She Sings

She sings and it was
Like light pouring out
Into the dark voids
One was filled with hope
As the sight falls upon her
A truly eternal beauty
Of fairest skin and palest eyes
And her dark locks
Tender tendrils over her shoulders

Once I saw her I was smitten,
Knocked deep down and senseless
My soul took leave of its vessel and
I yearn to see her again and again
Day after day I went to the same place
Where the birds sing and the goats wandered

But it seems I would never
See her again

Butterflies In Winter

And so I wait
With abated breath
Patiently and quietly
With a whole lot of faith
Standing beside, in your shadow
Waiting for time to pass
For Acceptance to come
When you will say yea
Instead of nay
And still
I dare not breathe
Nor make a sound
Lest I lose you
And you disappear
Right from my very sight
Vanish from my empty life
The moment you came
Into my life I treasure
A landscape with colour
You painted for me
Unknowingly
I burn
This feeling consumes me
Entirely without mercy
I feel hot all over
And sometimes cold like winter
And I wonder
Do butterflies live in winter?


*P.S: The above is a picture of a butterfly in San Diego during winter.

Cross Street (continued)

Your memories I withheld-cherished
From the stains of time
In the compartment of-my heart

A figure dances along
The frozen lake yonder
Beauty escalated by thin ice

A figure crosses the street
In the midst of traffic
Contact was made

And just as it was
The beautiful snow flake
A multitude of lights catching it
Made it even more heavenly

Falls onto the ground
And melts
As the sun rises

Cross Street

It's been a long while. A long while since I have spent a moment with myself, getting in touch with the Inner Self. I am contemplating a few things, and the foremost on my mind is the return to darkness. A return back to Mother, or the Queen.

The Fool, making a circle of his journey around the world, first meeting the Magician and then the rest...

A return would raise problems. Problems of pain and problems of melancholy. One could do without them it seems. So well that even I can't put the pen to bear anymore. Perhaps it signifies something, that I need to step out of my safey zone, into the silence...

Enough of me lamenting again...I have to lament everytime I step into here eh?

But then again, some things still inadvertently reminds me of the past...

Every time I open my door, the keys would bring back a certain piece of the puzzle...

Everytime I pass by the river, and another piece would fit in...

Everytime the bus drives by and there it is again...

Somewhere, everywhere, something lingers...

Some Where

He walked along the street with a heavy heart. Occasionally, as he passed under the street lamps, one could see that his eyes were glistening. The stronger he made himself out to be, the harder it was to keep out the masquerade. The stronger he became, the more isolated he was.

Why did things have to turn out this way? He had to step outside for a smoke. Staying in the same room was too energy-consuming for him. Facing her everytime, seeing those things that could have been, those should have beens. There was too much pain.

It was wrong. A place that brought happy memories to him now brings him pain. Absolutely wrong.

Why couldn't she let him go? Must she hold on to him so hard? Is it so difficult to let him go? He just want to lead his own life, his own way now. Wanted to walk out of the front door, never to come home again.

Wanted to walk out, walk to where someone would welcome him with open arms and a big hug. Somewhere with a cheery fire burning that's waiting to warm him up. Somewhere that he would feel loved.

Somewhere out there...

Heartlands

It was almost dark. Dusk was falling upon the city-state, sending the heart of it into slumber to prepare for another battle tomorrow. He was sitting at the void-deck, in the midst of the heartlands, enjoying the serenity it seemed to bring. He needed peace and quiet, needed to slow down amidst the hectic pace of life, to self-reflect and reminiscent. There are times when one needs to be alone and this was clearly it. Besides, there was nothing more to accomplish for the day.

There were so many things going on in his mind now, a treacherous swamp that he had no way navigating around.

A train rumbled along the tracks above.

He took another long drag, hoping to calm his mind down. It glowed uneasily…as if something was wrong with it, somewhere the quality control had went bonkers. No matter, the kick still remained. Only that he had to take a longer time to find it.

Another sound, and this time, it was the old man with the ice-cream van. Right on time, it seems. Time for him to make a move too, into the falling darkness where somewhere, there was a light waiting for him.

And dinner.

I am gradually losing the inspiration and the drive to write constantly. It is losing its meaning perhaps, and bodes well this does not.

Of course, I do still write in my writing pad, but it hardly ever makes it into electronic form anymore. There are many ideas, many seeds, but I know not how to cultivate them. Trial and error seems to be the only way.

Even my writing now seems discontinous.

And I write like an attention-deficit kid.

The beginning of a story...

A story not ready to be told yet...

A story that speaks of hope and misery...

A story that is not ready to end...

My Story...

Moonshine

Things are picking up pace, and life is getting more and more hectic. That is all well and good, for I will have no other time to think on things that I should not be thinking of.

The road is straightening out for me again, or is it just my perception? Is it because I have taken off that particular set of glasses that seemed to cast the straight road into a crooked one? Was I so engaged in self-pity?

Sometimes, a person drives himself so deep into the ground and gets so melancholic that he is unable to appreciate the beauty of the world around him. He moans and groans about this and that, which is all well and true. But remember what came out last of the box that Pandora opened?

Hope.

For she said that if Pandora don't let her out, all those nasty things that escaped would wreck havoc on the earth, and she must be there to temper the equation, to reinstate a balance so as to speak.

Hope, it is the stuff of miracles. For where there is no hope, how can there be a miracle?

Though some might say it is best not to hope, for then you will have no expectations and you will not fall and be hurt. But, there is always another saying.

"Reach for the moon and you will fall among the stars."

I hope this is the fall that they are talking about.

Yours always
Aristocrat

Gratias

Well, I was astonished to say the least when I read a post that was dedicated to me, a tribute to me in fact.

I'm touched. Touched to see that people do care. That there are still goodness in the world.

......

Of course there are, it's just that we choose to see what is there and what is not.

Running away or digging your head into the ground is never the best solution so I just had to open my eyes and to see what lies ahead on this long winding slope up. Like what D says,

"The time before dawn is always the darkest." Or something to that extent. I can't remember that well. But the core of the meaning is there.

Gratias.

Yours always
Aristocrat

Appreciation

I have been through a rough patch recently, perhaps the roughest ever to be in this span of twenty over years. I do not suppose that I am the most unfortunate person out there in this vast world since I know of many more people who were dealt a worse stack of cards.

But I wish things hadn't turn out this way. I guess I can't pin the blame on anyone, and if there is anyone to blame, it is just yours truly, for being so entrenched in Romanticism. Yes I do suppose I am a hopeless Romantic, I should have just wished to be born in the era of Romanticism and not in this Age of Realism.

But, since it happened already, so be it. The matter is already beyond my hands and there is no closure to be had at the moment. The sand still trickles downwards no matter what happens. Perhaps I wouldn't write anymore. It just brings back painful memories. Or if I would, it would never again be for anyone.

Someone once said, "Why do you keep on writing about unhappy things?" The answer probably goes like:

"Because happiness is transient. And the only constant is sadness."

Just like your friends. You may never know when they will backstab you, but with regards to your enemies, you will always know how they hold you in their regard. A very pessimistic view? Yes, I do agree it's pessimistic but doesn't it ring true? Unfortunate things do happen most of the time if you care to take a close look at the people around you.

But again, I'll stop being a pessimist for once.

And be an optimist.

It's time to loosen the sails and set off for the unknown. For I smell change in the winds of Fate, and it beckons like a siren to me, calling me, tempting me. Many are the years before me, and I shall seek to discover the treasures that Life holds covered in her bosom...

Heave ho!

Yours truly
Aristocrat

P.S: A very big thanks to everyone who has stood by my side one way or another. All my bosom buddies and all those who know me through these tomes of mine. You have given me the support that I needed at that darkest point in my life and I deeply appreciate it. Ah Suah, thank you for including me in your prayers. I am touched.

Sorry my dear readers for the long absence...I was busy trying to settle some personal issues of mine. May God give me the strength needed...

Aristocrat