Browse Category by Writing Entries
Poetry, Prose, Writing Entries, Writings

Casualties

rain-gif

I.
It was raining hard when you left me
the ship we’re on was about to sink
and all the gang was there.
You held her hand,
As I held mine.

II.
It was raining hard when she left me
the ship we’re on was about to sink
and all the gang was there.
I wished it was her hand,
I was holding.

III.
It was raining hard when he left me
the ship we’re on was about to sink
and all the gang was there.
I was holding his hand,
But she was holding his heart.

– –
My entry for #FWF Free Write Friday: Image Prompt

Poetry, Writing Entries, Writings

Descent

I think I am descending again,
on a train of thought
I assumed I’m over with
long ago when I learnt how to smile
and believed the Sun
when it’s behind those clouds.

But here I am again,
counting every pearls
and trickles of blood
mesmerize at the brightness of its promise
yet destroying me all at once
and all over again.

I am descending again
and this is my fiction, a truth in a lie
a hope in wickedness
and soon
everything will be swirling and spinning
and I’ll be one with vertigo.

Who will catch me by then
when I fall?
When I fall, if i fall,
I hope the ground
will be as soft as a burlap
woven in silk and honey threads.

tumblr_mbs4sbbGEG1r148sro1_500

– – –

Here’s my take for #FWF Free Write Friday: Word Bank using the following words: train – burlap – fiction – pearls – vertigo.

Poetry, Writing Entries, Writings

On broken shards

He walks on eggshells
whenever she’s around
While she,
has been walking on broken shards
and glasses of an unknown future
all her life
cutting deeply
to the soles of her feet
leaving fresh blood footprints
wherever she goes.

Trust me, he says.
She looks at the caked of dried blood on her feet.

“Why should I when you have only threaded on eggshells?”

– – –

Here’s my entry for #FWF Free Write Friday: Trust. I admit trust is a difficult topic for me and I had real difficulty in coming up with something for this prompt. 🙂

Poetry, Writing Entries, Writings

Tattoed Soul

The words curled around her tongue
vanishing before she gets a taste of it
Her hands are inked with sentences
Her stomach are filled with phrases unknown
Every bit of her skin
Are marked with ancient lines
Four lines, five lines, six lines
And she lost count of the others on her back
They called it stanzas
From the World Before
When words were freely written and spoken
On things called books and papers
With an ink that must be the same
As the one inscribed on her soul.
She is an obscenity
A walking contradiction
A curse in the post human language era
As she bears all the words and languages of the world
So that all can see through her
The beauty that words can make
(Yet none can read nor understand)
Even though none can read nor understand.

She wears her soul on her skin.
Still, no one can read her.

– – –
I’ve been gone for many weeks! Finally, here’s my entry for #FWF Free Write Friday: O me!, O life!

On Dreams, Prose, Writing Entries, Writings

Forever

He never listened. He hears, but he never listened to her. She wails and weeps, and pleads but he does nothing.

The first time they met was eons and thousands of centuries ago, in the beginning of time when Earth isn’t yet, and when their wings immortal still reflect the brilliant pureness of their souls.

But things soon changed, when Earth and Man are created.

One-third of them fell. All with different yet mostly shared reasons. Some fell due to pride, others with growing greed in their souls, several fell due to corporeal lust, some with the passion to rule and know more, and a select few to have earthly wisdom and experiences like that of Man.

She was one of them.

But unlike the others, she was the only one who fall for this reason: she falls in the idea of love, an all-consuming burning earthly love.

“Let a man love me.” Her wish had damned her.

And so all of them were cast out of Heaven, and was hurled down to the Earth. She was the last one to be thrown out.

He was the judge at that time, the appointed executor of the judgments among their kind.

She was at her knees while he was standing behind her, reading her sentence. His voice was cold, impassioned, and almost cruel.

As he was reading, the ground started shaking, and for a moment, she feared not for her soul but for the safety of this place she considered Home.

With one last look, she pleaded to him even if she knew that he couldn’t possibly do anything to change her punishment. Yet still, with a soul that starting to become more human than a being with wings, she hoped. She hoped that he would at least look at her with pity or sorrow for her plight.

But her eyes were met with a cold chilling stare. The ground beneath her collapsed and she fell.

She fell with a half-cry of his name in her mouth.

– –

Fast forward a million and thousands of thousands of years, they met again.

She is a human now, or so she thinks. With no recollection of whatsoever of the past, and with a soul that must be so stubborn that she made the same mistake again.

This time, she wished the opposite wish of what she desired before.

“Let an angel love me.”

What a stubborn soul. He said. It took me forever to make the tides turn and make her first wish come true.

So he never listened. He hears, but he never listened to her. She wails and weeps, and pleads but he does nothing.

He would not let her fall without catching her this time.

And this is true: he loves her, with an all-consuming burning earthly love.

– –
Inspired by #FWF Free Write Friday: Quote Prompt and my previous dream.

Prose, Writing Entries, Writings

Je nais se quoi

She loves the smell of old books, the way it has a power to transport her back in time. She loves running her fingers through its ancient pages, hoping it may whisper to her the forgotten secrets of the universe.

She loves looking at the stars at night, when the sky is clear and the moon is shining full and bright. It makes her believe that magic is within her grasp and miracles are within every shooting star.

She believes in fairies and dragons, and angels most of all. It fascinates her endlessly giving colors and curves to the squares and straight lines of this material world.

Yet not be mistaken. She isn’t all sweetness and pink frosting, for she’s nowhere near.

Every night, she gets nightmares and she ends up waking at the middle with tears-stained pillow, with death in her eyes, and curses of tragedy in her words.

She knows that light and darkness are created hand in hand. That demons exist as much as angels do. She knows darkness tangibility in and out like the lines of her palm, she even kissed it passionately at centuries past, yet this does not stop her to be afraid.

When you see her, she’ll be looking straight in your eye, unwavering and searching. And you will wonder what she is made of. Is it light or darkness? Is it a fairy godmother’s wish or a witch’s curse? A pixie’s dust or a mortal’s ash? An angel’s breath or a demon’s fury?

Every time you think of her, you will wonder. But you will never quite grasp the answer.

But by this, you will know it’s her.

You will know it’s her when you suddenly realize that you’re not looking at her eyes anymore, but you are looking straight through her, and what you see isn’t her but yourself. The best you can possibly be.

She is beautiful, indeed. Otherworldly beautiful.

 

– –
Inspired by the lovely prompt from #FWF Beautiful People

Poetry, Writing Entries, Writings

Whispers

You entered my life
and I couldn’t help
but question God,
Why?

You’re slowly, gradually, fading in my life
and I still couldn’t help
but ask again God,
Why?

Why should I even have to see you?
Meet you?
Feel you?
Fall for you?

What’s the purpose of this?
I still haven’t found the answer.

God has been quite silent all this time,
watching, observing,
maybe shaking His head from time to time
in all my unwise decisions,
but nevertheless mum all this time.

And I wonder if I would ever know
or this would be one of those
those things that get in the back burner of my mind
as years go by
and memories fade
and as realities turn into dreams
as vague as whispers wistfully carried by the wind
and petals being silently plucked out,
“Do you love me, or do you love me not?”

blowing-dandelion-flower-girl-grass-Favim.com-126881

– – –
Inspired by Inspiration Monday prompt: Meet Your Destiny