just another day at work
His mind is clouded with random thoughts, but his hands kept on with the tasks given, by his side what seemed to be an unending pile of documents. Minimal of what is actually assigned to him, mainly of files just pushed onto him, even at the last minute right before the office hours end.
And he typed. And typed. And typed.
As if hypnotized to reach the end of the line.
Until everyone else had left already.
Yet he remained unfazed, as if the microcosm he lives in is within the span of the cluttered desk and tiny cubicle. By the time the clock hit five in the morning, he had finally printed the last set of paperwork, which he had placed on top of the team leader’s table.
Few stretches and he started moving again, the same random thoughts resurfacing, towards the cold stairway. In a few minutes, he reached the rooftop. By then his thoughts had molded into a pitch blank canvas, as if reminding him that he had finally reached the end.
At last, he reached the end.
By then, the city’s just starting to wake up, but standing by the ledge, he just started to close his eyes. Then it was the morning breeze embracing him like a cool blanket, and by the next moment that his eyes had opened, he has already laid down on the asphalt road, reminding him of the tough bed at his rented apartment, staring straight into the dimly lighted sky.
And upon seeing him, the company would start preparing to replace the lost spot, checking through the pool of hoping applicants. His colleagues would see the documents and go on with the meetings, presentations, and chit-chats. And a different face would then be facing his computer, seated on his swivel chair, and take-over his tasks.
Until another mind gets clouded with random thoughts, with the hands still on the keyboard, by the side a pile of documents. Mostly from others, a trifle, the actual work.
And they will type. And type. And type.
As if hypnotized to reach the end of the line.
Where
It is calming, looking at the bamboo swaying along with the wind, sound of nothing but the nature speaking to the soul, overshadowing the tension gnawing at the back of head. Here, under the gray sky, despite of the storm brewing ahead, there is a sense of ease and completeness in being with no one but myself. Let the hidden world be my company.
Nonsense
Listen to the humming of the wind at night
While you take a rest and imagine a life
Of turmoils, of torments, you have suffered or survived
Look through the wall made of glasses and iron
And think of how it would feel to jump and freefall
If all the barriers break and the hope is lost
Make way to the darkness screaming in your head
Embrace, be enveloped in the membrane of pretense
That is a way to make it through the road made
By the people, for the people who have always been elated
With the sense of being above, nonsense values
Catching fire, eating shards, cursing the living
Be drowned, get buried, until you fade and get forgotten
He, She
He wished to pluck the stars out of the sky
She wished for his wish to come true
He dreamt of sailing the seas with pride
She looked for ways to make a crew
He climbed up on the stairs she made
She bumped on the wall he created
He told her of tales he wants her to know
She listened eagerly, moving with the flow
He got tired and lost his passion
She crawled the path if needed be
He stopped, not to wait, no compassion
She reached out, towards him, not to flee
He stood by the lighthouse to see his path
She stayed in the shadows to see him
He found his way and left everything behind
She lost her direction, became wind unseen
forgotten
Curse me that have forgotten
The same thread that I used to weave
For the memory blanket to wrap
The dim and lost other self
Towards the last snip of the cotton wool
That has never been comforting
Nor bringer of a deep sleep
Where night awakens me
And morning let me fall in slumber
Through endless clattering
To a hollow pit of shattered light
Thirst for forgetting the past
And hunger for not seeing the future
As a child that was never listened to
And adult that would always try hard
Like death would never come
But it is inevitable
Like how being born
Is created
Within your own mind
And soul
Without you noticing it at all
Spare a glance to the mirror
And see not a reflection
Of a face that is welcomed to the world
But that of someone succumbed
By the world
And the rules it created
How synonymous words
May be contrasting
Or how close knits
Might be wavering and broken
Forgiven, never, until last breathe
How that other self wants to claim
To kill that weak physique
Built by a molded belief
Thoughts that swim endlessly
In unworthy waters
Where embers live
But cold it is that it freezes
Even the warmest of tears
That sails are burnt to pitch-black
And ships sink to cradles made of fire
But they never disappear
Crabs and Orchids - 1
You remember those notebooks that need to be refilled once you’ve used it up for a certain subject? Because you’re too lazy to bring a bunch of them, you just buy the one that can be clipped together. At times it becomes fed up not because of the crappy handwriting but because of your nonsense doodles that seemed like art pieces at that time. In your eyes, that is. Or you already know they’re ugly but who cares anyways. It’s not there to be judged, but to let you exclaim silently of thoughts you kept in, or just simply to kill your boredom.
Can’t remember my childhood clearly, no, I actually do, just the unwanted ones though. I remember doodling images of cartoonish crab all over my notes, but not on the books. Even dog-ears are a no-no. it’s a personal pet peeve and it makes me want to straighten the pages of those who carelessly do it. It’s ironic knowing how I can be careless too, just not in front of others. I’ve also had ideations of how it’ll all end, even made it possible to try doing some of those thoughts myself, but I just end up recovering physically. As if my own body’s making fun of my existence by making sure that I’ll always be awake every single day.
Bet you kept on scraping parts of your desk using your pen or pencil too. Or buying a bread despite having a lunch made by your family because your other friends are doing so. Why would you choose to be out of the loop? I’m used to that though. Can’t say I’m that loyal to friends as what they keep on mentioning, more like, I just don’t want to get involved so I’d rather keep my mouth shut from whatever things I’ve heard. It’s not like finding out that she’s got a crush on her deskmate, or that he’s the one who did the prank on the biology teacher are of essence for the world.
So in reality, I was always in solitude inside my head, despite being surrounded by the nosy and noisy people. Most of the time I cannot relate anyways to whatever they were talking about and I just nod my head and smile in response as if I was actually listening, which I am, just not in the same pace as how much they speak.
If that was a drama I’d probably be that emo kid at the back of the class who tend to be the outcast.
At times I can’t breathe, even now that I’m a working adult. In the minds of others who easily talks down on me or tell me what to do I might be something like a pushover, for those who see just the outcome of the works I’m probably a good worker and could achieve more. Honestly, I’d rather not see their faces anymore. Thus, the best solution is dying, isn’t it? But that’s the thing, I can’t seem to die by suicide. Maybe I should make it look like an accident, so it’ll not bother others, right?
It kind of reminds me of the days when you’re busy with work and then someone knocks in the door of your office one after another, but you can’t show the irritation because it’s still part of work, you know? And then when you work properly, they end up piling it all on you, because they think you can work on it well. Because that’s how you do things.
What am I even rambling about.
Well, where I am at the moment is a place that I didn’t ask to be in, on the trail for some mountain trekking because the head in our department thinks it’s the best activity for teambuilding. Perhaps, if we’re not all running out of breath or the weather here is actually stable, which is not possible in a rainforest.
Quite sure when this is all over they’ll think it’s been a waste of time but they’ll still laugh and eat heartily along with the chief every time he’ll open about such adventure. Butter him up for a peaceful workplace and possibilities of not getting on his bad side because that would mean making of coffee for all and bringing them to the meeting room with all the rushed copies of documents needed for the discussion on top of the fact that you’ll suddenly be the one to state your opinion on statistics that you have not even reviewed.
Even a part-timer like me got pulled into doing this, imagine the feeling of the newbies, wanting to get towards the good grace of the bosses but don’t have any idea that they exist now for mere entertainment and nothing more even if they’re talented enough to replace some of the longer full-time employees. Being on probationary sure is tough with all the requirements. Being assigned in the department means to get along well with others.
It's the same feeling as when you’re working on a rushed report and your PowerPoint presentation suddenly hanged up, your laptop lagged, and you almost threw it to the floor because you’re in a hurry, you’re hungry, and your coworkers and heads are like hyenas waiting to barge in and plop another batch of work documents on your desk.
Yes.
Life at it’s finest, isn’t it?
Fleeting
Will you watch the next sunrises and the rain at dawn
With me, with hopes of tranquility, with nothing else to yearn for
The smell of the sea that dampens our senses
And that sweet nothingness, that cold emptiness
That tears the chains inside apart, pulling us farther from our selves
And closer towards being together, of days to think of us, of ours
Bit of a thought, if ever you cannot return, or I'm not found
Keep on your sails raised and your boat afloat
Move towards the land where you'll be welcomed with warmth
And let me be cradled in the arms of the welcoming forever
You may send tears and I may bite my lips and whimper
But do know as much as I want you to remember
I wish that you won't, that we'll just be memories buried
Let it be the fluttering heartbeat of the soil where you stand
As I watch you grow older and as I fade away from your mind
May the last thing you think of is yourself that time
The fleeting moments were enough to appease my hunger
Of us, remembering ours, you and I with hands clasped together.