From poems to pop

Got hit by some random stroke of melodic mastery, and came up with this little riff for my music test today, huaha! Haven't found much of a rhythm to go along with it though, so it's still a lot more poem-like than anything else - proof that song writing just isn't one of my talents, hehe. Anyways, it's rare for me to write something this good, so I thought I'd come and share this particular one with the world for once

Your heart’s a battlefield

Drowned out in stagnant tears

The sun that once had shone

Now cries in its broken home

You try to hide your pain,

Dress it in different names,

But I see through your ruse,

The real you that is my muse

Reff:

Oh, you gotta just

Let it out,

Live it up,

Let your smile see the light

The smile I’ve been waiting so long for

Reff

Oooh..

The smile that will carry me back home..

Confessions of a Confused College-student-wannabe

 My uncle: jadi janti kuliahnya mau ngambil bidang apa nih?
Me: um, masih bingung sih om, hehe, but i wanna do something to serve my country
My uncle: don't forget to serve yourself first ;)
Me: oh, iya sih, that too, hehe *starting to rethink my college plans again-.-

This dialogue took place about a couple of weeks ago (within a most relaxed atmosphere on the patio of some obscenely rich relative of mine), but the conflict portrayed within it has been tearing at me from within for months now.. Critical decision making situations like this have always left me like a fish out of water - confused and dry of good wisdom. This time it's a little bit better, cause I know what I want to do, I just don't know if life will allow me to do so..

I'm not in much of a writing mood today, and I've already indulged in this subject in countless little notes and abandoned paragraphs scattered within my laptop and the notes folder in my cellphone which I don't have much interest in publishing since they'd just be maddeningly complicated to fully explain. So, I think I'll just end this random little rant with an aptly fitting quote I just found from one of my favorite authors, which beautifully portrays the exact dilemma I'm facing at the moment:

“In his or her life, each person can take one of two attitudes: to build or to plant.  Builders may take years over their tasks, but one day they will finish what they are doing.  Then they will stop, hemmed in by their own walls.  Life becomes meaningless once the building is finished.  Those who plant suffer the storms and the seasons and rarely rest.  Unlike a building, a garden never stops growing.  And by its constant demands on the gardener’s attention, it makes the gardener’s life a great adventure.” - Coelho

Quite literally, I want to plant :)

Hahaa :D

Sometimes I'm too serious. So much so that I forget my mouth is capable of producing that intoxicating melody called laughter. So much so that I forget my face is capable of wrinkling ever so slightly into that beautiful thing called a smile. So much so that I forget my hands and feet don't have to stay curled up and clasped together all the time, but are free to stretch and twirl and grasp and run with all their might. So much so that I forget my body is not merely a rigid shell, but also an extension of the exultant soul that resides within and also that of His who keeps watch from above. Because every moment of happiness that I experience is a mere trickling down of the happiness You infinitely bring into this world.

For that, I thank You. Thank You for allowing me to laugh, smile, run, and twirl, and do each and every one of all the other little things I always seem to take for granted.

And thank you for giving me a second chance to embrace my soul :)

Warriors of the Word

We are warriors of the word, you and I.
Our battlefield is the vast expanse of blank white paper. Our weapons nothing more than the humble pen and pencil; dull in origin, but sharpened by the wisdom of our thoughts. Forever striving to bring life to the desolate, austere landscape, we litter it with the bodies of our imperfect thoughts; thoughts slain by the swipe of our weapons.

And yet, we differ greatly, you and I.
I, am a mere swordsman. Blunt and headlong in my approach to battle. Attacking with wide sweeping movements. Lacking in finesse, perhaps, but that’s the extent to what swords - and my ability - are capable of.
You, on the other hand, are an archer. Atop your hill of knowledge and experience you stand, and from there you witness the world. Only when your eyes and mind have taken in everything that needs to be known – along the horizon and beyond – do you slowly begin to mount your attack. Weaving knowledge, power, love, and skill together, you stretch your bow, holding it for what seems like infinity before you finally find the perfect moment to release. And when you do, – whoosh! – Your arrow explodes in a song of beauty, soaring over the bleak landscape, penetrating the very heart of the white void, injecting into it the very substance of your heart and soul, moving even the mighty swordsman to tears..

Sometimes, I as a swordsman, become envious of you. Whereas my weapon is constrained to the lowly confines of this earth, your arrow knows not such boundaries. Your passion and skill allow it to rise to the very heights of Heaven. Laced with adoration and love of The Divine it returns, ready to shoot through even the hardest of hearts and allow them to savor the beauty of that love as well..

We are warriors of the word, you and I.
And though the weapons we wield are different in shape and ability, we, as warriors, are still the same..

But in an unexpected twist, your arrow has penetrated my own soul. Thus I lie here, a lowly swordsman poisoned by the divine love that you had dipped your arrow in. Seemingly drowning in the life blood that now gushes out from within me, and yet feeling more alive than ever..

Un maestro preguntó a sus discípulos:
“¿Por qué gritamos con rabia? ¿Por qué la gente se grita cuando están molestos?
Los discípulos pensaron un rato, y uno de ellos dijo:
“Porque perdemos la calma,… será por eso? ”
“Pero, ¿por qué gritar cuando la otra persona está a tu lado? ¿No es posible hablar con él o ella con una voz suave? ¿Por qué le gritas a una persona cuando estás enojado?”
Los discípulos le dieron algunas otras respuestas pero ninguna de ellas satisfacía al maestro.
Finalmente explicó:
“Cuando dos personas están enojadas, sus corazones se alejan mucho. Para cubrir esa distancia deben gritar para poder escucharse entre sí. Mientras más enojados estén, más fuerte tendrán que gritar para escucharse uno a otro a través de esa gran distancia.”
Entonces el maestro le preguntó:
“¿Qué sucede cuando dos personas se enamoran? No se nota en cada uno sino que se hablan suavemente, ¿por qué? Debido a que sus corazones están muy cerca. La distancia entre ellos es muy pequeña …
Y por fin dijo:
“Cuando se aman aún más, ¿qué sucede?
No hablan, sólo susurran y se tienen aún más cerca el uno al otro en su amor.
“Finalmente no necesitan siquiera susurrar, sólo se miran el uno al otro y eso es todo. Así es como están cerca dos personas cuando se aman.”

silence is such a beautiful thing

like a thick wool blanket, it keeps us warm from the cold realities of this life, it keeps us sane in times of utterly illogical insanity, it muffles out everything we don't wish to hear or deal with at the moment. we look to it like a distraught child does to its mother. distraught and lost in the confounding complexity of this life, longing for the safety and calm that we find in its embrace.

and yet, silence is the refuge of cowards. silence is safety, yes. but it is one that lulls us into a perpetual state of inaction. it blunts the tongue and dulls the mind. it is the white flag that we raise before we even go into battle, trembling pathetically even as we do so.

silence is me.

Desire makes us forget. It makes us instinctively disregard any and everything that comes in the way of our self-deluded vision of the world. Like intoxicated spiders, we unknowingly start spinning our own invisible threads of speculation, foolishly trying to link together randomly meaningless details and events into an equally incongruous web of fantasies. Rarely do we ever realize - before it's too late, that is - that the webs we were so passionately making, were slowly becoming our own objects of torture; binding us in a cocoon of stupidity and childish hopes.