I am the hermit who lives in my head.
I gather...
I analyse...
I stow away all that I've learnt.

Because when the wind would blow
and the earth wouldn't understand.
When the world would tremble,
shaken by man's ruthless hand.

I am the hermit who lives in my head.
I listen...
I keep...
I stockpile in the shadows.

Because in my blood exists grudge...
And my bones, weary from despair.
My skin screams exhaustion
and my body feigns to care.

I am the hermit who lives in my head.
I overthink...
I hide...
I hoard all my thoughts.*

Because the walls have ears
and these pages bear eyes.
What my heart truly knows...
Is that your mouth tells only lies.

Insomnia in a serving,
I have it with a head full of thoughts.
Ready pen in hand,
contemplating where they should land.

Caffeine in a gulp,
unruly chatter in the background as soundtrack.
Landing words haphazardly in ink...
Scrawls and scribbles of what I think.

Coffee breath in a cup...
A delectable complement
to a favoured pastime.
Enjoying this very moment,
as I jot down this last flavoured rhyme.

There is a love that rages here.
A kind that's incredible.
One that's illogical
and addled.

It sees through eyes though blind.
It thinks with mind though insane.
It feels with heart though unscrupulous.
It chooses with thought though reckless.

It is selfish and it wants what it wants.
It doesn't care because everything else
bears little weight.
Inconsequential.

There is a love that surges here.
And we are but...
collateral damage.

Relegate your thoughts
into the vault.
The mind isn't ready
to deal in absolute.

Banish into oblivion,
untimely discrepancies and faults.
When infractions are unclear
for you to refute.

Consign the arrogance,
into the darkest dark.
Let them fester,
never to see light of day.

Cradle the fear,
nurse it till ripe, engorged and stark.
For everything now lies...
Indefinite and in the grey.

The sandman eludes me...

The hours find me wakeful.

My lungs ingests fatuity
while my heart harbours entropy.

Sleep never comes soon
when thoughts dishevelled,
amass to engulf the twilight moon.

To a point where fatigue has taken me...
But still I lay wakeful.

Awaiting the sandman's return,
with the promise of sanctuary.

.

How do we mend wavering pedestals...
When the ground beneath is parched dry.
Stemming off loose foundations that time had weathered wry.

How do we mend broken gazes...
When watchful eyes which were meant to see,
are blinded by the onslaught of half-truths and fallacy.

How do we mend burnt bridges...
When we never look back to trace heavy missteps.
We fail to admit to consciously springing obvious traps.

How do I mend ailing hearts...
When familiar corridors seem warped to a bend.
When my own is struggling and perpetually on the mend.

This feeling...
Heavy...
Like a wreath bearing down my neck.
Every fibre in me seem to be at loggerheads.

My heart...
Pounding.
Each beat is a hammer
sledging away at my saneness.

My breaths...
Premature and short.
Inconsistent.
I respire full but with punctured lungs.

I'm stuck in this eddy.
And I'm such a poor swimmer.

I get swirled around.
Like a little helpless fly
caught in a wineglass.
Unbeknownst to the drinker.

I'm stuck in this eddy.
And I'm such a poor thinker.

I allow my mind
to get swashed around...
Like a lone sock
in the washing machine.
Lost without its other.

I'm stuck in this eddy.
And I'm such a poor survivor.*

So I just submit
to the will of the currents.
Like an empty bottle.
Stuck head down at the neck,
in the bathroom floor trap.

Sink or float...
I can do neither.

If you were granted the gift of temporary flight...

     Would you ascend...
          Just so you could feast your eyes
          on the horizon,
          beyond the confines of weather-worn tiles
          set upon unsuspecting rooftops.

     Would you take soar...
          Just so you could briefly leave the ground
          below.
          And as the land beneath you diminishes,
          all that's you tethered to your earth
          almost instantly would turn into nothing
          but specks of insignificance.

     Would you fly free...
          Just so your heart could entertain the possibility
          of being ensnared by the breathtaking
          view of the sun,
          as it rests its pompous girth upon its bed of
          clouds;
          Like a bratty king sprawled over lavish sheets.

     Would you burst through the boundary...
          That separates heaven and earth.
          Just so you could be bewitched by the full blown
          moon,
          be enthralled by the siren calls of the stars,
          and be a part of the spectacle that is the
          universe...

If you were granted the gift of momentary flight...

     Would you still ascend?
          Knowing full well that soon gravity would claim
          you with less than no pity nor remorse.
          And all that you had complacently forsaken...
          Will greet you with the harshest of punishments.



                    *I would.

Many have come to pry me open.
Many have come asking for the key.
Offering promises that the doubt would lessen,
flaunting their oaths as currency.

Plenty have assured that they're not like the others.
They promised that their words were forged in steel.
They had come with nothing else except to offer,
their ears and support just so to seal the deal.

"Forgive me", I'd say... I am still a tad apprehensive.
But I do feel the need to speak...
I do long for ears attentive,
Not the ones which are attached to mouths that easily leak.

I know that there are such ears...
Hard to find but they're definitely there.
They'd be ready to catch my tears,
more than willing to show concern and care...

Yours seem rather reliable... That much I see.
They've come with intentions seemingly untainted and kind.
Don't suppose they'd take my words ever so lightly.
They won't lap up my secrets with treachery in mind.

Again I find myself here at the same spot.
About to hand over the duplicate key.
This familiar leap I hope you'd have me caught.
Please don't give away my secrets for free...

Axiom does not lie upon the
plush bed of the words I've said.
It doesn't flourish under influence of the
flowery texts I've written.
Axiom does not fully exist behind the
actions I've deliberately displayed.

It is ingrained within the subtle folds,
inexplicable nuances
and playful innuendos.
It is present in the lull you find in between
fleeting memories and faltering heartbeats.
It is scored into the unlyricised songs,
sung when our breaths do meet.
It's in the unplanned gazes that
stray into nothingness
only to be caught by yours.
It's evident in the void... The silence we've shared
without ever feeling awkward.

Axiom...
Is the fall that you had anticipated
only after having taken the leap.
It's that feeling of not knowing where the bottom is
but yet still certain that you are safe.

Axiom is...
My unseen heart as it beats hard
for none other than you.

I'd befriend the obsidian sky...
   I'd shower it with a bounty of praises.
  So that it'll welcome my nightly gaze,
     without threats from overbearing clouds.

     I'd impress the twinkling stars
       by serenading them with songs unheard by most.
     So that when the time comes,
  they'd cast their votes in my favour.

I'd whisper to the nighttime breeze.
   I'd cavort and giggle at its slightest touch.
      So that when I fly my flag,
   it'll catch it in full billows for her to see.

Then finally...
  I'd woo the twilight moon...
     For she is the prize
   my heart had sought to pursue.
    I'd court her
      with the fiercest blaze that burns within...
     In hopes that she'd forever
   remember me as the suitor that had
fallen helplessly.

.

You could...

Let the universe decide...
If it has space for you.

Let life decide...
If it has a future for you.

Let God decide...
If He has amnesty for you.

Or you could...

Let yourself decide...
To fight for a place
where there's always a tomorrow,
blessed with opportunities
to seek forgiveness.

.

Deep breaths become chokes and gasps...
As the air seem to get thinner.
I had promised that I shall not fall today
for people to see.
But I had just realised...
That my eyes have already betrayed me.

So here I sit, out in the clear.
Out in the rain.
Face partially drenched from the spray.
Head turned away from passing umbrellas.
I thank god for the rain,
for even if they notice me.
They wouldn't be able to tell droplets from tears.

Mutual...
Like the beach,
sparkling with radiance.
Openly welcoming the soothing
caress of the waves.
Allowing them to
playfully tug
at her toes
before retreating back
into the ocean tide.

Mutual...
Like the leaf,
that shines amber
in the autumn sun.
Silently inviting the wind
to sweep it off the threats
of the brittle twig.
Trusting the breeze to set it aloft,
in a whimsical spiral
before releasing it gently
into the safety of the ground below.

Mutual...**
Like you and I.
As we confidently
match each other's
gait in a display
of song and dance.
Though our exchange
remains unworded,
the promise of love
rings clear within
the clasp of your
willing hands
in mine.

.

He doesn't realise...
The weight of his actions and words that pummel her to the ground.
Beating her down for every time she rises up to undo his ropes with which she's bound.

He doesn't see...
Past the darkened lenses that she dons.
She wears them,
not to shield her pride that was wrongfully taken,
but to protect him from the repercussions that would come with accusatory speculations.

He doesn't know...
Of the soaked pillow that accompanied her.
The rivulets of tears...
She had quietly shed without a whimper.

He doesn't hear...
The silent altercation between the treasure that beats in her chest and the thing that thinks in her head.
The struggle that ensues when the mind tries to rescind what the heart had wholly given and carelessly said.

He doesn't care...
To think of the devastating waves that come.
Only to erode the last bastion of hope she nurtures...
This frail wall that she prays for nightly.
Just so that it would hold up through another day's endeavour.

He doesn't feel...
The need for empathy.
For he thinks that he's god with one devout follower.
He commands her loyalty with his deluded testaments
and his fists as sceptre.

She doesn't live...
To see future suns.
For her day finally set when it all came down.
The wall she had feebly held together with her life...
Easily gave way when he came at her armed with a knife.

.

These words...
They traverse the fine line between earth and sky.
They dwell not, surface-deep in the dirt.
They be haloed not, as the chorus of heaven.

They're just murmurs that swim intangible.
Like reticulated wisps of smoke.
Incapable of materialising...
Or take definite forms on their own.

They only await to be carefully selected,
rearranged and harnessed into a jar...
Before being sealed infinite with a title.

Be quiet and still...
For you will hear them.
Milling and floating in the silence
that exists between your heartbeats.

Listen close...
For they are fragments of you
and the universe.
They're thoughts and feelings that come awake
as you slumber.

Awaiting to be selected...
Awaiting to be rearranged...
Awaiting to be harnessed...

By you,
the conduit with a pen.