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Isn't
Numbness,
a feeling?
For..
You
are
supposed
to
not
feel
anything.*

(Or not)
This is the worst part of my depression.
I want to do a movie-marathon,
Running from morning til noon to midnight.
Watch all the saddest movies ever filmed.
Or spend this day reading stories, novels, proses.
All told by broken souls, fueled by heartaches.
'Til all these pain metamorphose and birthed into tears.
'Til all these hurt goes away along with this release.

For,

I am growing tired of saying "It's okay. I'm fine."
Enough of the lies!
Those lines..
It kept me from being  human,
For it suppress
the cries,
the screams,
the state of fragility.
It kept me from feeling weak,
from being vulnerable.

And,

I need to hear your voice, to soothe my restless soul.
I need to feel your hands holding mine, making me feel that i am not alone.
I need to see that look in your eyes, penetrating inside me,
reviving embers of my being
that is slowly drifting away.
I need to...
Oh please!
I need you.
Anything you can offer to take away this emptiness.

*Until I can see I.
Until I can hear me.
Until I can feel and be myself again.
I cannot cry when I'm depress.
And right now, i cannot cry.
I'm in so much need of tears.
Teach a child to beg--
And he will grow with self-pity.
Surviving...
For his self only.

Teach a child to live with dreams--
And he will spring up like a tree.
Nurtured by the world's challenges...
Growing,
For himself.
Living,
For others.
A random thought while watching street children begging on the footbrige.

Train up a child in the way he should
go; so even when he grows old he will not depart from it.
(Proverbs 22:6)

I miss my J12 students...
He’s no musician.
He doesn't make melodies through violin and guitar strings.
Yet he composed, haunting ballads in dramatic tempos,
Rhyming every lyric,
Harmonizing, making it dance in a musical euphony.

He’s no seamster.
Yet he cuts and he traces,
plain words and printed phrases;
Then he sews and he weaves it skilfully,
into a lovely concrete poetry.

He’s no painter.
He just has a palette of pigmented letters,
splashing colorful lines on his blank canvass.
A blast of contained evocative memories,
Streaking and shading mixtures of kaleidoscopic imagery.

He’s no storyteller.
Yet from him, I heard the most romantic tales-
One, of the moon and its lover sea.
Reciprocating shy glances, whispering I love you’s,
while kissing behind the sprawling mountains.
Though the dawn will come, they do not fear.
For after the majestic tribal sun leaves his stage,
There’ll the lovers be once again reunited.

He's no poet.**
Yet he writes--
stanzas and verses.
And oh! it revives,
every strand of emotion,
every sense of intuition,
Inside me.
A lyrical perception,
Sheer perfection,
Arousing perpetual reactions,
From me.
I am not good at this. I just want to express my pure gratitude, appreciation and awe for you.

"I am no poet. Never thought of myself as one. Just a guy dabbling clumsily in words"
Yet even, everything you do amaze me.


Thank you all wonderful people on Hello Poetry. I just realized this moment that this poem was featured as Daily poem yesterday.  I have never imagined any of my work will be posted as daily. Thank you all for the hearts, re-post,share, comments and messages. You really made my heart and soul so happy. :)
And most of all, thanks to the man who inspire me to write this one. :)
(04.14.2015)
There's no such thing as broken dreams
Only broken dreamers.
Don't count yourself in.

Maybe it's not just the right time for it.
Do not give it up.
Live it.

God's NO is not a rejection it's a REDIRECTION.
Trust in Him for He prepared a beautiful future for those who trust in Him with all--their hearts, strength, soul and mind.
(Jeremiah 29:11)
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