of the yesteryears
still tempting my tears.
I’m begging her, just her
to restrain the gusts
of yesterday’s winter
and restore my broken wings.

I’m holding liberty’s hands
but they want me to let go

I’m still holding her hands.

~tc©

The Fluid Public

My computer is running so many processes at once that its beginning its journey to amnesia. So much so that I can't properly run my recently downloaded Company of Heroes. Zzz what a letdown, that game has such a high rating. I must rectify this soon. My friend said I could cancel a few of these redundant processes through task manager to save some memory. Yeah I could do that do, if it weren't for the computer's incomprehensible, cryptic dialect(it's still english, but it's thoroughly severed and thrown all over the place lol).

And below is, well, the usual. Or no, because all of them are different. This one is a social critique, only difference from other critiques is that, its a poem ha.

The Fluid Public

Populace is a queen
She has everyone
Including you and me.
She moulds and draws
her shadows and form
with this furtive box
of changing shapes,
of changing doorsteps and keys
And it’s just taking off
with its arms
around you and me.

Everyone’s a corporate slave
Everyone complies with
this boxed-up fallacy
Everyone has a coloured soul
but they are not their own artists
Reluctant conformity,
but by the box
she’s been paid every cent
for acquiescence so it stays up there.

This is our fluid existence
within this stagnant painting
Can’t you just stop holding back
from orthodox bittersweet?
Everyone is either with or without
either in or out
of this box
and she knows not all of her
can cry out in the open
like this...
because of this.

What will happen, oh
what will happen
when we unfold this carton?

tc©

The Lights Must Never Know

The Lights Must Never Know

I’ve been penning down my wishlists long before I heard the bell
Beneath my concrete mantle, a liquid flows and tells
of the chimes that resonate within my lonely, lonely cell
I’ve always wanted something, but this concrete never fell.

I’ve carried with me this avarice of which the lights must never know
I see no hope in giving up, much less to pressing on
The rulers of today's kingdom only enjoy a green paper show
Feeding their lust, in broken bones I satisfy my own.

I crave silver after brown and then the gold after the grey
I scream out loud for the moon’s awake, while the sun remains in reign
But the coldness of the precious stones, they reach my tongue today
The clearness of my ardent eyes, they slowly fade away.

My love for you has made right now my second last death
For even in flames and yellow, I can’t breathe my final breath
Compunction conserves its coldness, chanceless alas, I can't turn back
To the time I could have broken open to escape this ceaseless cleft.

~tc©

Pre-16 Exposition

I've just arrived home. It's about 8.15pm, and the first thing I do when I turn this machine on is to navigate to this webpage. Someone wants to say something really really badly.

For reason unknown I dropped off one stop earlier on my way home, semi-consciously, to just take a walk in the night by myself. I don't know why I do this, but I guess it's good to sometimes just spend some quiet time listening to your thoughts and marshalling their sequences, much like being a self-romantic. At this point I would like to thank the guy who invented blogger, thereby providing such a universally convenient dimension for people to pour out their minds lest they forget such musings in the future.

The sky was unusually clear. It wasn't totally black, instead it was a mixed palette of brown, red and blue. Because of that I was privileged to see the many stars that lined the velvet curtains of night. If there was a word to describe such a sight, it would be pretty. A cool, gentle breeze clung around me and played with my hair, and as I breathed I inhaled the sweet smell of contemplative lonliness. I don't deny that with two it would be sweeter but that's not gonna come round anytime soon.

Back to the stars. The unfortunate thing was the presence of multiple lamp posts that screamed into my eyes whenever I endeavoured to appreciate the celestial models. Man was crafting a world that didn't belong to him, and he was beginning to overdo it. Those lights were bluntly bigger and brighter than that of the stars but, it was only because they were physically closer. When I opened my eyes again, the mystic specks of light just made the man-made fade away.

There was one particular star that caught my eye. It was reddish-orange and much more luminous compared to the rest. I wondered for a moment if it was Venus, but I didn't really care what it was, so long as it was...pretty, as I've said before haha. But as I continued with my promenade I began to realise what those stars really had within them. I saw within their light the friends I had, the mentors under whom I've been disciplined, my parents who have brought me into this existence, and all who cared and are still waiting to care for my tiny little soul. Those stars would be there forever, shining down golden light to show me the way; those stars would hold my hands until I met my maker; those stars were going to be bigger, brighter, warmer, sweeter than any man-made lamp post, composed of mere strips of cold hard metal. It was a beautiful moment of revelation, I'm glad I'm able to write it down here for future recollection.

I must admit, a few strangers shot me bewildered looks. Who wouldn't if you saw a person staring up at the night sky for five minutes in the middle of the pathway. And to add to that, he's smiling like he's never smiled before. Ok that was exaggeration, but it was something like that.

I'm reaching a pivotal age of sixteen in four hours time. Actually, in twenty-three and a half hours time, because I was born at 8pm according to my mum. A sixteen year masquerade, a sixteen year escapade, a sixteen year serenade, or a sixteen year promenade? Time is like a bolt of lightning, today is gonna feel like yesterday twenty years down the road, and when that reality hits you, it can be quite painful.

Time is defined as a system by which we distinguish events. I believe it's more complicated than that. I might die tomorrow, I might end up as the next oldest person in the world (which can still satisfy the conditions of the former statement). All I know and need to know is that I'm following someone who knows what the future holds. It's like buying insurance. You should buy it too. Unlimited warranty :D. Well, this is me. This is my pre-16 exposition.

Passenger

4 days and 3 nights gave me the name of supernumerary, or Advanced Drills Instructor. All this at the expense of burning about 3/4 of my march hols, which was supposed to be spent rushing accumulated homework. NCC HQ still needs improvement. CADETS need improvement; they need to have more common sense. CLTs need improvement; they need to be free from prejudice, and free from the love of being an asshole. These people need serious, drastic change if the governing and organization of NCC is ever going to improve. RSM can't do it by himself, and these people are just dragging him down. Some things need to be synthesised, not regurgitated. And people need to LEARN how to do this.

Anyways, I experienced the empty, meaningless aftertaste of completing an NCC course, as usual, but I just don't know what keeps me going back to HQ to endure such torturous regimes. No, I don't love pain lol, but I do enjoy NCC. It's bittersweet. And just to draw the line, its more psychological than physical. Hard to explain nevertheless, because you'll probably never know it unless you're a cadet.

By the way, a "supernumerary" is defined in the Oxford Dictionary as an extra; a substitute; or a walk-on(actor). For something that's supposed to be most impressive and prestigious to attain, this defintion hardly does it any justice. Or maybe, the idiot who suggested this term for use in NCC never heard of a dictionary. I guess that's why they renamed the course ADC for Advanced Drills Course two years ago.

Ok, enough of lamentations. Tonight, I'm surprised my tired brain actually managed to come up with something. It's a simple and honest poem, actually written to be a song. It's quite short now, just two verses and the chorus, so I'll probably expound on it next time. If I might ask, just let a spontaneous, soothing melody ring in your heart as you read it (note that I classify the genre of the type of music ;P) It might make more sense.

Passenger

I’ve been driving round these broken dreams
in circles right from the start
I can’t believe that there’s nothing new
now that my gas is running out
I see the trees right up in front of me
waving to my heart
It’s like they are the only everything
that marks my very path.

I need to be the passenger of this flight
Of this fading wooden decadence, that I just can’t deny, yeah
Letting go, I don’t want to see these tears before I die
Because right now, I’m telling you, I step aside.

I step outside to find myself just
drifting in the winds
I need a light because I’m lost
in my sea of memories
This is a search for the only cure
for these wounds that never heal
because I’m holding to something small
my hands can barely feel oh

Joan

Joan

She put her palm against her chest and felt the melody of her heart, and her eyes touched the skylines. Vision fell upon the majesty of the clock tower a few blocks down; the second hand ticked with a rhythmic stroke, just like that which was within her. It was one and the same, she saw it and she knew it, and she was glad.

Joan felt the wind running his fingers through her hair and she ran her own through them, with a tight band in one finger. She paced down the streets and saw the lights on the lamp posts, just as they were playing in reflections of her necklace. She reminded herself of the reality of this existence, this was but a dream she had called upon, a request that her guardians of siesta had granted, and she had no more till daybreak to spend this time. But she was not sure why she knew of this.

She arrived at the first shop at the junction where the street met the main boulevard. Everything else was gray and quiet. The light with which she used to see ceased to come from the lamp posts. Instead, her eyes were brightening, showing her every last vestige of the place that lay right in front of her now. The doorknob melted into a mixture of gold and immediately took the form of a pair of graceful arms with long slender fingers. They caressed her hands and she felt a faint kiss just above her wrist. She released the band on her hair and her ocher strands fell to her waist. They curled towards the door, nullifying their naturally vertical nature, and they became very beautiful. The hands of gold rubbed together an exquisite sentiment, and then escorted Joan through the door.

She couldn’t stop those crystals and fabrics from painting that camberous stroke on her face. A fresh, sweet scent followed her around the room, and wouldn’t let go. Still, there was no sound, just like outside, and her mind saw her free from dissonance and she sang the tunes of the notes in her eyes. Joan relished her privilege of green paper, not once did she lament about her greedy hands. She thought she didn’t have to.

With two packages hugging her arms and she exited and moved on to the next. The previous scent had released its tender vice and a new one impressed her more. It was like she felt the rain and tasted honey for the first time since ghastly decadence came. This one didn’t need the golden arms and scintillating eyes. She didn’t look back and stepped inside.

The person who came to attend to her bore an ashen mask and the whitest suit. Joan could only see his warm brown eyes, but that was enough to make her stay. He led her through a few doors, finally reaching a room from where that beckoning aroma arose. Putting a rose in her palm, he left. The space was circular and carpeted with crimson cloth. Two ladies, each having the most alluring smile one could afford, stood beside a cherrywood table. Upon that desk lay the most delicate chemicals that could induce the most delicate, most soothing pleasure, not forgetting the pair of catalysts that would be working their gentle fingers to bolster the reaction.

Joan left her bags to rest on the floor, and then she took off her clothes to reveal her tawny, silky skin, and the meticulous curvatures of her body. She stepped towards the soft bed in the centre and the two started their job, layering her skin with the very desires that fed her beauty.

She left the place about two hours later, only to see the clock tower again. It was six, but the sun had already donned its cape. Her heart beat accelerated with tension, and to her disbelief, the second hand followed. The boulevard was waiting for her patronage; the streets were tugging at her dress. She burrowed through her memories, and amidst the splinters, this was all she could get. This was all that was real.

The sky turned black, only to be torn through by an impaling light the next second. Joan looked again at the streets, and noticed for once, that they were empty. The only people who waited for her were the ones behind those doors. Colour leaked into her eyes; the sky was changing its shade. The lamp posts withdrew their light and hailed the rays coming from above. Joan remembered her sentinels of sleep and why she was having this dream; it was a leaf from her memory. This was real, this was who she was.

Her silver necklace tightened around her neck and she fell down, her head collapsing on her severe, jagged, crystal merchandise. The newer scent flooded her nose and closed his hands upon her soul, and he did this despite the light the sky, which was getting stronger and stronger. By her last breath, she saw the clouds part their ways, and a blinding flash came down upon her.

Then Joan awoke, just in time to see the sun rise.

©tc

Let Go

A good sunday today, as always. Well I guess there was just one difference. A few moments spent with a special, confused friend. Not forgetting two hours of misery spent being locked out of my own house just because I didn't bring the key, but that actually provided me with time to think. To think about the things that have happened so far, and especially the former, more important issue. These kind of times, moments when I just navigate through my mental maze, never fail to ignite a few sparks in my mind, or even make me want to tear inside. Trust me it's hard to make me cry I don't know why, but I'd pretty much prefer to be able to do so, because when you want to and you can't, it feels quite like shit inside.

Anyways, just a deeper step into the conversation, emotional moment, weird situation no.436 (or whatever you call those kind of situations), there was a thematic perspective about "letting go" of certain things. Talk about letting go of something that you can't, like tears -.- For me, I think I've tried to hold on to everything I can, but sometimes it just doesn't work. It gets complicated, and the classification of "emo-talk" just comes in right about here. That's why sometimes I find my english so limited because I can't even pen down my own musings properly. As they say, the more you learn, the less you know. Pathetically paradoxical.

One of my routes - the art of language. More obscure, more vague, more meaningful, and easier to generate. Well, at the end of long day I've come up with this below, and it has everything to do with what's been going through my mind today. I hope its not too long though; I've kept it simple. And, after it reading through a few times, I think it's one of my favourites so far. I hope it finds a similar place in your heart.

Tale of the Star

There once was a star in the sky
He graced with the clouds
and danced in the night
But he wasn’t that shiny
The others thought he was tiny
but he had a place in the galaxy
at the mighty belt of Orion’s bust,
where in his friends he had his trust
And there he slept soundly
and he sparkled tenderly
with a soft pillow on his cheek.
Then one day he dreamt of an entity
who had him stunned momentarily
who plucked him out of the cosy silk
out of the orange light and the snow white flames
and said “I’ve found you another place to live.”

The star had lost his home in the blinding dark
He looked behind with frosted eyes
and his arms lost touch of
those gentle hugs
of those rosy smiles, he was all
alone.
He cried for years in the heart of those hands
who stole him away on that lighted night
The star had no choice, he gave up his life,
he left his house, he didn’t put up a fight
but he grew red and white and exploded in flames
in the crafting fingers of the being.
Then he turned golden and hot and started seeing
that his minute molten mind was still in that dream.

I’m awakening.

Yes you are. Are you ready?

Who are you?

I’m your awakening.

My what..?

You’ll see.

Tears of gold rolled down his cheeks
They missed his pillow and reached his chest
where they disappeared with a sparkling dust of vapour
with the licking of red to clean up the mess.

And there he was
standing
in the centre of the galaxy
shining with the light, blazed in glory
the lunar concubines bowed before him
and the colours of the rocks guarded his aisles
he was finally home at last.

If Thoughts Became Actions

Two days ago I provoked a certain someone who had nothing to do but to gnaw at the very important relationships I share with a few of my close friends in school. Without hesitation a string of words came out of my mouth that shut him up for at least an hour. No vulgarities invovled, just a few precise words that seemed to hit him where his malice was flowing from. Not to mention, this person holds an honourable leadership position in the school which I will fail to mention because I think he deserves a little privacy. Truly hypocritical. Extremely cowardly. Coincidentally, a few familiar scribbles of excessiveness appeared on my tagbox and a few others' too. Soothes my suspicions from the start really. I just might be able to kill two birds with one stone this time, or put it another way, one bird with two stones (together of course, i don't suck at throwing ;) ).

Oh yeah, hope this one's not too vicious for you lot.

If Thoughts Became Actions

If my thoughts became actions
someone would have died
My hands would have been soiled,
my mind crucified
If my words became reality
and ambition pulled the trigger,
the people I’d spoken to would
never ever have seen
those cold silver bullets
flying towards their plastic lives
If my hands were knives
and my gaze was biting
Their tongues would rest
gently upon
those fingers which used to point at me
their conscience would have melted into
a viscous muddy liquid
Their eyes would have ceased to see
their lips stretch toward their ears
spelling cowardice, guilt and
smiling their fears
If my thoughts became actions
my heart frozen in spite,
it would have taken the lives of those I mused
and turned them into ice.
If the flute in my soul
had stopped playing its song of mercy,
I would be somewhere else tonight.