On Teachers' Day

I wrote a poem for you,

To you, my dear, to you.

How I feel may not be as important,

But this', a heartfelt makes me impotent.  

I trembled walking towards our class,

My mistake peeking the other class,

Yes, my heart dropped, but I kept cool,

It's Teachers' Day, so let's be cool.

The food on the table made me cry,

How disappointing you didn't try,

Your stomach grumbled like a hungry fly,

You and your excuses were one fat lie.

Again, you belched a prayer that made me cry,

I prayed I could be more grateful, I should try, 

At least be thankful for the cake you baked, 

Before it made you all creamed up and caked.  

You ran, and jumped, and screamed,

Sprinkling sparkles in colour pink, 

I sat, and watched, and dreamed,

Of hyenas, angels in-sync.

Making cheer to distract the stress,

Yet discomfort only I was, 

My distress you strongly felt,

Yet bemusing me with doubt.  

Today is a happy day,

A day not to remember,

Left me sleepless in three days, 

Gloomy nights I would refer.  

Voices

She laughed at the thoughts of confused dilemma.  What was it that make you so... restless, and annoying?  She shuddered.  Are you agreeing?  Her heart tickled.  She couldn't be happier... like breaking out from the prison.  She smiled.

Three years.  And everything has changed, in just three years.  She heaved a sigh.  Couldn't remember the last time I... smiled.  The hard reality that this world had had so much toil on her.  But everyone did so well... they worked ten times harder.  She felt like a loser, couldn't keep pace, or perhaps, didn't even bother to keep pace... walking all alone neglected by the world.  

What's wrong with you?!  She couldn't find fit.  Could she be happier alone?

As long as no one noticed, she would like to save herself from the shame.  But isn't everyone living like that?  She wondered.  You're a year older, you live independently, you get your own grocers, and you do your own shopping.  She was still uncomfortable with the word, alone.  I sure enjoy it.

She walked over to the displayed models.  We could own a home like that.  She had it all pictured out, an ideal living house, parents free, people free.  At least, she could run her own errands in a neat house.  She sighed again.  Mum would be the least happiest person... Yes, she probably wouldn't agree.  But she kept looking, that's how she has to learn to let go.  It's funny how she was standing there all by herself when someone her age would have someone else... tagged along.  Ooh, look at that young ones over your shoulders; that do normal.

When you're 17, everyone says you're still too young, you have to enjoy.  The words go on until you're 27, and everyone expects you to get hitched.  Everything she did, even for that one brink moment she was looking at her phone, was linked to this somehow nonexistent mysterious guy.  By the age of 30, she would look like a desperado even while punching that old cellphone of hers.  How would a 27-year-old feel?

At 27, she felt old.  She didn't feel she was any prettier at all.  She wanted to be happy.  She really does. 

Yearning To Be

Her name popped out from the board.  The blurred sight was insignificantly understood.  Yet, enough.  How could she have missed the sight of it?  The watch read 11.30 a.m.  She was already forty minutes late.  Her heart raced.  "Could there be a kind soul waiting patiently on the other side?"  She fumbled through the papers.  "... Just for a mere..." she glanced at the ticking clock, "FORTY-ONE MINUTES?!"  Disbelief, her heart recited prayers.  Her feet ran her off to chasing time.

From afar, the silhouette of monkeys jumping around the four-square did not amuse her at all.  Adrenaline pumped through her veins.  AH!  The disturbances they would have caused.  Her brain was reasoning with all kinds of theories.  Dirty little secrets were full of loopholes.  "Oh, look!  Someone's checking the monkeys."  There were mixed feelings she was confused over.  

She explained all she could upon reaching the already calmed monkeys.  Whose ears could have a heart to empathize?  Her pleas fell on deaf ears.  Her excuses were unacceptable even for herself.  She walked away...

So that was how it should be for bad day like hers.  An ill appetite, a hopeless heart and the many unexplained events that would have been told after. 

Who could have felt the same way, ... when everyone else was perfect.   

Jaded

Her eyes resembled a panda.  They were sunken deep into her flesh.  The lids were weary, leaving a small gap in between.  The caffeine from the coffee left her awake.  She closed her eyes to compose her restless body, laying down on a bed of roses.

Roses.  They were full of thorns.

Her wandering souls were unrest.  She tossed and turned.   There were no comfort zones.  Rest, oh my weary souls.  Rest.

Her Instinct, A Fatal Aspiration

Fired up with passion, each word that pursed through her lips amazed her.  They listened cautiously, marking  the details.  Though vague, the details were valuable and served at its maximum.

Each generous ears opened up hope, leading ways for repentance and amendments.  She juggled her dying prospect as it lifted off the ground.  Their credibility challenged her once again.

The thoughts cheered her.  Their anxiety was presumably resolved - none of her concern.  She acclaimed their efforts, but such witness was short-lived.   

Her heart was confused - some made her laugh, yet bore loud evidence of their nonchalant efforts.  Words were shrugged off at their shoulders, as if who cares.  Each lines rocked her patience.  She was threatened to respond brutally.  Her imaginative hands were fast equipped with a rattan.  She could slash at any moment. 

How should i do?  Abuse with these autocratic hands of mine?  She surmounted her anger with questions and subdued to disappointment.  All wicked intentions did not brief the definition of her career.   Her labour  was built upon an aristocratic aspiration, of hope and of love.  Don't make a monster out from me.

I don't hunt; i nurture.

Mirror On The Wall

Her eyes feasted on the familiar reflection through the looking glass.  Her hands slowly caressing the figure that seemed to carefully copy her.  The puzzled look upon her eyes bewildered her.  She gently touched her lips as if suckling the life out from them.  Each move was transcribed carefully only in silence.   

Ah... each word read her lips.  She was disturbed.   

Mirror on the wall, 

Here we are again.  

Through my rise and fall, 

You've been my only friend.  

You told me that they can,

Understand the man that I am.  

So, why are we here, 

Talking to each other again?

Her body shivered as the words ran through her veins.  Why are we here, talking to each other again? 

So, why are we... beads of unsung melody dripped down from her eyes.     

Perhaps, Maybe

Perhaps, there was an immaculate world of such, where sins would not find its way, an enigma.

The way of the above marveled her.  The mighty hands that threaded the way of this world, to where she was sent with a purpose, an unknown purpose.  

With her feet above the world, hers jingled for adventures and all the more.  Like a naughty little elf, escaping from life of the pole to a life she was never meant to live - a life where cupids blessed, a life where angels sang, and a life where the church bells rang.  There were more than cupids, of angels, and of church bells that she could have known.  

For her, she was made only witness of the surpassing moments.  There were plenty of people like herself in this world where she had yet learn to accept.  Some still in search of the mystery.  Some like her, wherever it leads, she shall go.