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.