jeudi, mai 19, 2011

Lesson learned.

Not everything is worth fighting for. There are certain events/people in our lives that are worth letting go.

samedi, janvier 29, 2011

Need i say more?

Tonight I can write the saddest lines
by: Pablo Neruda

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

Write, for example,'The night is shattered
and the blue stars shiver in the distance.'

The night wind revolves in the sky and sings.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

Through nights like this one I held her in my arms
I kissed her again and again under the endless sky.

She loved me sometimes, and I loved her too.
How could one not have loved her great still eyes.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her.

To hear the immense night, still more immense without her.
And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture.

What does it matter that my love could not keep her.
The night is shattered and she is not with me.

This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance.
My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

My sight searches for her as though to go to her.
My heart looks for her, and she is not with me.

The same night whitening the same trees.
We, of that time, are no longer the same.

I no longer love her, that's certain, but how I loved her.
My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing.

Another's. She will be another's. Like my kisses before.
Her voice. Her bright body. Her inifinite eyes.

I no longer love her, that's certain, but maybe I love her.
Love is so short, forgetting is so long.

Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms
my sould is not satisfied that it has lost her.

Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer
and these the last verses that I write for her.

vendredi, décembre 04, 2009

a flower asked the sun, "shine for me like you always do, and everything's gonna be fine".
The sun, being a lover of the flower, obeyed. And He shined even through the night. The next day, the sun saw the flower dead. Too much killed her lover.

Too much is not enough. Maybe a little is.
Ive had enough.

lundi, novembre 09, 2009

" Hope in reality is the worst of all evils because it prolongs the torments of man."
- Friedrich Nietzsche

Pass Time.
Time passes.

Most of my thoughts
are kept in shoeboxes.
Neatly folded.

Why think thoughts that have been thought of?
The art of association is simple.
It is deciphering dissocations that's complicated.

Dont think, i think.
I saw.
And then
there it was.

jeudi, janvier 22, 2009

He was motionless
behind the windows
i hide myself,
i cover him bleakly
How can i move?
when he will no longer feel nor see.

Time is up.
Its been beyond
picking up pieces of broken glass
is easy when youve done it more than once.

Didnt you know
that your breath
is a mist in my pain?

Give it up.
Its moving.
Im moving.
Drifting away
like the leaves of a fallen day.

mardi, avril 29, 2008

Pick up the grains of sand,
that had dusted my miles of longing
Don't you want to blink?
And lose a moment's thought

The wind has kissed my hair,
a million times that you haven't,
yet all remembrance comes
from that one time you did.

My soul embraces that tiny part of me
that you thought you have,
yet it yearns for your hand
in so many ways you'll never know

How can i bloom a midsummer's love
when we are lost in our worlds?

Once, a poor number
that sparks abound my memory.
We lose time, yet only to gain
that of that once.

mercredi, janvier 30, 2008

All love stories are the same. It gives you that momentarily surprise wherein the world stops, and all the flowers seem to smell good, the wind seems to dance with your hair and the sun seems to kiss your skin. But, love ruins everything. Its that certain feeling that most people confuse themselves with.

Why do we want to fall in love again despite knowing that its all the same?

Because its in that single moment, we become human. We feel more. We stop living our lives that only happens during holidays, or on the weekends. We live more. We seem to get more out of life.

And when its over,

All love stories will be the same.