Write, Wrote, Written discussion

Empty Poem

This poem
is like an empty world;
No where to look
but at this composition of words.
Words written out
with no purpose to serve;
Nothing to see
but words
from the inside.
Struggling to see something
in this empty world,
the words slowly fade away
along with its voice.

In a broken world,
all we see is black and white
as hopeless lost souls.

Colors don't matter
anymore in the wide sky,
trapped in the darkness.

The wind and the rain
both collide with each other
as the eyes turn gray.

In this world of ours,
there are many colors and
yet some can't see them.

Soundless


Waiting for every second to tock
as everyone gathers at the park,
I try to show my best smiling mock;
I want to fight away all my wark.

There's so much noise around;
I'm craving for the silence;
Soundless I need it for my wound;
Tonight will be hopeless.

The sky is filled with dark hue;
The day view becomes a darkness;
Little by little, it swallows its blue;
The owls finally come out of their nest.

Sometimes, life is hard
so I just hang out alone at the yard.

As the clock constantly ticks all day,
I blankly stare at the wall in front
of
me.
A mysterious form suddenly shows
up with a loud scream hurting my ears.

I cried
some tears
under her arms
curled into
a ball;
I feel
like crying again;
I don't know
why.

Well
it was all
an act,
Indeed.

Going to space
Floating like flying
Feeling free
Not moving an inch
without any effort
''Lying'' there watching,
watching the earth
turn
while gravity
will lead me
somewhere.

As the darkness filled the sky,
I watched a ray of light
fighting to stay alive
right in the middle of no where,
struggling to show us that hope is
a warm light coming from effort.

Seeing her laugh and smile
from here
It's a good thing
like replaying
a certain scene
from a distance.

The dark feelings hiding inside of me,
waiting to devour my only hope,
began to roam around my heart.
I never thought I was weak.
I always kept my mind and body ready for anything.
But why is it that today I feel dizzy?
I can feel it, my weak body.
Without knowing, tears rushed down my cheeks.
Through the blurry vision I had left,
I saw two shadows.
One was shrinking as it moved away.
The other one just stood there, not moving, staring.
I could feel my fast and unusual breathing.
My body was shaking.
The rain caused it all.
It made me cry.
It made me dizzy.
It made me cold.
It made the shadows "scared and run away".
It made me lonely.
Rain, maybe a powerful letter.
But I felt this relievedness.
I didn't feel lonely or hurt.
I knew the sun would come out soon.
Before leaving forever,
I would say good bye to the sun
one more time
then I would feel satisfied.

I've had my words
here and there.
Not once, not ever
have they went through
a person's skin.
Never have they travelled
along their transmission lines.

Never will they be inside
a person.
Never will a person look
at my words like
they would at
their sun.

Now it's like words
have betrayed.
They used to be
one way of escape,
of expression,
of indifference.

Never will a person
receive these words.
Not ever again.
Never will the words
look at them the
same way.
Never will those words
come out from
its isolated darkness.

Everything's to be felt,
and yet,
Nothing's to be felt,
as so the
sound of your wind
and the
smell of your rain
are to be carried away.

From ''Dr. Bird's Advice for Sad Poets''

''The lines are thin enough to not exist. The lines are
nothing and then appear in red. The lines are lines;
the lines are dots. The sharp lines on my arm are
made with a sharper line of blade. Like meets
like, even if it hurts for them to meet. The lines
fade and I can recreate them anywhere. But I need
to breath easy while I do it. I need a steady hand.
A straight thin line, not too long, makes me feel
better. A curve hurts. A curve ruins the whole moment.

I have mastered lining myself with evidence.
The evidence has mastered invisibility.''

A world of black
where everyone
gets pitched in.
Every value existing
becomes colorless.
Now all there is left
are the lives,
the existence
of nature.
Humans, animals, insects
and all except
me.

Jul.03.2014

Square One

It’s true.
We’re both starting to close our doors.
So the other won’t see inside their home.
Hiding.
Another word for this kind of thing.

If we went back to square one,
we would only run away from what we thought
were
the first memories of our shared beginning.

If we went back to square one,
we would only find out that we wasted our time
for the memories we built inside us.

If we went back to square one,
we would want to fix every little thing
when all we need to do is just to relive it again.

It happens when
one doesn't know what
to write about.

Who to write for?
Who to write to?
Who to write about?
Who to write?

Here and there,
full of question
mark
left unanswered
left alone
in its own lost
piece.

Only today,
is there a small
beam of words
barely coming out.

Full yet empty.

Thank you
and
Sorry.

Nice poetry

Improvised Poem (Jul.11.2015)

Look around us.
What do you see?
A person with a mocking smile.
Wrapped around them
you see colors everywhere.
You enjoy what the person has to
give to you.
But you realize that that same person
burries deep inside a world
of grey.

They don't hate you
nor do they like you.
No hate for they are scared of it.
No love for they do not want to give
you or themself
false hopes.

What do they see?
Unusual
a person is admiring the world around them.
But the person is a shadow.
Morning, its presence is visible from its dark shades.
Night, only to be left alone.
All day do they ask themself
"Is it over yet?"

Is it over yet?

The trees inside here
in me are thick and empty
as thorn trees collapse.

Sorry this had to be late. Thank you Ramnik.

Music looks around us
and wonders if we are listening
to them.
Sometimes they think they aren't good enough
to please us or
to comfort us during our different times.
They might feel that they didn't succeed
and they give up
giving its place to another piece
hiding in the book of old time.

Later,
just as they picked up a page for themselves
a music calls for partnership.
Through this new connection,
music lovers come across the friends and companions
of their favourites.

''This song is pretty nice.''

Human interactions, I dislike it.
I dislike all the necessary contact with others.
I am frustrated.
The surroundings, the place I'm in,
I want to get out of there.
What they expect of me and what they think
I am,
they all frustrate me.
But I keep my calm and composed self.
I do not show them my emotions,
my weakness.
When I do get out, I'll be free.
Free from them,
but not from myself.
Deep inside, my life is a problem.
Everything I do is a problem.
The joking, the smiling and all the
things they expect me to do.
Do I need a mask like that?
Is it necessary?
Can I stop everything and do it
what I want?
Is there even anything I want to do?
Nothing interests me; it's all boring.
Maybe I'll wait a little bit more to see.
In the end, my life is still a problem.