Once more

Flashing images of memory continue to haunt
nights and days, days and nights;
shifting present consciousness to series of past events,
as if those were to be relived.

Sensation heightens each time the images recollect,
strikes like the first encounter –
a sudden rush of strange warm feelings flooding
all over the yearning soul.

Slowly develops the impossible,
reaching the out of reach,
touching the out of touch;
pushing self-serving bias to a new extreme.

Much old sanity is off the scene;
one foot deep in the closed past,
another one stepping into the open future
leave behind the trembling moment of present.

Survival takes no light toll -
of bits and pieces reverse
in secret pleasure, in secret tears;
in motion to tango alone in shadows.

Still. Voluntarily to be corrupted by the memory,
nights and days, days and nights;
taking to heart the warm embrace,
the taste of the last tango, once more.


Credit: Alison_Scarpulla, MiqueBrightside, Free_bliss, Oliver_Morris, katieeleanor

in the dedication to a special person to me.

life-long journey

Repeatedly walk the same way through everyday,
everything looks indifferent,
everything looks different;
swinging between the naked truths and disguised lies.

Much noise is on and off the surround,
rushing, dispersing and colliding,
gradually swirled up local disturbances inside -
an attack to the old beliefs.

The right quickly becomes the new wrong,
and the wrong soon replaces the right :
a natural outcome of the subjective reality,
changing constantly over and over.

With merely nothing in an absolute state;
all responses could be a hit,
a miss, a false alarm
or remain as a myth all the way to the end.

And yet, as equipped with bags of hope and
carrying no fear,
walking down the same way though everyday
marks unique starts of a life-long journey.



credit- David Bellemere

Tales of fate.

Never knows where fate leads,
be it a step forward, a step backward,
or a sharp sudden twist;
all buried deep down under.

As soon as time commands,
exfoliating myths off from each wrapped tale,
the journey begins to take flight;
the true first flight.

It steals darkness from the night,
introduces thunderstrom through the sunshine,
and pushes one between joy and despair
til the journey end is met.

Tumbling as it could be,
any forms of denial shall bring no ends
nor exemptions; for all bits
are designated gifts and blessings.


Credits: Elina Kechicheva

More.

Wonder since when, asking for more had become
the new cult; spreading to all the possibles
without a trace and, corrupted them with more
till everyone turned into a host.

Unstoppable. The spreading had long gone beyond
the stop, more and more were in;
at a rate exceeding the growth of lawn
after the first rain in spring.

Pointless of glancing back now, the deadly claw
has already sprawled into minds,
and spread roots down to the core;
paving for the big final.

Could be soon, could be never,
for the coming of the final judgement day;
yet, the tale of truth reads - the later its arrival,
the more will be undone.

Inspiration: the ever-growing desire well of people.


credits: David Bellemere

The backward step

Promised with a change,
mind exchanges at a cross road;
alternating thoughts and shifts
on a blurry ground.

Flushing in and out the paths are,
waves of quiet passerby,
the two walls of water on either hand;
sinking in blue.

As diverged as they appear to be,
yet, unusually paralleled -
loading carriages of disoriented bodies
along the identical broken trials.

As if, a curved mirrior is placed within:
specularly reflects the hidden unconsciousness,
and bounces back and forth all along;
an explicit exposure of the naked truth.


The once determined mind now hesitates,
ceases to take steps forward but backward :
an attempt to brighter ends,
while standing firm on a crystal clear ground.

All comes to the end, lastly;
no more twins flow,
no more blind running
in this brave new road.

credits: Marianne Schroder, pbo31@flickr, Paco_for_peace@flickr, honeypieliving@flickr, hrefan Bjorg@flickr, Sebastian Kim@ jedroot.com


P.S Some of you questioned about my absence in this blog for the past few months, well, that was because i put almost all my time in school stuff (university isn't as easy as expected). anyway, I am going to do more blogging this semester. I could never forget this lovely place.

xx agnes

Spinning, it is spinning

Spin without spreading arms,
shadowless on ground;
no sound is made,
moves beyond imaginations, yet.

Time, a spinning ballerina;
spins till boundless ocean evolves
from ranges of mountains, and further fills
with layers of field terrains.

Nothing too fast,transformation is done
in every spin, in every spilt second;
squeezes way through into a tight clock,
still, puzzles all the eyes.

All over, when eyes open again;
clock finished its first marathon,
monthly calender flipped to next page,
time, no longer the same.

Truth is, ignorance fools are blinded
by all the fake glamour,
indugled with pride and prejudice,
in every spin, in every spilt second.

For time slips like sand in fists,
goes as quickly as possible,
there's no holding back yet to grasp it tightly,
in every single moment.

Up. Down.

Up,down.
Down,up.
All inevitable,
each and everyday.

Going up,
up to the last step to heaven,
the last remaining utopia,
highest as ever.

Almost like an untouchable mirage,
all alone
in a forgotton corner of,
a lonesome desert.

Going down,
down to the bottom of Bermuda triangle,
the last unexplored secret,
darkest as ever.

As if the last day of a year,
dancing dynamically;
in welcome of
an unpromising new start.

Each up and down,
from being crownded to drowned;
lies within a new story,
in accomplishment to full.

All ups and downs,
run, between two ends;
celebrate the bliss of living,
sing, unsung life duets.

Up,down.
Down,up.
All blessings,
each and everyday.

The nineteenth attempt

Tick, tock;
tick, tock;
clock's arm slowly walks towards twelve,
towards the mysterious, blank door.

Knock, knock;
time gently opened the lock,
cleared the block,
leads, to the nineteenth walk.

Stepping into a new path,
paved with unexplored possibilities and, laughs?

Eyes to the front,
but the front itself, is blurred;
layers and layers of mist,
veiled the upcoming road.

As if,
a shy braid's hiding,
before unveiling.

Stuffy, humid air moves along wind's breath;
hides, distant floral senses,
attempting for a further step,
a step closer to its dangerous intoxication.

A rush of wind runs,
over bare raw skin;
shiverings and frightenings follow,
into heart.

Heart,
races fast every second.

Eighteen attempts tried,
zillion of steps have been taken,
on this every-changing road;
reaching out for zillion of unknowns.

This,the nineteenth attempt,
road confuses vision as ever;
puts no end on the exploration,
but runs, hastily for all potential opportunities.

Tick, tock,
tick, tock;
another new door is now opened.