A Certain Deadline

Looking down,
Cars moving,
People walking.
Every car has a destination, a location, a mission.
Every person has a thought, a goal, a dream.
To a certain deadline.

Life is a company.
For a company to function,
A certain deadline to all workers.
A certain deadline makes life function.
Different for each person, but same goal.
Division of labor.

Once the certain deadline is completed,
Another one comes in.
The paycheck? To live life.
Person without a certain deadline
Isn't really living.
The hobos, the beggers, the bums.
They are the unemployment of life.

A certain deadline.
What's your certain deadline?

Fight, Comrades.

Fight, comrades.

There's a time in life
Where we just got to fight.
This is the time.
This is why we are here.

Fight, comrades.

For our rights.
For our time.
For love.

Fight, comrades.

Let struggle drives us.
Every energy drain from your body.
Tears and sweats seem no different.
Headache and heartbreak are from one source.

Fight.

It's worth fighting for.
A light at the end of the tunnel.
A lesson to be learnt.

Fight.

With a spear in your hand
And hope in your mind.
That's what keep you going.
Tomorrow, that's where we are going.

Fight, comrades.

With a blunt spear,
And with no hope.
At least, we are fighting.
We are living.

Fight, comrades.

We gotten this far together.
Live or die, we are here.
Everything happens for a reason.
Don't give up.
God is not dead.

Fight, comrades.

This is our crossroad.
This is why we are here.

Win or loose,
We live.
We fight.

PCQE will remain immortal in us, so will him.

Do you realize sometimes you can't decide if you hate or like the person? It's a fucking hard decision because it's a roller-coaster ride of hate/like toward the person. The best part of it, it's mutual. Well, to me, that's love. It's like good people and Death Eaters. "Besides, the world isn't split into good people and Death Eaters." (Sirius Black). Well, I believe that's what Mr. Mack and his students had. Mr. Mack was the most annoying, mean, tiny Scottish man my AIS friends and I had ever known. But without a doubt, he was the best teacher that we ever had.

He was an English teacher in Ashgabat International School (AIS) when I was in grade 10. He taught us only one school year, but boy, what an impact he had on our lives. He came to the school with a mission to revolutionize our English toward a better future. We were offended, of course. Most of us grew up speaking English. He invented  introduced a system called "Point Context Quote Explanation" (PCQE) to write short answer or essay questions. A single grammar or structure mistake, he would brutally failed us in his annoying Scottish accent and told us to redo again. As time passed, our writing got better and we got close to him: exchanging DVDs, goofing around, playing basketball. He even suggested me literature because he knew I was a book-worm. I remembered at the end of the school year, I cracked my pelvis and I was out of school for a week. When I got back to school, it was finals. I received an A+ from him, I thought it was a pity mark. But during the end-of-the-year assembly, he presented me an award for my hard-work and my A+ essay. During the assembly, he said something like this: "Azim was one of my worst students, constantly failing essays, really bad grammar, and no content. But he never gave up to improve. Today, he's one of my best student with no mistakes in grammar and writes a really good essay." I  was deeply touched. That year, he left AIS. It was a sad moment. After a few months, my family had to go back to Malaysia. I was sure I will meet-up with him in the future, having drinks, talking about life and the good old days.

I received this yesterday, from a friend:

‎"Dear jeren, I am Ians' mother and Elaine sent on yor messages to me. We are as you may imagine devastated at the loss of Ian, it was so tragic and so sudden. He was working in Brunei and very happy. His contract had only a few more weeks to run and he had decided to come home to us after nearly 10 years of working away. We are still not certain, but he either got caught in a rip tide or his surf board hit him on the head, either way he was found on the beach and it was already too late. Your messages and those of your f riends have brought us great comfort. Please will you pass on my sincere thanks. We brought Ian home and laid him to rest on a little hillside not far from where we live. If you or anyone else would like to keep in touch with us we would be only too delighted to hear from you . Yours truly Anne Mack (Mrs.)"

I was devastated. How can a great and talented man just died? He was young and had so much give to the world. After moments of thinking, smoking, pondering in confusion and sadness, at the balcony, I fell into a nap and had the dream of having the drink that I never had with him. 

We were at a local Scottish bar, drinking and talking. I can't remember most part, but we were having a good time. I told him about my life, studying medicine and all. He said, he is in a better place, now. He told me to study hard and thrive in life. He guess he did his part in the world since God has decided to end it. I believe he did. I came to a realization about the honor of being a teacher. In life, every great man's dream is to achieve immortality- Achilles, John Keats, Gregor Mendel and others. They are all immortal through their achievements in war, literature and science. We achieve immortality by making a mark in the world and touching life of others. Mr. Mack did. As long as PCQE is used by his students and people who knew him remembers him, Ian Mack will live on. Before saying goodbye, I asked him if any of this is real, he answered:

I woke up from my nap, and it started to drizzle. I knew, it was real.

Just like Dumbledore to Harry, Mr. Mack was one of my mentors. He lived his life to the fullest and had no regrets.


I won't let you down.

RIP Mr. Mack.

We Wait

I'm fucking immortal,
My name shall be forever imprinted in the heavens,
Beauty got nothing on me.
I fucking created it.
Let the devils speak,
Judgement got nothing on me,
When immortality is destined for me.

Achilles had his heels,
I have my secrets.
Life is meant to be shared.
Truth is non existent.
Where does love comes in?

We are slowly decaying.
Death has waited for us.
Since we were born.
I'm not dead, not technically.
Not on a Friday night.
Not when I felt love.
Death is not the enemy.
its back to where we belong.

Bitter has stared at us for too long.
We are the sons of sorrow.
Let the silence speaks.
Let the birds sing.
Let the brothers stand under the orange sky.
Then, let us reap what we sow.
Let us live. 

A Slug is Still A Slug

Every work he has done means something.
Every drawing he has drew is carefully drawn.
Every piece he has created is a portion of his life.

He has made art from the skeptic's scratches.
He has made art from the ground's garbage.
He has made art from nature's nourishment.
He has made art from the heavenly haywire.

It was always his goal:
To change the ordinary to extraordinary.
Something in the world's eyes, it is simple and plain.
But in his eyes, it is not.
To him, how can anything at all be simple and plain?
Everything in the universe, earth, and life is extraordinary.

His art piece has never failed.
Every showing, the audience applaud is the stomps of giants.
Every showing, their eyes open up so wide and amazed
As if they saw beauty for the first time.
His art piece has never failed.

Until one day, it did.

He learned that
You can never change who you are.
He tried to created something
By changing it's core.

He never believe anything was evil or bad.
Just misunderstood, by society.
Just like everything was plain and simple.

The element's past doesn't mind him
Because what is done can't be undone.
The artist focus on it's future.
His product.

This was his mistake.
Bad and evil do exist.
It's a characteristic.

A slug is still a slug.
He can't make it
A better, respected, and beautiful animal.
It is not who slug is.
And it can't change their natural core either.
How can a slug be attractive?
A slug can mate with two at the same time,
And it can also think it's attractive by doing that,
But it's just sad.
It's a self-proclaimed compliment.

He tried for months.
But no muse happened for this art.
He hasn't failed.
He just wished
He didn't spend more time than he should.

Mirrors

It's a hideous reflection.

He said:

This is why

He left us.

She said:

This is why

She doesn't love me.

They said:

This is why

I'm a failure.

It's a beautiful gift.

I say:

This is who

I am, today.

I say:

This is what

She is missing.

I say:

This is 

Godsend.

Fuck him, her, and them. 

Fuck them all.

I am who I am. 

God Within Us

Sometimes, I feel God is inside of us.
Like, a part of Him is embedded in us.
Since, we were born.
So, He's with us.
Every, single moment.

When you are
Hopeless.
Giving up.
Powerless.

Just
Concentrate,
Meditate,
Silence.

There's a small voice.
Part of us.

That pushes us
To keep going.
To believe.

Bad or good,
Sinners or saint,
Partyer or prayer.

The voice will be there.

That's Him.

His unconditional love. 

It's beautiful.

Thank you.

Insyaallah.

The Walker and The Bus

There was a boy. Somewhere in the Midwest. An empty desert, an empty road. He is a Walker. His job is to walk straight, non-stop to the inevitable end. He doesn't know when, where or how he'll meet this end, but he knows that he just need to keep walking.

He has walked a million miles, but he still has to walk another million miles. Most of the time, he walked. But there were some times, where Buses picked him up for a ride. The Bus Rides were wonderful. It taught him about things he never knew. The beauty of the bus is magnificent. The vast and long ride is just amazing. How can a simple thing makes you feel this way? "No wonder everyone is chasing to get on a bus." However, everything ends. When the Bus Rides ended, the Bus would drop him somewhere in the empty desert, an empty road. Back to square one. He would think the mistake he did or the action that he didn't do that caused the Bus to drop him here. The pain, guilt and regret were time and energy consuming. The time it took for him to start walking again would be the same time that would take him to walk to this same point. Back to square one. A waste of time and energy. He is a Walker. He didn't have time for any of this. So, he decided to never take the Bus again. So, he started walking.

He's back to walking. Hundred of beautiful Buses passed him, but he wouldn't take it. Maybe a few times, he thought of taking a Car. Small and quick. But he never did, because no transportation can triumph the beauty of the Bus.

One day, an old, ugly Bus stopped in front of him. He heard stories of this Bus from the Wind. She's trouble, careless and has bad intentions in everything she did. An unacceptable to the society. The Walker's first impression of her was that she has a bad past. But he couldn't get rid of the feeling that her bad past could open up to a bright future. The Bus has potential and she's not like the other Buses that he has seen. She's kind, honest and has beauty inside. She wanted to be in the society but she didn't know how to.

A Sandstorm was coming up ahead. It's nothing big, but it's harsh. The Walker knew that this Bus would not survive. The Walker decided to help her. What kind of person wouldn't help someone in need?

The Walker helped her. He shaped her up, fixed her and supported her. He defended her from the Wind, but at the same time, made her feel welcome to them. While fixing her, the Walker learned more about her: her dreams, her thinking, and her life. There were times when the Walker wanted to take the Bus Ride from her. Maybe they could ride to the inevitable together. Just maybe. That's all you could wish for in this empty desert. Someone to accompany you to the inevitable end, just riding into the sunset, happily. But she was still not stable. But she was getting there. It made him happy.

The process wasn't all smooth. No process is never that smooth. There were time when they were both annoyed at each other. The Sandstorm was near, time was ending, the Walker didn't think she would make it in time. However, the Bus disagreed. The Walker kept on pressuring her, but as he pressured her, a gap was created between them. The Walker couldn't stand the sight of the Bus breaking down when the Sandstorm hit them. Just like birds teaching their young to fly, one day, the young flies off without looking back. That's what happened to the Walker and the Bus. The gap got bigger and the Bus got better. Society is accepting her and she's ready for the Sandstorm.

One day, the Bus drove off and stop at the next attractive walker she saw. The Walker could still see the Bus up ahead, with another walker. She's thinking of giving the walker a lift. And it pains him. "Am I really not that worth it?" The Walker thought. However, the Bus seemed happy and that's what the Walker ever wished for her.

Back to square one. Although there was no Bus Ride, he did feel the pain. But this time, the Walker did not feel guilt or regret. He helped her, and he tried his best. Although the Bus droved off, he still wouldn't believe the story of the Wind about her because he knew her. She is beautiful, no matter what they say. So, he started walking again. He didn't feel guilt or regret. But he did feel the pain. The pain got bigger as the Walker got closer to the point to the Bus and the other walker is at. He knows the other walker would eventually take the Bus Ride. How can he not? So, now the Walker is still walking, but slowly. He couldn't imagine the pain he would receive when he gets to that point. When they asked him, he'll put on an act, a mask to show the world that he is peachy. But, look at him closely, it's killing him inside, as if someone is scratching his bare heart.

On the other hand, the Sandstorm is getting nearer and the Walker is feeling vulnerable, he just might not survive. But the boy knows that whatever happens, he'll need to keep on walking because he is not a boy, anymore. He is a Walker. That's his virtue.

Smokes

*Breathe out,
Smokes in my eyes,
In a room of people,
Called 'Friends.'
Doing their own things.
Thinking of their own self.
How can you expect they be forever,
when 'ends' is in the word?
I see no future.

*Breathe out,

Smokes in my eyes,

At the balcony, with a favorite 'friend',

She's there, but she's not there.

In the realm of cyberspace,
What's the use of being here, when you're not here,

Be here, or be there.

I see no future.

*Breathe out,

Smokes in my eyes,

Outside, a break from knowledge,

Trying to wake me up,

50 other people, just like me,

Looking around and thinking about the future,

I see no future.

*Breathe out,

Smokes in my eyes,

Four walls surrounds me,

It stinks.

Place of the devil,

Thinking of an angelic future.

I see no future.

*Breathe out,

Smokes in my eyes,

At the balcony again,

Fresh air, beautiful day,

But the shade darken my vision.

Hoping these 10 puffs

Will entertained me, calmed me, revealed me.

Looking down,

Cars passing by, life in motion, time ticking.

Looking straight,

In blank space, hoping to see the future,

I see no future.

In a dark place,

Involuntary movements,

The fresh air comes in,

but few survived to be filtered.

It's getting darker and blacker,

Every time smokes come in the eyes,

It sees no future. 

Room of Emptiness and Voidness

Lost in the company of blind people.

Searching for a way out, while lingering in the dark.

Room of emptiness and voidness.

Is filled with laughters and friends.

How can it feel wrong and right at the same time?

Hands of time run as if the Past is haunting them,
While the Present is rocking out,
The Future stares in worriment and weariness.

Room of emptiness and voidness.
Is filled with silence and colleagues.
Stares left and right,
To the surrounding people, the time,
And the people looking down.
Wondering if this surgeon can pull it off?
With the life or death of this patient
in his hands, in his mind, and in his future.

It's ticking...
The mind should be on the mission,
But it wonders off to a question:
"Is any of this worth it?"

Candles give out light, while it melt to death.
Tree produce oxygen, while it falls one by one.
A bastard is born, without knowing what love is.

Darkness will bring him down,
Deaths will haunt him,
Despair will kill him.

"Is any of this worth it?"

But right now, he's in this room.
Room of emptiness and voidness
Filled with laughter and friends.

I, Then, Realized I Haven't Been...Me

I read a poem.
It was a beautiful poem.

I, then, realized how lost I was
Comparing to mine.

I read my poems and, then, realized
How blonde I am.

I've been writing poems, superficially.
Just the top layers of my life and feelings.

I haven't been communicating
The physical with the abstract.

I, then, realized it's because I haven't been feeling.
I haven't been living.

I haven't been writing,
Or even, trying.

I'm sorry.

Can You Kill A God?

I'm not scared of death.
But I am scared of not seeing my love ones
Again.

Death.
It is fear.
But it's not fear of the
Unknown.
It's the fear of the not saying:
Goodbye.

It means, we'll meet again.
Somehow.
A reason.
One day.
In the afterlife.

In the 21st century,
"Goodbye"
is never used.
It's always 'bye."
Because "Goodbye," is the
End.

God just take.
Private property is nothing.
Screw Plato.
We belong to God.
Everyday, every part.

All of our wishes is that in our dying time,
we'll say:
"Goodbye"
to our love ones.

It's never the ideal situation.
We are just gone.

The stuff we do to kill a god.
Just for the Goodbye.
Yeah, you are not fighting for
Freedom.
Your country.
Your pride.
Just a Goodbye.

Just a Goodbye.
It's sad, actually.
Because we deserve so much more.

That's why every life we meet.
We should touch.
Influence them.
Like that, we are never gone.
We will live forever.
We will never say Goodbye.

Life's a Dream?

How do we know?
How?
When we achieved our dreams?

Isn't dreams immoral?
Then we will never get them right?

When we get our dream girl?
No, cause we will have a dream for them?

When we have our dream job?
No, cause we will have a goal for it?

Why is life so unable to be achieved?
It's sad?
or
It's happy?

I want you. Period.

I'm drunk, but it's only because I love you.

Why are you even with him?
You deserve so much better than him.
Just like the flower who deserves better than the bee.

The bee just works hard,
but he doesn't have any real feeling for the flower.
The beautiful graceful flower.

I should have said something to the flower.
Because I had feelings for the flower since I first saw her
2 years ago.

Haha. I was hitting on you the first time
I said hi to you.

You are so smart
and
beautiful at the same time
since I first saw you.

You had flaws,
no doubt,
but it made you beautiful.
I don't think I've met a girl like that
before.

Yes, I'm angry.
Why aren't you talking?
Is it because of him?
A sloppy second?

You deserve so much better.
Just saying.
You are my literally star.

Please do come here.

2011: To Rut or Not To Rut?

Yes, it's a New Year.

A decade has passed,
another begins.

Although it's a new beginning,
why the Rut?

A Rut begins when
the settling and honeymoon end,
a new period of life begins.

A Rut ends when
the new anticipated period begins,
a dream ends.

Sounds good?
Sounds horrible?
Possibly both.

It's nice and worrying at the same time.

In a Rut,
We are in control.
We are living our life.
We are following God's plan.

We know what we are going to do,
We know what is need to be done,
and
We get it done,
We do it all over again.

We excel in life.
We master our destiny.

Scratching the floor,
our minds wondered.

Wondered the 'if's.
Wondered the past lovers.

True love does lies in past lovers.
If it comes back to you,
it is true.

Perfectly lonely.
But never wanting to commit.
Just being in the idea is content.
But selfish.
Perfectly lonely.

After love,
our mind goes to others.

We then realize,
we can never be in Rut.

The possibility is vast.
The world is my oyster.

2011, let's make the best out of it. :)