As the Cold Wind Blows, I Remember You

As the cold wind blows, I remember you,

Each and everything that we used to do;

Though some has been forgotten – far long gone,

Along with the words that was said and done.

The initial reaction is laughter,

Followed by a free, then controlled smile.

A thought – what if I gave in and falter,

Could we save what we have in that short while?

Will there be any significant change,

Or will everything just be all for naught?

Is it or is it not by chance derange,

To even stop and think such silly thought?

Then –

Well the cold winds blew, I remembered you;

And that time when I don’t have any clue.

When your gestures, your actions were construe,

And I’m confident not to end up blue.

I remembered all those nonstop flutters,

The sweetness, surreality of it all.

Yet now, believe I can’t help but shudder,

Was it me who did that, did I bawl?

Yes, those were the good near forgotten days,

That comes to memory with the cold wind,

The memories, not the feelings that stays,

Not felt by the heart, merely kept in mind.

Still –

As the cold wind blows, I remember you,

Each and everything that we used to do;

Though some has been forgotten – far long gone,

Along with the words that was said and done.

We’ve Fallen Apart

We’ve fallen apart.

For some time now I’ve tried,

Brushing the thoughts off

But today, it really hit me –

We’ve fallen apart.

At first it was liberating

Not hearing your endless rant,

Your never ending suggestions,

Your being domineering;

Yet now, I’ll give my life to hear it.

Most likely I’ll beg on bended knee,

For you to spare me a glance,

For you to take notice of my grievance.

That I am completely, extremely sorry,

For making the biggest mistake of my life.

Yet I’m afraid,

For I know the damage I’ve done –

The extent of the pain I’ve caused you.

Thus I believe you won’t find it in you

To give and embrace me once more.

When the words you’re everything I wanted and more lost its meaning,

What is there to say to let you know my sincerest feelings?

How do I prove that everything I’m saying is real?

How do I say just follow what you really feel?

My Memory is Still You…

I wish I were somewhere along the shore –

Where reeds were swept by winds from place I’ve known.

And see once more familiar faces, or –

Walk through those sands where our mem’ries are sown.

I love to think of those times when you’re near –

When I can feel the softness of your skin.

I wish I’m back to those times when you’re here –

And lie once more beside you like we’re twins.

Alas! Those times were now a time long gone.

And thank you for the moments that we shared.

I wish you are now happy, not alone –

And if you are, – oh no! I wish you’re spared!

If wishing makes me think of you again,

May stars do rain to save me from this pain.


I chance upon a glance on my calendar,

And I realized – today you turned one.

I had to stop and put my thoughts together,

And wonder when and where time has gone.

In all honesty I am surprised – that’s an understatement.

For a year ago I was more doubtful than I intended.

Questioning every bit of myself, every brain compartment,

Like all the questioning was at all needed.

Yet here you are, here we are –

We’ve crossed a year together.

Give and take, comfort and comforted,

You’ve given me an escape, a home and more.

You’ve given me friendship all over the planet,

Some remaining faceless while others not so.

Some almost there occasionally – every now and then,

While some almost with me from dusk til dawn – electronically.

And today as I celebrate you turning one,

With a hope that we’ll have a year more,

I’d like to thank you and your visitors,

For dealing with the randomness – a mix of anything and everything.


The Pen

For whomever the pen writes is a mystery,

An enigma I so wanted to unravel;

Yet in the process I discovered – is knowing that important,

Or is it more than sufficient that it writes?

How the pen writes is another fascinating thing

That I can’t seem to shake off my head;

Sometimes gibberish – ambiguous; yet more often surprisingly profound,

Showing depths of unexplored possibilities, or is it?

What the pen writes is another curious thing,

Cause it gives off variety of reactions –

Good, bad; happy, sad – melancholic,

It is certain – the pen can drive you mad!

The reality though that sometimes gets unnoticed,

Is that the pen writes mostly for who holds it,

It writes the way the holder directs it to,

It expresses what the holder feels – wishes and hopes for.

Thus the next time you hold a pen, give it a good think –

The message I want to go across, what really is it?

Do I spread hatred or otherwise give the world a bit of love,

Or just let myself be the pen, move freely with every dots and curve?

The Awakening

At first there was but sorrow,

Questions about tomorrow.

Never to come, not likely –

Falling to uncertainty.

Second came the acceptance –

“All is going to be well.”

Fate, most likely is a chance,

To hear those melodious bell.

Yet longing is a problem,

As is with expectation.

Unquenchable it may seem,

Difficult situation.

Thus comes imagination,

Yearning continuation.

Soaring high, delving in depths,

Mostly unexplored yet felt.

Awakened; here – a brain child,

My story yet not really.

Just my thoughts going all wild –

Picturing what should have been.

If I Knew

If I knew that one day we would part,

I would’ve done everything in my power to block that.

I would’ve gone the distance to stop that day from coming,

I would’ve given everything; if only I knew.

If I knew that we’ll be saying goodbye,

If I knew that the end applies to us,

I would’ve given you more time and attention,

So as to let you know, you’re all I ever wanted.

You’re all that I’ll ever need and more,

Your sweet and gentle presence by my side,

Your reassuring silence, your trusting glance,

That keeps me grounded and makes me feel loved.

And then again if I knew, would I even bother,

Would I ever bother to even start?

Most likely not, how would I know though,

The privilege was never mine.

Yet, at this point in time all I could think of,

If I knew, I wouldn’t have let you walk out that door,

I would’ve just held your hand and whisper to your ear,

“Let me go too, to wherever you are, wherever you’ll be.”

A Flash of Inspiration

Inspiration comes to me in a flash,

Thus mostly, I grab a pen in a rush.

For fear of losing what seems to be rare,

A sort of precious gem beyond compare.

Carefully though, precise by the letter,

For the measures must come all together;

Even it’s not complicated numbers,

Even if it’s just words all scattered.

At times though, since I’m me I disregard,

Measures, “smeasure” I mix and bend backwards.

Otherwise I just set things free – let go;

Allowing all ideas build and flow.

For I see nothing wrong with free verses,

Or to thorns attached to pretty roses.

All there is – that flash of inspiration –

That pen rushing to its transformation.

By Knowing Pain

There was once a boy captivated by a girl,

He watched him constantly from afar.

Peculiar yet completely understandable –

For the girl is such a wonder to behold.

And he wonders, continuously –

How does someone stays cheerful,

After a long day of endless labor,

After being mistreated and called names?

How does she manages to smile genuinely,

The kind that reaches her eyes like it’s nothing,

Like she’s not having a hard time,

Like she’s not living a difficult life?

He couldn’t and could never do it,

Not even for all the tea in Han,

Not for all the coffee in Jawi,

Not for anything remotely important.

But, who is to blame a person who suffers?

Who is to say “all shall be well?”

Who is to console someone well aware,

Of his numbered, passing, precious time?

Yet, as he watches her from afar he’s changing,

Like the seasons that comes and goes.

He’s coming to realize their differences,

Coming to understand what he’s missing.

Suffering as with pain demands attention,

It demands to be known and understood,

It demands time to be embraced and felt,

Yet that’s not all to it, it’s a whole lot more.

By knowing pain one begins to appreciate,

By knowing pain one begins to be thankful,

By knowing pain one becomes stronger,

By knowing pain, happiness becomes sweeter.

Thus the boy who know his numbered days,

Before the numbers completely dwindled by,

Found peace and sweet happiness,

By accepting and knowing pain.

Not Likely Bothered

Seventy six days and counting.

It won’t be long and just maybe,

I won’t bother to count no more,

Like you never bothered to look back

Or explain; why you said goodbye.

Though sometimes, I wonder

Was it because I make your coffee

Way too sweet for your liking?

Or was it because the rice is…

Either overcooked or raw?

Or because of those eggshell bits

On your over toasted egg and toast?

It is because of the shirt accident,

When I turned your white shirt pink?

Probably not, am I right?

You did say it was alright.

Was it because I drink too much?

At least more than you can handle.

That’s probably it, right?

Cause you did say you hated it,

And I never listened; that’s not new.

I wish you bothered to explain,

Not that it bothers me that is.

Not that I care at this point,

Well, not like I’ll let you know.