Wednesday, December 30, 2009

Deception...Solitude


by: Mahaliahscent

Stiff and pale, I am derailed.
Caught somewhere in between reality
and the fantasy I've made...
Covering myself up with fake smiles,
Will I be forever living in disguise?

I find solace in your Happiness
But If I'm the reason for your loneliness and failures
Then I'll gladly walk away from grace
and give you some space...

Only time can tell what will happen
And! don't want to be another burden...
So I'm waiting for the end
with the hope that everything will mend
so that I could stop playing pretend
That I don't want to spend
The rest of my life with a godsend.

But if the right time comes...
and you wish to come back
with no doubts and fear...
I am here waiting, and will never...
 been pretending.

Love..... in Silence

So suppressed the feelings of the unwanted.
I disguise a wanderer;
A nomad to one's heart
I retreat in the innocent looks that's yours;
To feel content in pain and sores.
The doubts, the curse, accusing me,
teasing me...I accept because ...
I love you.
I wish for you to triumph the fog;
Be brave and never give up!
Your happiness I wish remain, and mine constrain.
Your simple smile that which I claim;
A fleeting things to ease thy pain.
To see from a far thine only resolve;
For such love, distance not mind...
and knowledge naught to all.

Roses are cliche,
But love does not decay,


...and I love in silence,
it's real and never ends.

Existence to Denial By:Mahaliahscent


I.Let it not be true that man’s soul is
inborn. Let it be true that man’s soul
is earned.
Man, they say, is not born with a soul,
man is born with flesh and bones and
a mind for him to ponder;
but he is not with a soul for him
to value all that is around him.
To earn his soul, man must learn
to value; to learn to value, he
must have a soul.

II. Man’s way of thinking is beyond simplicity
and is hard to comprehend, but when
expressed, it is more simple than being
thought of.

III. Neither a man nor a woman is either
strong-willed or iron-hearted.
they are both- in nature- afraid of
fate.

III.a. Man learns to fear through fate, and
through fate, man fears.

IV. Existence goes wrong when man goes
wrong; but existence become worse
when man decides to be good.
Extinction is an existence does, man
is more a bane than a boon in
his unceasing search for meaning.

V. Death is not of fate and destiny,
death is man’s subconscious choice
to live.

VI. The world is neither good nor bad.
and never has it been perfect
nor apocalyptic.

VII. Man is able to think without boundaries,
this he doesn’t know;
for to completely learn this, he must
learn that knowledge has its limits.

VIII. With all of this, with no fears and doubts,
learn to accept, and give your trust and love
and for sure you will never fail.

Existence to Denial


  By:Mahaliascent

     I  .Let it not be true that man’s soul is
    inborn. Let it be true that man’s soul
   is earned.
   Man, they say, is not born with a soul,
    man is born with flesh and bones and
   a mind for him to ponder;
   but he is not with a soul for him
   to value all that is around him.
   to value all that is around him.
 To earn his soul, man must learn
   to value; to learn to value, he
    must have a soul.


II. Man’s way of thinking is beyond simplicity
     and is hard to comprehend, but when
     expressed, it is more simple than being
     thought of.

III. Neither a man nor a woman is either
      strong-willed or iron-hearted.
      they are both- in nature- afraid of
      fate.


III.a. Man learns to fear through fate, and
         through fate, man fears.

IV. Existence goes wrong when man goes
       wrong; but existence become worse
       when man decides to be good.
       Extinction is an existence does, man
       is more a bane  than a boon in
       his unceasing search for meaning.


V. Death is not of fate and destiny,
     death is man’s subconscious choice
     to live.

VI. The world is neither good nor bad.
      and never has it been perfect
      nor apocalyptic.


VII. Man is able to think without boundaries,
      this he doesn’t know;
      for to completely learn this, he must
      learn that knowledge has its limits.

VIII. With all of this, with no fears and doubts,
       learn to accept,  and give your trust and love
       and  for sure you will never fail.













Saturday, December 19, 2009

The Scent of Apples

Bienvenido Santos

                When I arrived in Kalamazoo, it was October and the war was still on. Gold and silver star hung on pennants asbove silent windows of white and brick-red cottages. In a backyard, an old man burned leaves and twigs while a grey-haired woman sat on the porch, her lap, watching the smoke rising above the elms, both of them thinking of the same thought perhaps about a tall, grinning boy with blue eyes and flying hair, who went to the war, where could he be now this month when leaves were turning into gold and the fragrance of gathered apples was in the wind?
                It was a cold night when I left my room at the hotel for a usual speaking engagement. I walked but a little way. A heavy wind coming up from lake but a little way. A heavy wind coming up from lake Michigan was icy on the face. it felt like winter spraying early in the northern woodland. Under the lampshots, the leaves shone like bronze. And they rolled on the pavements like the ghost feet of a thousands autumns long dead, long before the boys left for faraway lands without great icy winds and promise of winter early in the air, lands without trees, the singing and gold!
               It was the same night I met Celestino Fabia, "just a Filipino farmer" as he called himself; who had a farm about thirty miles east of Kalamazoo.
             " I've seen no Filipino for so many years now," he answered quickly, "so when I saw your name in the papers where it says you come from the island and that you've going to come to talk, I come right away."
              Early that night I had addressed a college crowd, mostly women. It appeared that they wanted me to tell them things about my country: they wanted me to tell them things about my country: they wanted me to tell them things about my country because my country has become a lost country. Everywhere in the land the enemy stalked. Over it a great silence hung: and in some little known island on the pacific, young boys all, hardy men, thinking of harvest moons and smell of forest fires.
            It was not hard talking about our own people.I know them well and I loved them well and I loved them.And they seemed so far away during those terrible years that I must have spoken of them with a little favor , a little nostagia .
            In the open forum that followed, the audience wanted to know whether there is much difference  between our women and the American women. I tried to answer as best as I could, saying among other things ,that I did not know much about American women women except that they looked friendly.but differences or similarities in inner qualities as such naturally belonged to the heart or to the mind. I could only speak about with vagueness.
           While I was trying to explain away the fact that it was not easy to make comparisons, a man rose from the rear of the hall, wanting to say something. In a distance, he looked slight, old and very brown.
           "I'm a Filipino." he began, loud and clear, in a voice that seemed to be used to wide open spaces. "I'm just a Filipinofarmer out in the country." He waves his hand towards the door. "I left the Philippines more than twenty years ago and have been back. Never will perhaps. I want to find out, sir are our Filipino women the same like they were twenty year's ago?"
              As he sat down, the hall filled with voices, hushed and intrigued. I weighed my answer carefully. I did not want to tell a lie yet I did not want to say anything that would seem platitudinous, insincere. But more important than these considerations, it seemed to me that moment as I looked towards my countryman, I must give him an answer that would not make him unhappy. Surely, all these years, he must have held on to certain ideals, certain beliefs, even illusions peculiar to the exile.
            "First," I said as the voices gradually died down, every eye seemed upon me."First, tell me what our women were twenty years ago."
            The man stood to answer. "Yes," he said, "you,re too young... Twenty years ago our women were nice, they were modest, they wore their hair long, and they dress proper and went for no monkey business. They were natural, they went to church regularly, and they were faithful." He had spoken slowly, and now in what seemed like an afterthought, added, "It's the men who ain't."
            Now, I know what I was going to say. "Well," I began, it will interest you to know that our women have changed-definitely! The change, however, has been on the outside only . Inside here." pointing to the heart, "they are the same twenty years ago- God-fearing, faithful, modest and nice."
           The man was visibly moved. "I'm very happy sir," he said in manner of one who, having stakes on the land, had found no cause to regret one's  sentimental investment.
           After this, everything that was said and done in the hall that night seemed like an anti-climax and later, as we walk outside he gave me his name and told me of his farm thirty miles east of the city.
          We had stopped at the main entrance of the hotel lobby. We had not talked very much on the way. As a matter of fact, we were never alone. Kindly American friends talked to us, asked us questions, said good night. So now I asked him whether he cared to step into the lobby with me and talk.
          "No thank you," he said, "you are tired. And I don't want to stay out too late."
          "Yes, you live very far."
          "I got a car," he said , "besides..."
           Now he smiled, he truly smiled. All night I had been watching his face and I wondered when he was going to smile.
          "Will you do me a favor please?" he continued, smiling almost sweetly. "I want you to have dinner with my family out in the country. I'd call for you tomorrow afternoon, then drive you back. Will that be all right?"
           "Of course," I said. "I said. "I'd love to meet your family. I was leaving Kalamazoo for Muncie, Indiana, in two days. There is still plenty of time."
            "You will make my wife very happy," he said.
            "You flatter me."
            "Honest, she 'll be very happy. Ruth is a country girl and hasn't met any Filipinos younger than I, cleaner looking. We're just poor farmer folks, you know, and we don't get to town very often. Roger, that's my boy, he goes to school in town. A bus takes him early in the morning and  he's back in the afternoon. He's a nice boy.
            "Roger, he'd be tall. You'll like him."
             Then, he said goodbye and I waved to him as he disappeared in the darkness.
             The next day he came, at about three in the afternoon. There was a mild, ineffectual sun shining; and it was not cold. He was wearing an old brown tweed jacket and worsted trousers to match. His shoes were polished, and although the green of his tie seemed faded, a colored shirt hardly accentuated it. He looked younger than he appeared the night before now that he was clean-shave and seemed ready to go to a party. He was grinning as we met.
            "Oh, Ruth can''t believe it. She can't believe it," he kept repeating as he led me to his car- a nondescript thing in faded black and had known better days and many hands. "I said to her,' I'm bringing you a first class Filipino. But Roger, that's my boy, he believed me immediately. 'What's he like, Daddy? he asked. 'Oh, you will see, i say he's first class.''Like you daddy?' 'No,no,' I laughed at him, 'you're daddy ain't first class.' Aw, but you are Daddy, he says. So you can see what a nice boy he is, innocent. Then Ruth starts griping about the house, but the house is a mess, she says. True, it's a mess, it's always a mess, but you don't mind, do you? We're poor folks, you know."
             The trip seemed interminable. We passed through narrow lanes and disappeared into the thickest, and came out on barren land overgrown with weeds in places. All around were dead leaves and dry earth. In the distance were apple trees.
             "Aren't those apple trees?" I asked wanting to be sure.
             "Yes, those are apple trees," he replied. "Do you like apples? I got lots of 'em. I got an apple orchard. I'll show you."
              All the beauty in the afternoon seemed in the distance, on the hills, in the dull soft sky.
              "Those trees are beautiful on the hills," I said.
              "Autumn's a lovely season. The trees are getting ready to die, and they show their color, proud like."
              "No such thing in our country," I said.
               That remark seemed unkind, I realized later. It touched him off on a long deserted tangent, but ever there perhaps. How many times did the lonely mind take unpleasant detours away from the familiar winding lanes towards home for fear of this, the remembered hurt, the long lost youth, the grim shadows of the years; how many times indeed, only the exile knows...
               It was a rugged road we were traveling and the car so much noise that I could not hear everything he said, but I understood him. He was telling his story for the first time in many years. He was remembering his own youth. He was thinking of home.In these odd moments there seemed no cause at all, no pain. That would come later. In the night perhaps. Or lonely on the farm under the apple trees.
             "In this old Visayan town, the streets are narrow and dirty and strewn with coral shells. You have been there? You couldn't have missed our house, it was the biggest in the town, one of the oldest, our's was a big family. The house stood right on the edge of the street. A door opened heavily and you enter a dark hall leading to the stairs. There is the smell of the chicken roasting on the low-topped, walls, there is the familiar sound they make and you grope your way up a massive staircase, the banisters smooth upon the trembling hand. Such nights, there are no better than the days, windows are closed against the sun; they closed heavily.
              Mother sits in her corner, sitting very white and sick. This was her world, her domain. In all these years, I cannot remember the sound of her voice. Father was different. He moved about. He shouted, he ranted. He lived in the past and talk of honor as if it were the only thing.
             I was born in that house. I grew up there into a pampered brat. I was mean.
             One day I broke their hearts. I saw mother cry wordlessly as father heaped curse upon me and drove me out of the house, the gate closing heavily after me and multiplied it numberless times in their own hearts. I was no good.
            But sometimes, you know, I miss that house, the roasting chicken on the low-topped walls. I miss my brother and sisters. Mother sitting in her chair, looking like a pale ghost in the corner of the room. I would remember the great live posts, massive tree trunks from the forests. Leafy plants grow in the sides, buds pointing downwards, wilted and die before they become flowers. As they fell on the floor, Father bent to pick them and throw them out in the coral streets...
            Finally, we rounded a deep curve and suddenly came upon a shanty, all but ready to crumble in a head on the ground, its plastered walls were rotting away, the floor was hardly a foot from the ground . I thought of the cottages  of the poor colored folks in the south, the hovels of the poor everywhere in the land. This one stood all by itself as though by common consent all the folks that used to live here had decided to stay away despising it, ashamed of it. Even the lovely season could not color it with beauty.
             A dog barked loudly as we approached. A fat blonde woman stood at the door with a little boy by her side, Roger seemed newly scrubbed. He hardly took his eyes off me.Ruth had a clean apron around her shapeless waist. Now as she shook my hands in sincere delight I noticed shame facedly (that I should noticed) how rough her hands, so course and red with labor, how ugly! She was no longer young and her smile was pathetic.
            As we stepped inside, the door closed behind us, immediately I was aware of the familiar scent of apples. The room was bare except for the few ancient pieces of second-hand furniture. In the middle of the room stood a stove to keep the family warm in the winter. The walls were bare. Over the dining table hung a lamp yet unlighted.
            Ruth got busy with the drinks. She kept coming in and out of a rear room that must have been the kitchen and soon the table was heavy with food, fried chicken legs and rice, and green peas and corn on the rear. Even as we ate, Ruth kept standing, and going to the kitchen for more food. Roger is like a little gentleman.
            "Isn't he nice looking?" the father asked.
            "You are a handsome boy, Roger," I said.
             The boy smile at me, "You look like Daddy," he said.
             Afterwards I noticed an old picture leaning on top of the dresser and stood to pick it up. It was yellow and soiled with many fingerings. The faded figure of a woman in the Philippine dress could yet be distinguised althoughthe face had become a blur.
             "Your..." I began.
             " I don't know who she is," Fabia hastened to say. "I picked that picture many years ago in the room on the La Salle Street in Chicago. I have often wondered who she is."
              "The face wasn't a blur in the beginning?'
                "Oh no. It was a young face and good."
                Ruth came with a plate full of apples.
               "A," I cried, picking out a ripe one.
               "I've been thinking where all the scents of apples came from. The room is full of it."
               "I'll show you," said Fabia.
                He showed me backroom, not very big. It was half full of apples.
               "Everyday," he explained, "I take some of them to town to sell to the groceries. Prices have been low. I've been losing on the trips.
               "These apples will spoil," I said.
               "We'll feed them to the pigs."
               Then he showed me around the farm. It was twilight now and the apple trees stood bare against the glowing western sky. In apple blossom time it must be lovely here, I thought.But what about the winter time.
                One day, according to Fabia, a few years ago, before Roger was born, he had an attack of acute appendicitis. It was deep winter. The snow lay heavy everywhere. Ruth was pregnant and not well herself.At first she did not know what to do. She bundled him a warm clothing and put in a cot near the stove. She shoveled the snow from their front door and practically carried the suffering  man on her shoulders, dragging him through the newly made path towards the road where they waited for the US mail car to pass. Meanwhile snowflakes poured all over them and she kept rubbing the man's arms and legs and she herself nearly froze to death.
                "Go back to the house, Ruth" her husband cried, "you'll freeze to death."
                  But she clung to him wordlessly. Even as she massaged his arms and legs, her tears rolled down her cheeks, "I won't leave you. I won't leave you," she repeated.
                  Finally the US Mail car arrived. The mailman, who knew them well, helped them board the car and without stopping on his usual route, took the sick man and his wife to the nearest hospital.
                  Ruth stayed  in the hosp[ital with Fabia.
                  She slept in a corridor outside the patient's ward and in the daytime helped in scrubbing the floor and washing the dishes and cleaning the men's things. They didn't have enough money and Ruth was willing to work like a slave.
                "Ruth's a nice girl," said Fabia. "Like our own Filipino women."
                 Before nightfall, he took me back to the hotel. Ruth and Roger stood holding hands and smiling at me. From the inside of the room of the shanty, a low light flickered. I had a last glimpse of the apple trees in the orchard under the darkened sky as Fabia backed up the car. And soon we were on our way back to town. The dog started barking. We could hear it anymore, and all was darkness around us, except where the head lamps revealed a stretch of road leading somewhere.
                Fabia did not talk this time, I didn't seem to have anything to say myself. But when finally we came to the hotel and I got down, Fabia said, "Well I guess I won't  be seing you again."
                It was dimly lighted in front of the hotel and I could hardly see Fabia's face. Without getting out of the car, he moved to where I had sat, and I saw him extend his hand, I gripped it.
                "Tell Ruth and Roger," I said, "I love them."
                 He dropped my hand quickly. "They'll be waiting for me now," he said.
                "Look," I said, not knowing why I said it,"one of these days, very soon, I hope, I'll be going home. I could go to your town."
                "No," he said softly, sounding very much defeated but brave."Thanks a lot. But, you see, nobody would remember now."
                Then he started the car, and as it moved away, he waved his hand.
                "Goodbye," I said waving back in the darkness. And suddenly the night was cold like winter arraying early in these northern woodlands.
                 I hurried inside. There was a train next morning that left for Muncie, Indiana, at a quarter after eight.

                                                   *** end***

Task 1
1. Write the flaskbacks you encountered in the story here.





2. What is the importance of the flashback in the reading selection?





Task 3

What was created by Fabia inside Ruth?






Task 4
What is the relation of the scent  of apples to the accounts in the story?








                           
                 
              





 

Monday, December 7, 2009

The Passionate Shepherd to His Love

                  Christopher Marlowe

        Come live with me, and be my love,
        And we will all the pleasures prove
        That hills and valleys, dales and fields, 
         And all the craggy mountains yields.

And we will sit upon the rocks, 
Seeing the Shepherds feed their flocks,
By shallow rivers, to whose falls
Melodious birds sings madrigals.


And I will make three beds of roses,
And a thousand fragrant posies,
A cap of flowers and a kirtle
Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle;


A gown made of the fines wool, 
Which from our pretty lambs we pull;
Fair lined slippers for the cold,
With buckles of the purest gold;

A belt of straw and ivy buds,
With coral clasps and amber studs;
And if these pleasures may thee move,
Come live with me, and be my love.


The silver dishes for thy meat,
As precious as the gods do eat,
Shall on an ivory table be
Prepared each day for thee and me.


The Shepherd swains shall dance and sing
For thy delight each may morning;
If these delights thy mind may move,
Then live with me, and be my love.


Meet the author...


       Christopher Marlowe (1564-1953)
Though not the first English poet to write in blank verse (unrhymed iambic pentameter), Christopher Marlowe's brilliant use of it in his plays established blank verse as the preeminent meter for verse drama and ultimately for epic poetry in English. Marlowe is the author of one of the world's immortal tragedies, Dr. Faustus, as well as several other notable plays and poems.


       Born in Canterbury, Marlowe was the son of a shoemaker. He went  to Cambridge University on a scholarship usually awarded to students studying for the ministry.However, he spent much of his time writing plays and serving as a government agent. He never took holy orders. He is, indeed, reputed to have been an atheist, or at least to have held highly unorthodox religious views.


      While at Cambridge, Marlowe wrote Tamburlaine, the play that made the public aware of his dazzling abilities. It dramatizes thye exploits for a fourteenth-century Scythian shepherd who conquered much of the known world. As Marlowe portrays him, Tamburlaine personifies energy and ambition and is thus a character eminently suited for the dramatist's powerful blank verse. In the remaining siz years of his life, Marlowe write five more plays, including Dr. Faustus and a sequel to Tamburlaine. On May 30, 1593, he was killed by a dagger thrust in a tavern. His death may have been the result of a flight over the bill, or it may have been a political assassination.


       Marlowe's fame rests primarily on his plays, especially on his "mighty line," as Ben Jonson described his dramatic blank verse.Dr. Faustus has been a classic of dramatic literature for four hundred years. However, Marlowe's nondramatic poetry aline would be enough to secure him a permanent place in English Literature. His Hero and Leander is one of the finest narrative poems ever written in English, and  " The Passionate Shepherd to His Love" is one of the best known and most popular lyrics of the English Renaissance.


Task I
Find in the ff. options listed on the right side the word that best described by the following:


____________1. hollows, valleys                                         kirtle
____________2. songs with parts several voices with         prove
                            no musical accompaniment                       madrigals
____________3. bouquets                                                  posies
____________4. country youth                                           dales
____________5. shirt                                                          swains
____________6. experience


Task 2


What qualities in it might inspire someone to set the picture into music.


____________________________________________________________________
_____________________________________________________________________
_____________________________________________________________________
_____________________________________________________________________
_____________________________________________________________________
_____________________________________________________________________
_____________________________________________________________________


Source:Insights IV, Englishworksheets pp.93-94.





 

The Passionate Shepherd to His Love

Christopher Marlowe


Come live with me, and

Monday, November 30, 2009

CHORAL READING


                               THE UNKNOWN SOLDIER SPEAKS
                                    BY TIMOTHY MULVEY

                        I am the Unknown Soldier. I was conceived and born under the blue skies. I grew. I loved life, knowing how good it could be. But I had a commission.

                        I was compelled to leave a plow in the province, to forget a rice field in the farm, to forsake a vineyard in the barrio. I went off to war.

                        But citizens, somewhere in the annals of casualty, I fell. The manner, the details of my death are not important. This only you should remember: when the science of war speaks from the infallible mouth of a bomb or gun, human fallible flesh shrinks and dies and in a dirty suit.

                       So I felt.
                       So I died.

                       But I have a new vantage point, citizens. My name now is not attached to local conscription. I am not Jew and Gentile; Filipino or Russian, French or Japanese; English German, or American. I am simply a casualty of war.

                      I will now say the harsh word, louder than the sound of all your revelry. My flesh is moldering in the earth. Will you remember that? My young flesh is moldering in the earth.Yet I do not say it with misgiving. I say it only for this new reason: life might have been kinder to me. I might have been spared a few years longer to know the joy of loving and of being loved. I might have been taken a child upon my knee and laughed (does it make much difference now) in the cool of the evening, or in the shadows of the night. But I was a casualty of war.

                   If I have done well, you may consign me to the small benedictions of village green and civic memorials. I will not reset it. If I have done wrong, if I have been the barbarian enemy who ran from a cave with the hot flame of death wrapped about my body, be kind, if not to my memory, at least to my orphaned children: for I was not a beast, but a man, blood-brother to man who flung the flame.

                  I am the Unknown Soldier. And since I am now of kindred spirits with all those who have spent their blood for cause, right or wrong, I know this: peace is not an armistice peace is not an end of hostilities; peace does mean the bending of peoples to yoke of the victor. Rather, peace means the return of all humanity to its common decency, to its self-respect.

                 My work is finished. Pray, now, that my soul will rest fell with HIM who once said: "Greater love than this no man hath, that man lay down his friends" and in the meantime, O you who still breathe under the sun, raise up the new family.

                Let the bond between you be stated so simply, that even a child might understand. Let the bond between you be love since love, citizens is not only a good neighbor policy it is the Law of the4 Prophets, If love is bond, love for all mankind, for all the tribes of the earth, there will be no need for violence. If love is not the bond, you shall reap the terrible fruit of your own planting. I am the Unknown Soldier of the most terrible conflict the earth has ever seen. I shall have died in vain if men cannot now, sit down as one family at a common table under the Fatherhood of God.

Oration


                              THE GREATEST WORK OF GOD'S HANDS
                                  John Henry Cardinal Newman

                        We have familiar experience of the order, the constancy, the perpetual renovation of the material
world which surrounds us. Frail and transitory as is elements, never-ceasing as are its changes, still it abides. It is bound togeteher by a law of permanence , it is set up in unity, and, though it is ever dying, it is ever coming to life again. Dissolution does give birth to fresh modes of organization, and one death is the parent of a thousand lives. Each hour, as it comes, is but a testimony how fleeting, yet how secure, how certain, is the great whole. It is like an image on the waters, which is ever the same, though the waters ever flow. Change upon change -yet one change cries out to another, like the alternate Seraphim, in praise and in glory to their Maker. The sun sinks to rise again; the day is swallowed up in the gloom of the night, to be born out of it, as fresh as if it had never been quenched. Spring passes into summer and through summer and autumn into winter, only the more surely, by its own ultimate return to triumph over tha grave, towards which it resolutely hastened from its first hour. We mourn over the blossoms of May, because they are to wither, but we know, withal, that May is one day to have its revenge upon November, by the revolution of that solemn circle which never stops-which teaches us in our height of hope, ever to be sober, and in our depth of desolation, never to despair. That which ought to come to naught, endures. That which promises a future, disaapointment and is no more. The same sun shines in heaven from first to last, and the blue firmament, the everlasting mountains, reflect his rays, but where is there upon earth the champion, the hero, the law-giver, the body politic, the sovereign race, which was great three hundred years ago, and is great now? Man rises to fall; he tends to dissolution from the moment he begins to be; he lives on indeed, in his children, he lives on in his name, he lives not on in his person. He is, as regards the manifestations of his nature here below, as a bubble that breaks, and as water poured upon the earth. He was young, he is old, he is never young again. This is the lament over him, poured forth in verse and prose, by Christians and by heathens. The greatest work of God's hands under the sun, he, in all the manifestations of his complex being, is born only to die.

North-West Is where the Sun Rises



                                  The first rays of the sun lightly gleamed on my cheeks. When I opened my eyes, I saw the orange sphere in its most beautiful glory as it ascends above the clouds. I looked outside the window and saw the world below as it received  the magnificent  warmth of the sun. I breathed deeply and smiled. Feeling the grumble of my stomache. I pressed on the orange button above me. A young lady came and smiled at me."Can I get you anything, Sir."

"Umm, When are you going to start serving breakfast?" "They're preparing them at this very moment, Sir. We can get yours right away if you want me to."

"Yes, please"
 
"I'll be right back with your breakfast, Sir."

As the stewardess turned away from me, I called her back, "Umm, Miss?"  "Yes, Sir"

I looked outside and said, It's a beautiful day, isn't it?" She smiled and said, " It certainly yes Sir. I personally love sunrises, that's partly the reason why I became a flight attendant." Then she walked away. I looked at my watch. I still had four hours to go before landing. Four hours before my feet would touch local ground. Four hours before inevitable change in my life would occur. Four hours to go...before I see her.

Her, I haven't seen her in ten years. Ten , long, agonizing years of studying and hard work, of sweat, blood and tears, of missing  her eyes, her smile, her face, lips, her warmth, her embrace.I can't wait to personally tell her how much I love her despite the distance, the pain, the doubts, the temptations, and the sleepless nights, I have finally earned enough money to go and get her and build a family with her. Once I get there, I'm going to ask for her hand in marriage.

I pulled out a small black box from my pocket and opened it. In it was the ring that I'd slip in her finger. It was the ring that symbolizes the never-ending love, trust, fidelity and promise to her, that I will be hers forever...if she only chose to accept.

Before I knew it, It was time for me to go down from the plane. All I thought about was her that I didn't know how I got out of the airport with all my bags, I was there, looking for a taxi. When amidst the crowd, a beautiful lady with long, straight hair and a smile I've always known was looking at me from a far. I walked towards her, bringing my two huge bags with me.

"Hello, Bill," she said . Her voice was music to my ears. I knew I had to do it right then and there. I slowly knelt on one knee and showed her the ring.

"Marry me , Zhengzhou."

                I heard everyone around us applaud loudly. I then stood up and Zhengzhou embraced me. It was the embrace that I 'm waiting for ten years. It was the warmth that I, longed and wanted and missed and didn't feel for a long time... not fascinated, not dreamed but its real, really its real.

"Yes, Bill, I will marry you."

We were both in tears when I slipped the ring on her finger. Then she held my hand and took the smaller bag.

"C'mon,Let's go home."

"You need to see her now , taxi is waiting." I was unconscious, I close my eyes and open again... and tears in my eyes. Why? what happened? Tell me what happened to her! God knows I was with her, always with her, talking to her despite the distance... but why? " Zarah tapped my shoulder and took my hand. "C'mon it's time to go, We need to see her for the last time."

I was there on that old dilapidated house I saw a white coffin... "No...no please no.. not this time after all those years, I can't bear this! C'mon, Zhengzhou wake up! get out from that coffin.. I need you! I am here for you! Why leave me?All was turned into nothing, my efforts, our promises, what will happened to me now? ...Hours, minutes, seconds had past I was still unconcious looking at her face, and up there praying...asking him why?...why?... please give her back to me, not now, not this time.

"Sir, Sir, wake up! were here now in Manila Airport, you're dreaming Sir." "Umm, Oh thank God its only a dream.. what a bad dream!

"Daddy, Daddy", my son and my wife waving her hand, her smile.. ohh ,  "Zhengzhou my wife.Thank you Allah!it's only a dream.. only a bad dream."

I held my son in my arms and embraces my wife.

C'mon let's go home.

Sunday, November 29, 2009

Kites and Planes


              It was a great day to stroll in the park and watch how people spend their idle time. Families arrived with picnic baskets. Kids played Frisbee with their dogs. Couples walked hand-in-hand, sat under the tree and kissed like there was no one there. Other kids  were on top of a hill, flying their kites of different shapes, colors and sizes. They soared high up in the sky like exotic birds gliding beneath the afternoon skies. I was fortunate enough to have my own tree, free of kissing couples, I sat on one of the branches that almost touched the ground,  while Bill laid a small towel on one of the roots and rested his head on it.


               "I wonder if kites get tangled with airplane wings".


                Bill looked at me with those what-the-heck-are-you-thinking eyes. "Whatever,"he said.
"No really ," I said, "Maybe if I held on tight to the kite and it got tangled on one of the plane's wings, I could go places."


"Jasmine," he said as he sat up straight, "trust me, I don't want that to happen."


I didn't bother to ask him why , because I knew he's going to give me a comeback. And I wasn't in the mood to hurt anybody at that time, so I let him be, Besides, I was busy dreaming...


"Maybe when I get used at hanging on to the plane's wings, I'll also get used to flying. Maybe I wouldn't need that kite anymore. I'm going to learn to fly, Fly far away from here." Would that be happened? A thousand words and questions maybe not anymore.


I heard Bill whisper something like, "No way," I just rolled my eyes. He should get used to me thinking out loud,


"Or maybe you could help me,"


"What? Me?" he said, "How?"


"I'm gonna make a kite, and I'll be the stick that would hold it together. Then you're gonna pull me when the wind is strong. Then you could snip the rope so I could fly away."


I sat beside him and said, "Wouldn't that be nice, Bill? I've always wanted to fly." Escape from the cage i was in ....but how?


"I don't want you to do that." he said. I was surprised with what he said. He has always supported me on everything that I dreamed of. This was the first time he said no to me.


"Bill, you said before that whatever I do-"


"Screw what I said before, I just don't want you to leave me, Ever.Is that clear? Call me possessive , but I don't want you to leave me here, alone. I don't wanna be alone anymore, that's all."


His cheeks turned red, "But, Jasmine, if you really want to fly away on a kite, then I guess I'll just miss you."


I squeezed his hand, He looked at me, I smiled, pulled him close, and made him lie down on my lap. "I'm not gonna leave you, never."

Monday, October 26, 2009

Bill's Vow

Bill’s Vow
Mahaliahscent’
It was the day of my flight. Only ten hours before I brought myself to the airport. I decided to go to mosque that day to say my last prayers in my homeland before I fly to Los Angeles. From there you can smell the scent of Jasmine flowers that the preacher’s wife grew in the garden adjacent to the mosque- the garden was full of people, all preparing for a wedding. Since it was a small town, and everybody knew almost everybody, people had the luxury to attend gathering like these even if you were uninvited. But I didn’t intend to stay, so I quietly walked my way in the place of worship, passing through the side so as not to disturb the workers preparing for the wedding. As I start worship I looked around and everyone was all fixed up; the groom was there and the bride was there too. I looked at my watch, 9:45 am. Only five hours left till I leave everything behind and start a new life. But I’ll be back… I just don’t know when. No one gave me a phone call or send message in my laptop to say bon voyage. I guess I was alright with it, except for one thing; I’m going to leave Bill behind. Bill was the only one who said goodbye…So I prayed.

God, I’ll be gone in several hours, I don’t know what will happen to me when I get to the other side of the world, where I will stay, when I will start excelling in my job, who to talk to when I’m here, or why I’m really going there. But all I know for sure is that a part of me is sad because I’m not going to see him in a long time. He told me he can wait. Can he? Can he really, God! I want him to wait for me, of course. But what if it took a long time for me to settle everything before I get back? What if while I was fixing my life he decided to move on? What if he chose to let me go and look for a new partner, a new woman to love? What if the time comes that he’d run out of love for me? What if?

God, I don’t want him to let go of me, ever. I love Bill so much. Please take care of him, Dear God, Always let him know that in a place far, far away from here, someone loves him so dearly.

He told me that when I get back he’s going to be waiting for me in the airport, down on one knee, holding up a small box with a ring in it, and proclaiming to everyone that he loves me and will not hide me, will not hide his feelings and wants to spend that rest of his days with me. I want that moment to come, God; I want that to come true.

Dear God, I’ll be gone in several hours. You know how much I love him. Keep me in his heart always, your will be done…

I really didn’t know how long I prayed, but when I opened my eyes, I saw the bride entering the place of worship, she is wearing elegant white wedding gown, so beautiful, her long veil covering her face so familiar to me…





I stared at her until she reached the side where I am, she was joined by a man so handsome, so dear… dear to my heart. It was Bill. I couldn’t believe my eyes! Bill was getting married! I was frozen, didn’t know what to do. I wanted to walk away… and run to them to stop the wedding, but my body was stationary, like there were invisible belts strapping me down on the pew, I tried to speak but no voice came out of my throat. No voice! I couldn’t move, I couldn’t talk … I was helpless; I sat there the whole wedding. I tried to look through the bride’s veil, but I couldn’t figure out who she was. When did Bill meet the woman? Were they seeing each other while we were together? How could he do this to me? All my thoughts were jumbled in my head. All I could do was cry. My tears never stopped flowing. I listened to their vows, and there was a tone in the bride’s voice that brought a warm sensation in my whole body. My heart suddenly became calm and showed down from beating too fast. For some reason, I felt I was the one delivering the vows to Bill, in the words only I have the ability to express.

“You may take Bill as your lawful husband…”

The wedding was almost over. All they had to do is seal the event facing the people … telling the whole world they were husband and wife! I manage to whisper to myself, “I Love you Bill, Forever.” To my surprise, despite the distance, I heard him answer me.

“I love you too, Chesham.”

Much to my astonishment, when he pulled up her veil, there I was, in that elegant, beautiful gown. I was the bride all along. And then Bill held my hand………

“Chesham, Chesham…”

The sound of my name being called grew louder and louder until I felt someone slightly rocking me I opened my eyes, I was still in that holy worship place, and there was the bride, in her white gown and long veil, walking towards the ceremonial path where the vicar is waiting, I felt someone hold my hand, I looked to my side, and there was Bill, smiling at me, “I can’t believe you feel asleep here,” he whispered to me, I looked at my watch 10:55 am. I was about to tell him everything that I saw when he said, “Let’s just watch the wedding , It’s old Mohad’s daughter tying the knot with this guy whom she were engaged to marry him as parents arrangement.” So we did, Once it was finished, we went to great old Mohad and gave our regards, then we walked home.

“One day I’ll be waiting for you at the end of that holy place, “Bill told me as we were walking. “And I’ll be looking at you, a beautiful silhouette of the woman I love. I’ll be saying my vow to you in the holy place like I’ve said from the first time I’ve told you that I love you, I’ll be proclaiming to the whole world that you’re mine and I’m yours, and that we’ll never be apart because our hearts are bound as one.”



He picked up a tiny purple Jasmine flower with its stem, attached the end of the stem to the flower, and he knelt down on the sidewalk, took my left ring finger and slipped in the tiny purple Jasmine flower, “I love you, Chesham, Marry me someday.”

I helped him up and embraced him, an embrace that gave warmth to my soul, “I will marry you Bill,” I said, “I promise.”

“All passengers of flight 716-Philippine Airlines bound for L.A. are requested to be on board,” It was caught my attention when I heard the announcement it’s time for me to leave my family is waiting. Once again I look back… try to find someone ohhh… here they are Bill and his wife with their son they will took the other flight they seems very happy, memories… only memories bind us together. Maybe, this is enough…We need to move on for the good of us for his family and my family as well. I was there in his wedding… promises….not anymore! This is my last visit in Philippines and maybe never come back.” I said to myself…never... and never… love this way again. I held my back to the chair and fasten my seat belt took a smile then close my eyes in my thoughts I recall the last time I was with him….somewhere, somehow … in paradise we see each other again and feel the warmth of his love and promises.

                                               

Monday, October 19, 2009

Carousel Boy


Huge plastic full of cotton candy on one hand,my mom's arm in the other, we walked around the carnival during one spring afternoon. I was eight back then, and every year we go to the carnival just 10 minutes away from our house. My mom would usually buy me little bears, both the teddy from our house. My mom would usually buy me little bears, both the teddy and the gummy, and make me hop in the small rides. She'd just look on, cheering. Then we'd stop by a small snow cone booth and have a taste of the blueberry, watermelon and green apple flavors. As the sun would set, my dad picks us up just in time for me to catch some cartoons on TV.

Happy as it sounds, I never was satisfied in just going to the carnival. I've always wanted to ride the carousel. I want to ride on one of the horses and imagine myself galloping on lush meadows as I glimpse at the colorful dragonflies flying by the abundant flowerbeds. And every time I see the picket fence surrounding the meadows, I always see someone far away. It was a face of a boy, and he was also riding a horse. The boy had shiny brown hair and round , blue eyes. He would always wave at me, asking me to come over him, which I will. Then we'd play by the flowerbeds, catch the dragonflies and set them free. That illusion always comes back in my mind every time we go back every single year. I've been asking my mom to bring me there ever since I was five, but she won't let me because I'm "too little to ride them."
A year after I last asked her, we went back to the carnival. I saw the carousel once again, But I Hesitated to ask mom, as she might say "no" once more. As I rode the small rides, I kept gazing at the horses, and the small carriages behind them. Suddenly, clear as ever, the illusion came back.I saw the lush meadows, the colorful butterflies, the abundant flowerbeds, the boy... it was all so wonderful.

"Yaasmeen, is there something wrong?"

I guess my sadness came out etched on my face. Mom brought me to one of the benches. "Aren't you happy?" she asked. I had to ride that carousel. Somehow. I felt something was pulling me towards it. "Mom," I said, "can I ride the carousel?"

Her gentle face turned into a firm one. Uh-oh, I thought, she's going to say no again. I knew it. But after a few seconds of silence, she smiled and replied."I think you're big enough to ride," The happiness just overwhelmed me. From the moment I was waiting in the line till I got on one of the horses, my grin reached my ears. At last, I'm on. My illusion was lingering in my head. Then the most surprising thing happened.

Riding beside me was the boy, I wasn't sure if it was really the same boy I saw in my illusion, but as I gazed at him, he had the same shiny, brown hair and round, blue eyes. For some reason, it felt like we knew each other for a long time. "Hi," he said. He was grinning. I just smiled back. We didn't talk to each other during the whole ride, but we laughed when we look at each other. When the ride stopped, he hopped down and reached his hand to me, helping me down the horse, "I guess I'll see you around,"he said.
I nodded and said,"I guess."Then mom started calling me.
"yaasmeen, come on, dad's waiting,"
"yaasmeen," the boy said, I'll try to remember that name." Then he ran until he was out of sight.
As we walked out of the carnival, we passed by a photo shop where they sell candid pictures of people in the rides, "Oh look, sweetie," mom said as she pointed at one picture. "That's you on the carousel!"She bought the picture and handed it to me. It was a photo of me and the boy, smiling at each other.

Twenty years have passed, and the photo is still with me. Too bad I forgot to get his name. At least he's not in an illusion anymore. I may not get to see him ever again, but whenever we go to the carnival and see the carousel, it feels like there was a reason for me to ride it.It's for me to meet him, and only time can tell if we really meant for each other I'll see him again and I think that was enough.

Friday, October 2, 2009

The Power of Love

Love has been the subject of so many written masterpieces... be it renowned poets or by typical teenagers who fall in love.
Love is powerful. Anyone has probably experienced being in love.Oh, just the thought of special someone would be enough to quicken your heart-beat; to smile secretly; to lose your concentration; or even to dream endlessly. Truly, love has its own way of completing your day or ruining it.
But love is not felt only through emotions, it is expressed.It is tinged with many hues that makes life more meaningful. But, it can be drastic that may lead you to the verged of an end.Love is endless happiness but it is also endless sacrifice, worth living but also worth dying. Love is not blind, it sees but it doesn't mind. Love is unfair, the more you sacrifice the more you hurt.Love is anything that you'll never know until you feel it.Love is like the sun-it gives warmth and radiance in your life.It is the only feeling in this world that makes one feel safe and active.But you know what, the best of all, we have GOD and his greatest Love give us life, give us inspiration to live and struggle for life.God is the greatest! and because he is in our hearts there will be no pain, no worries and problems. Be not be afraid to walk with Him, and He will make all the ways easy for Us.We are inspired with His Love and we will live by His undying Love.

Friday, September 25, 2009

Just Jasmine




We were there under the big maple tree in silent mode. No sound came out of our mouths, no voice can be heard. The rustling of leaves on the tree branches gave a more serene atmosphere, one that we really needed. One by one, the dry, orange leaves gently feel from the branches and danced with the wind. Two robins playfully made a nest out of a little twigs, hopping around, finding the right place for the right twig. They happily chirped and sang a joyful song. A monarch butterfly rested itself on one of the Jasmine flowers growing by the huge, fat roots of the tree. It didn't seem to mind of our presence and calmly fluttered around with its beautiful wings. Then another monarch butterfly came and accompanied the first one. After a while, they flew away, leaving the Jasmine flower alone once more. The soft breeze made it lean on one of the roots, as if looking for protection for the breeze might blow it away, but the root was there, becoming a guide, becoming a source of safety...becoming a friend. Perhaps the Jasmine flower was happy in the presence of the root, because when the breeze had gone, it continued leaning onto it.

As I was watching these simple things, a few of my thoughts came into my mind. Why am I here, beside Bill?We didn't talk of coming here at all. For some reason, as I was reading my book in my room, I felt the sudden urge to look outside. When I did, I saw the big maple tree in the park. It was so huge that the branches could cover two of the rooms in my house. Suddenly, I felt I needed to go and have a trip down memory lane...

"Zhengzhou!" one small boy's voice screamed at me while I was trying to figure out who's with him. It was Bill, and he's wearing his bright blue cap again. He looked so small for a nine-year-old. "Zhengzhou, c'mon'! I'm gonna show you something!"

"Alright, Alright! Wait for me!" I shouted back. Then I ran down the stairs and felt daddy's big arm scooping me up. "Where's my little princess going?" he asked as he pressed his nose to mine.

"Same old tree, Dad," I replied. "Bill told me he's gonna show me something. And I think it's important."

He put me down and said, "Oh, c'mon, everything about Bill is important for you."

"Of course, Dad," I answered, he's my best est friend. Well, gotta go, bye!" I rushed out of the door and ran towards Bill, who was making a sour face. "What took you so long?" he asked.

"I just had a small chit-chat with daddy," I answered. Then we took each others hands and walked to the park, which was only three houses away from my home.

When we got near the maple tree, Bill pulled me and said, "There it is! I can see it!"
As we went near, I saw little clusters of white Jasmine flowers. For a girl like me, seeing flowers grow from nowhere was a delight. "Ooh... they're so pretty, I said.

Bill cleared his throat, bite his lips once again as he usually do and stood up." According to my reliable source," he said, then he leaned towards me and whispered,"that would be my momma," I giggled, and he winked. He continued,"According to my reliable source, these pretty things are called Jasmine flowers. They are called as such because they're pretty, simple and scented, and because my momma doesn't know where they came from. But they're pretty, aren't they.

I looked back at the Jasmine flowers and said, "I hope they bloom forever. I hope they make lots of flowers, and then the butterflies will come and sit on them and suck honey or whatever we call from them." Then I looked back at little Bill and said, "Thanks for not picking them, Bill.That's so sweet of you," Then I leaned over to his cheek and gave him a smack. I saw his cheeks and ears turn red as he said, "Awe,shucks," Then we sat down under the tree, holding hands, my head leaning on his shoulder. I remember him whisper to me, saying, " I hope we become like the Jasmine flowers, so we can be friends forever."

Back to the present,I suddenly felt myself putting on my sneakers and running towards the big, old, maple tree. It has had longer and larger branches now. The Jasmine flowers were still there. Even after ten years, the feeling of warmth and security was present in the midst of the rustling leaves. Then I saw a familiar figure move, resting his head on the tree, a blade of grass in his mouth.

"Hi, Bill,"

he looked up at me and smiled. "Hi, Zhengzhou," Then he sat up straight and pulled me towards him. I sat beside him, put his head on my shoulder and held his hand. The breeze gently stroked my cheeks and I felt like sleeping. Then a poke on my arm woke me up. Bill pointed at the Jasmine flowers. They still have the bright yellow and white color that they had when we first saw them bloom. He whispered, "Screw them,"

His statement surprised me. He saw my reaction and said, "I don't care if they die. As long as we're still friends, that's all that matters." Then he kissed my forehead and leaned on my head. I just smiled.

We were there under the big maple tree in silent mode. We didn't need to talk anymore. His presence was enough for me.

The Thing in the Window


It came to me as I awoke at half past two in the morning. Outside my window the world slumbered in the blanket of the dark as the cold wind whispered its deepest secrets. There were lights on the street, yellow and a bit pale; the sort of yellow that you could see tainting the skin of the sick.
Amidst all there was outside it sat there, on my roof, looking through my window. For a moment I was frozen in terror as it laid its eyes upon me. Every inch of my body trembled in fear of that thing outside my window. It never stirred, nor did it blink.It sat there,patient as time itself, breathing . All I could hear was the sound of my fan and all I could feel were its eyes that stared deep into my soul.
As my terror slowly coiled away and turned into something else, I saw it smile. And I felt my heart in a death grip as my sanity fought for its survival.
I scrambled to turn on some music from my computer, hoping to scare it away, hoping that it would disappear. But as the tunes of Nobody but Me played, it stayed there smiling still like a grotesque gargoyle from Gothic cathedrals.
My body was now wrapped in chill and I couldn't move as I thought I saw it inch its way into my room riding the shadows. It didn't move, but it rode into my room. The music looped to the beginning, its lyrics now beginning to become inaudible. All that could be heard clearly is the sound of the running fan.
Its eyes looked onto mine and I could not turn away as much as I would like to. I could still feel myself breathe normally. It came closer without moving an inch and leaned close to my ear. Where I should feel its ghastly breath, I felt none but a chill down my spine. It didn't touch me but I could feel it.
I could hear the blaring trumpets of the playing song from my computer as it leaned closer to my ear.
I could now see its face; its eyes, terrible,
It spoke to me,
And in a whisper, it said its name, And it was called...

Thursday, September 24, 2009

My Destiny


I have traveled far and long
In search of my own destiny
A stretch of Earth that I can call my very own.

Stumbling upon ghastly deserts and swamps
I've tasted the worst of this world
Cursing the gods for allowing such doom of anxiety.

But it's worth all the blisters,
And the scabs, and the pain
Even the torment of the universe looking down
on me.

Now I find redemption
As I quench myself endlessly
In this beautiful river of silver and gray.

I hear the waters crushing
As it finally meets its brother wave
Glistening as the Sun bounces against its now
lively surface.

Off to the mid-afternoon shadows
The golden brown land embraces me
With its cold and gentle feel, it speaks of
deep solitude.

As if solitude wasn't enough
Salt licks appear to my very delight
Enticing my taste buds with the Earthly
grace

One Sunny April Noon


I wake up
on a hot summer noon
with a sweat dull worried face.

I stand up
recalling what had happened.

flashback....
PC still on view photos on slide show
outside I heard thumping noise of children
playing
as hypnotizes the sounds of roaring roar.

with blink of eyes
seeing several buzzes
ignored messages

I let myself mesmerized
as I click the mouse
oblivious...

and suddenly It caught my attention
I saw you smiling
an image of you
with eyes twinkling
burns in my head, or it is the sunny April noon

I smile back
as we exchange knowing looks
buzz, buzz ,buzz
smiley emoticons

fast forward...
lighting pierces the night sky,
we exchange ideas
a new beginning of friendship
on one sunny April noon

I Miss You


I miss you today,
The trees did not dance as did birds in the wind
I miss you yesterday,
Thine heart is drenched of tears that which did not flow
I miss you tomorrow,
And with troubled thoughts.I retreat
....I'll miss you forever

A Solitude


I sit here and
ponder of things
that may never hold true.

I pull the strands
of my heart to
keep alive what little
imagination it still owns.

I accept the solitude
because it means to me
to be a man is to take and
hold back what is real and
sacrifice it to the stars.

Saturday, September 19, 2009

True Love


A wonderful word my friend ...
touches your emotions and feelings of anxiety.
A sincere words and deeds
that man's ever say,
feel it's sincerity is a
wisdom and brightness of the day.
Two words hard to say,
sound so sweet and music to the ears.
Though pain and sorrow,
often times feels, it hurts...
but love still remains.

Beauty lies and wonder of wonders
seems so warm, strong and heavy to touch...
sharing, giving and understanding
that is LOVE... A true love...
that conquers all.

Forever I will wait


Sitting on the grass at night
Gazing at the dancing stars
The bright full moon shine on my face
The wind gently stroking my hair.

Thinking of you tonight
Wishing you were here...
right beside me..
where I sit
Holding hands, whispering love.

But still you don't know
Who you are, my prince
Right here, right now
Forever I will wait.

To My Friend


Come, be with me
As I travel on the road of life,
As I explore magical adventures,
As I meet unknown challenges,
As I set goals and make discoveries,
As I take each of the opportunities.
Stand by my side, share your strength,
Hold my hand when I stumble and fall
That though the earth be shaken
And though mountains crumble;
You will always be a wall for me to lean on.

Memories....Illusions




I thought there is no meaning of those sight,
Your eyes telling me something that makes me
wonder...
When we get to know each other,
a mystery to me,
I've got to know why?...
Friend, I thought you were just a friend,
Remember the foolish acts,
words and deeds,
Telling me help you...
I've got to know, the answer ...
Why?
Then, I decided to go away...
I don't know if I am doing right...
Now, I realized...
It's only admiration,
accept the reality...
you belong to her...
and me to him.
We still be friends,
friend you can lean on...
friend you can depend on...
and friend that you can
count on.
Memories...dreams...
Me and you,
Only an illusions.

Despair



It's good to laugh, they said,
I laughed,
It's good to cry, she said, I cried.
But love was in disguise;
And a mannequin came out.
Desperation, laughter, tears, love
Dissolved altogether...
Which side will I burst?

Sometimes


Sometimes...
It's better to be blind
for I will not see the truth behind.

Sometimes...
It's better not to hear,
anything that brings fear.

Sometimes...
It's better not to tell,
anyone about what I feel.

Sometimes...
It's better to forget you
For I will always REMEMBER YOU.
but sometimes...
it's really hard to do,
because ...in my heart...
I really LOVE YOU.

Friday, September 18, 2009

Love


Love is the best of everything,
We can't live without it,
But we can hurt someone because of it.

Love makes the world wide,
It makes the world peaceful, sweet and romantic,
It removes hatred in our heart,
and change by caring as much.

Love makes life always better,
This will surround you with romance,
But full of expenses.

Love is full of sacrifices, challenges and heartaches,
Sometimes it creates trouble,
and sometimes a gamble.

Love always expressed by saying, "I love you",
but it could be loneliness for one,
happiness for two and
sacrifice for three.
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