i was 3 seconds to end my breath
in the white icy cold bathroom
when you broke the door that instance
yet again, you pulled me from doom
it's not you, love, i swear its not
i'm a twisted lil girl with cruel memory
and all i got from my childhood
was all the painful taste of misery
let me go, it's you who made me stay
this is not my place, i just don't belong
and everytime i want to stand up
i would fall and bleed all day long
be away, shoosh and disappear
let me wither, let me be crushed
i may not be weak now that i have you
but what if this dream flushed?
the 3 second was very, very long
as i heard them laugh and tease
"they were evil" i chant repeatedly
but you shouted again and again "baby please!!"
but this is my heart, and it is bashed
and it is squashed very badly
it's not you, love, i swear it's not
but all comfort i get is by being lonely
i was about to leave you a letter
saying you'd never forget me and so
but i tremble too lot that i've shaken my heart
and i just cant let you see me go
and once the door are smashed
you grabbed my neck and hands
and i struggled out real hard yet i failed
till i helplessly succumb to you demands
you forced me down on the cold floor
and i lay there like a weak stallion
then you whispers all those beautiful words
like for you i am your best medallion
all those smells nuthin' like other lies
that i used to get growing up a beauty
you saw my ugly sides and my horrible childhood
but you hold me down tight and there you be
and there will you be forever long
forever strong
the father of my future child.
Monday, November 27, 2006
hakim dan rina
kepada semua yang cintanya berliku.
pada sekalian yang terkulai di sujudan duga.
di injak hati yang memaksa,
di tahan akal yang tak tidur.
terutama engkau, hakim dan rina.
dan pada agungnya kemustahilan kalian,
aku semburkan harap yang segunung,
kerana aku juga sang perindu yang tewas,
yang mau kisah cintanya hidup melalui kamu.
yang mana pada akalnya smua itu satu yang tidak bermungkin,
yang pada mereka yang tidak ketahui adalah satu rugi,
karena itu peganglah dan tari kan genggaman tangan kalian,
dan percaya apa yang kamu ada itu satu sakti.
usah bangkit dari tidur ini, sayang!
mimpikan hujungnya keindahan cinta itu,
moga bila kalian bangkit satu tika nanti,
tidak lagi kau tanya, "andai mungkin".
some love stories do make me cry. mostly when it happens right in front my eyes.
pada sekalian yang terkulai di sujudan duga.
di injak hati yang memaksa,
di tahan akal yang tak tidur.
terutama engkau, hakim dan rina.
dan pada agungnya kemustahilan kalian,
aku semburkan harap yang segunung,
kerana aku juga sang perindu yang tewas,
yang mau kisah cintanya hidup melalui kamu.
yang mana pada akalnya smua itu satu yang tidak bermungkin,
yang pada mereka yang tidak ketahui adalah satu rugi,
karena itu peganglah dan tari kan genggaman tangan kalian,
dan percaya apa yang kamu ada itu satu sakti.
usah bangkit dari tidur ini, sayang!
mimpikan hujungnya keindahan cinta itu,
moga bila kalian bangkit satu tika nanti,
tidak lagi kau tanya, "andai mungkin".
some love stories do make me cry. mostly when it happens right in front my eyes.
Miss Everyday The Same
Everyday starts exactly the same way everyday starts.
She sets two alarms at 8.30 and 8.40 in the morning. In between the time, she closes her eyes trying to remember dreams she had. There was no significance, but it’s a ritual.
The second alarm went off and she rises straight to the bathroom door. Undressing fast, she let her clothes slip down and head for the bath. She never had long baths. She just doesn’t. All she has are hair shampoo and body soap which she sometimes uses alternately, like if she runs out of soap she would just use the shampoo and the other way round. No facial washer, no cleanser, no scrubs, no other else. Just soap and shampoo.
It’s not that she doesn’t want to have those set, not even because she can’t afford one. She has her own timing and she hates it when things slow her down.
And home spa is the most time consuming thing she told herself.
In less than 5 minutes she is out already with her red towel she brought from home. No sentimental value there, just that she is the type who thinks twice when it comes to shopping. She is not a cheapskate. She always defended herself a person with priorities. Well she always defends herself anyways.
She grabs anything she feels like wearing. Her clothes are not new. She got them at flee markets or internet auctions. She believes things have hearts, that if we just throw them away they would cry.
So anyone who goes to her apartment would see all sort of old yet clean items. She never cares what people think of her. Like for example there is this one bag she had from her father. Up until her second year of Bachelor studies, she used that suitcase in which can only be seen in silent movies. The girl with big PVC box with four non-functional wheels; that, she is.
And how she weeps everytime she has to throw any unable-to-safe things.
She says sorry to them as if those things would one day comfort her; that it’s ok for them to end up in the thrash, which, she by the way, would put them nicely and in order, in gestures of a farewell to a pensioning national war commander.
So that day she chose to wear the stripe shirt together with a cargo pants. She has limited accessories, a choice of only one long bead that can act as a necklace or a bangle, a pair of hoop earrings that can go with basically everything and a faded scarf she sometimes use as a hairband, a hipster or even a tie. But at everytime, she worked her look very well.
Perhaps it’s because she is pretty in her own ways, which is by the way means not giving a damn about how she looks but still presentably attractive. She is no Miss Universe but hey, apart from the bikinis, those beauty freaks are no beauty queens themselves.
To tell the truth, she actually is beautiful.
Her parents were match made in heaven. They were both a pair of beaut. But her mother was dying of cancer leaving her father was wrecked and heartbroken. She was left to live in her own definition of living at the early age of ten.
Her siblings were either too young or too ignorance to care. And all they do was bullying her around.
Growing up a hippo-like with a body odour none can stand, she could never fit in. She was a bit smelly because she was fat. Essentially we should call that baby fat. What can a little girl understand about diets other than what is there on the table? It’s nothing deadly or anything, except she had scabies due to excessive fat flesh. Any other active sweaty kids would have them from time to time. But undeniably, she was a little big as to compare to other children.
And as any other typicality of the human race, no one befriended her.
Her mother died at her age of twelve. Her puberty went with none to refer, so her first pad was a maternity one and as she freaked out, she wore them upside down.
She had no friends at all, and she thought her life was normal.
She was a bright girl in her class, she still is now. She was admitted in a boarding school, and she was still a bright girl in her class. She became famous for being the fat girl with a debating mouth. Debaters are clever speakers, and everyone hates politicians with their own minds. She became the source of hate yet again and somehow got used to it.
At the dining room, she sat alone with no one to join her. So she stopped dining.
Her widower father gave her allowance money and she bought biscuits which she substitutes for her meals. And that was how she survived.
She lost massive amount of weight from week to week. She was in depression but even worse, she denied it. She had numerous attempts of suicide but that was the farthest she could go; attempts. She hates syringe everytime she had high fever, hence cutting her wrist would be obviously impossible. So she started overdosing herself with panadols. She said it was to calm her from her abusive mind.
But whatever happened next signifies nothing to her in present time, except she is now is in her perfect figure and her parents look had visible in her features.
Sadly, the girl she sees every morning in the mirror is the girl with humongous thighs with few layers of chin she sees everyday. So who cares, she said.
Therefore she dresses to work with what she felt comfort in.
She’s done putting on her attires in a flash. She powders her face and slides some lipstick. She gets into her car and drives to her office. It took her only ten minute if there’s no nature’s force like accidents or heavy rains.
At ten in the morning she is already there before anyone else. She loves coming early to work so she doesn’t have to see people looking at her movement every second from the door to her cubicle. She can’t stand being looked at, other than the times when she is on stage debating, or at times when she enjoys being the class clown pathetically in desperation of making friends with people.
She does her work up until the office closes. She doesn’t even goes out for lunch because she cooks to work. She is a superb cook because when she was little, her ambition was to become a housewife. She still keeps that thought but in reality she feels too ugly to date, and assumes she would never be married.
And she has this understanding that so far, all of her assumptions are always right.
In the office, she is more like an observer. She is kind and never tried to be rude even though she was visibly quiet. When people make silly jokes, she laughs together with the joker, no matter how funny it would look like when others are blank and clueless. She smiles in support whenever people are presenting their proposals, be it the ideas are weird and outstandingly stupid. She just doesn’t have the heart to break people’s heart.
She said everything has feelings, and we may not get any clue because people do not show what they feel.
At 6.30 she is out of her cubicle, far from her computer and files. And everyday, after work, before she gets back to her apartment, she drops by at the supermarket. She loves cooking so much and it is very cheap to compare to prepared meal sold anywhere. She buys groceries on daily basis because she has nothing else to do. She has her own movie set at home, her apartment is complete. All she need is food to pamper herself while watching the latest DVD.
Once she is done with that, she head directly to her nest. Changed to appropriate homey attire, she starts cooking the cuisine of the day. She never had proper tutor of cooking. She learnt them by observing the cooking slots in the telly or mostly through newspaper recipe columns. And she has an amazing taste receptor that she can create and amend new things for her appetite. It’s all in the tongue, so she thought.
Watching movies with food in your hand is haven for anyone. She is no difference. To her, she is as normal as anyone else outside of her sanctuary. Alas! It is her alone who see it that way.
Her body clock is everyday demanding for an early sleep. The latest she could go is at twelve and at that is very rare.
She cleared the mess she made for the dinner and the leftovers were placed in a Tupperware for tomorrow morning. She never let herself sleep in untidy. She cleaned everything up and put everything back in order. She would felt terrible if she notice her stuff fell off, because they have feelings. And she has feelings too, so she knows.
She tucks herself between her cozy bedspreads and blanket. She smiles as soon she is comfortable with her position. She does that all the time. She smiles to signal her thanks to the bed who every night had kept her safe and warm.
She dozed all the way in bliss. So everyday ends exactly the same way everyday ends.
And the next morning, she wakes up dead.
She sets two alarms at 8.30 and 8.40 in the morning. In between the time, she closes her eyes trying to remember dreams she had. There was no significance, but it’s a ritual.
The second alarm went off and she rises straight to the bathroom door. Undressing fast, she let her clothes slip down and head for the bath. She never had long baths. She just doesn’t. All she has are hair shampoo and body soap which she sometimes uses alternately, like if she runs out of soap she would just use the shampoo and the other way round. No facial washer, no cleanser, no scrubs, no other else. Just soap and shampoo.
It’s not that she doesn’t want to have those set, not even because she can’t afford one. She has her own timing and she hates it when things slow her down.
And home spa is the most time consuming thing she told herself.
In less than 5 minutes she is out already with her red towel she brought from home. No sentimental value there, just that she is the type who thinks twice when it comes to shopping. She is not a cheapskate. She always defended herself a person with priorities. Well she always defends herself anyways.
She grabs anything she feels like wearing. Her clothes are not new. She got them at flee markets or internet auctions. She believes things have hearts, that if we just throw them away they would cry.
So anyone who goes to her apartment would see all sort of old yet clean items. She never cares what people think of her. Like for example there is this one bag she had from her father. Up until her second year of Bachelor studies, she used that suitcase in which can only be seen in silent movies. The girl with big PVC box with four non-functional wheels; that, she is.
And how she weeps everytime she has to throw any unable-to-safe things.
She says sorry to them as if those things would one day comfort her; that it’s ok for them to end up in the thrash, which, she by the way, would put them nicely and in order, in gestures of a farewell to a pensioning national war commander.
So that day she chose to wear the stripe shirt together with a cargo pants. She has limited accessories, a choice of only one long bead that can act as a necklace or a bangle, a pair of hoop earrings that can go with basically everything and a faded scarf she sometimes use as a hairband, a hipster or even a tie. But at everytime, she worked her look very well.
Perhaps it’s because she is pretty in her own ways, which is by the way means not giving a damn about how she looks but still presentably attractive. She is no Miss Universe but hey, apart from the bikinis, those beauty freaks are no beauty queens themselves.
To tell the truth, she actually is beautiful.
Her parents were match made in heaven. They were both a pair of beaut. But her mother was dying of cancer leaving her father was wrecked and heartbroken. She was left to live in her own definition of living at the early age of ten.
Her siblings were either too young or too ignorance to care. And all they do was bullying her around.
Growing up a hippo-like with a body odour none can stand, she could never fit in. She was a bit smelly because she was fat. Essentially we should call that baby fat. What can a little girl understand about diets other than what is there on the table? It’s nothing deadly or anything, except she had scabies due to excessive fat flesh. Any other active sweaty kids would have them from time to time. But undeniably, she was a little big as to compare to other children.
And as any other typicality of the human race, no one befriended her.
Her mother died at her age of twelve. Her puberty went with none to refer, so her first pad was a maternity one and as she freaked out, she wore them upside down.
She had no friends at all, and she thought her life was normal.
She was a bright girl in her class, she still is now. She was admitted in a boarding school, and she was still a bright girl in her class. She became famous for being the fat girl with a debating mouth. Debaters are clever speakers, and everyone hates politicians with their own minds. She became the source of hate yet again and somehow got used to it.
At the dining room, she sat alone with no one to join her. So she stopped dining.
Her widower father gave her allowance money and she bought biscuits which she substitutes for her meals. And that was how she survived.
She lost massive amount of weight from week to week. She was in depression but even worse, she denied it. She had numerous attempts of suicide but that was the farthest she could go; attempts. She hates syringe everytime she had high fever, hence cutting her wrist would be obviously impossible. So she started overdosing herself with panadols. She said it was to calm her from her abusive mind.
But whatever happened next signifies nothing to her in present time, except she is now is in her perfect figure and her parents look had visible in her features.
Sadly, the girl she sees every morning in the mirror is the girl with humongous thighs with few layers of chin she sees everyday. So who cares, she said.
Therefore she dresses to work with what she felt comfort in.
She’s done putting on her attires in a flash. She powders her face and slides some lipstick. She gets into her car and drives to her office. It took her only ten minute if there’s no nature’s force like accidents or heavy rains.
At ten in the morning she is already there before anyone else. She loves coming early to work so she doesn’t have to see people looking at her movement every second from the door to her cubicle. She can’t stand being looked at, other than the times when she is on stage debating, or at times when she enjoys being the class clown pathetically in desperation of making friends with people.
She does her work up until the office closes. She doesn’t even goes out for lunch because she cooks to work. She is a superb cook because when she was little, her ambition was to become a housewife. She still keeps that thought but in reality she feels too ugly to date, and assumes she would never be married.
And she has this understanding that so far, all of her assumptions are always right.
In the office, she is more like an observer. She is kind and never tried to be rude even though she was visibly quiet. When people make silly jokes, she laughs together with the joker, no matter how funny it would look like when others are blank and clueless. She smiles in support whenever people are presenting their proposals, be it the ideas are weird and outstandingly stupid. She just doesn’t have the heart to break people’s heart.
She said everything has feelings, and we may not get any clue because people do not show what they feel.
At 6.30 she is out of her cubicle, far from her computer and files. And everyday, after work, before she gets back to her apartment, she drops by at the supermarket. She loves cooking so much and it is very cheap to compare to prepared meal sold anywhere. She buys groceries on daily basis because she has nothing else to do. She has her own movie set at home, her apartment is complete. All she need is food to pamper herself while watching the latest DVD.
Once she is done with that, she head directly to her nest. Changed to appropriate homey attire, she starts cooking the cuisine of the day. She never had proper tutor of cooking. She learnt them by observing the cooking slots in the telly or mostly through newspaper recipe columns. And she has an amazing taste receptor that she can create and amend new things for her appetite. It’s all in the tongue, so she thought.
Watching movies with food in your hand is haven for anyone. She is no difference. To her, she is as normal as anyone else outside of her sanctuary. Alas! It is her alone who see it that way.
Her body clock is everyday demanding for an early sleep. The latest she could go is at twelve and at that is very rare.
She cleared the mess she made for the dinner and the leftovers were placed in a Tupperware for tomorrow morning. She never let herself sleep in untidy. She cleaned everything up and put everything back in order. She would felt terrible if she notice her stuff fell off, because they have feelings. And she has feelings too, so she knows.
She tucks herself between her cozy bedspreads and blanket. She smiles as soon she is comfortable with her position. She does that all the time. She smiles to signal her thanks to the bed who every night had kept her safe and warm.
She dozed all the way in bliss. So everyday ends exactly the same way everyday ends.
And the next morning, she wakes up dead.
on the nights where we sleep under a different splash of stars.
the breeze of beijing is chewing my bones
they have not shatter my mind, only my hands
but the coldness living without your eyes
they crushed my entire soul to sands
i notice the moon is a bit slanted tonight
so as the stars, they are not exactly the same
perhaps i'm looking from a different window
that sights are now aligned to a new frame
this silence should be tortured by our laughs
the laughs that are now parted by thousand seas
this shirt has lost you in every tears i wipe
and all i am left is purely memories
there's mountains here and there
there's autumn having her first waltz with the moon
the music is so perfect yet 'am all alone on the dance floor
so come forth now, come to me soon
on the nights where we sleep under a different splash of stars, i feel lost.
on the nights where we sleep under a different splash of stars, i feel pain.
on the nights where we sleep under a different splash of stars, i feel dead.
on the nights where we sleep under a different splash of stars, where are you?
a poetry i wrote when i was in Beijing for my soulmate, in Malaysia. We were disconnected for a week, and i felt so lost.
they have not shatter my mind, only my hands
but the coldness living without your eyes
they crushed my entire soul to sands
i notice the moon is a bit slanted tonight
so as the stars, they are not exactly the same
perhaps i'm looking from a different window
that sights are now aligned to a new frame
this silence should be tortured by our laughs
the laughs that are now parted by thousand seas
this shirt has lost you in every tears i wipe
and all i am left is purely memories
there's mountains here and there
there's autumn having her first waltz with the moon
the music is so perfect yet 'am all alone on the dance floor
so come forth now, come to me soon
on the nights where we sleep under a different splash of stars, i feel lost.
on the nights where we sleep under a different splash of stars, i feel pain.
on the nights where we sleep under a different splash of stars, i feel dead.
on the nights where we sleep under a different splash of stars, where are you?
a poetry i wrote when i was in Beijing for my soulmate, in Malaysia. We were disconnected for a week, and i felt so lost.
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