Time

Different circuits, different switches.

Some are triggered with a stranger's smile. Others require the cry of a dying person. While some, are sparked when they find patience to feel again.

And when the meter starts running, we realize how jumbled our wires truly are. It's this innate search for answers that leads us to wander. A vulnerable journey exposed to internal arrogance, denial, disgust, obscurity and postulation. It's puzzling most of the time. Well, the pursuit for clarity, ironically, is simply a hunt for ambiguity.

The archetypal 'X' on our treasure map is the point where we stop questioning everyone and everything else. It lies within. Things get progressively unclear when we have layered decorations for what we want to feel, achieve and receive. It creates a gap between one's real and declared aims, turning it into a breeding ground for shrouded insincerity. And when visitors come knocking on our sanctuary, it's all swept under the rug.

At times, reasons which seem justifiable with a fingersnap cause us to cringe when we recall about it. But slowly, we naturally grow to be better at things. Call it maturity. Yes. But essentially, isn't it the achievement of lucidity? It gets clearer when our lenses are clean. It doesn't make sense to walk away from our inner selves or distract our eyes with what we fabricate to see. Observe the veiled battle between the conscious and the subconscious, and pick both sides.

Grab hold of our true intentions and be brave to check ourselves with difficult questions. What's our purpose of friendships - mutual support, comfort of achievement, permanent interest, or a trophy? Why are we correcting a flaw - to display our personal righteousness, to paint an impression, or do we have a greater reason? The tone of our actions speaks volumes about our intentions, so take a step back to listen. And these are just dealings of worldly affairs.

Our heart is filled with beautiful abstractness that we should learn to understand its rightful design before anything else. It isn't our duty to question other people's sincerity. And if it's ours that is doubted, take it as internal guidance. Nobody's perfect - A beautiful phrase of tremendous honesty, yet we can't accept it when others present it to us. Rather than questioning their rights, give honest thanks to them. They don't control what we lose, neither do we control what they lose. Keep a polite distance if you wish and let the light of your heart shine truth in what they're permitted to see.

That's all it is to it.

If we truly understood, then why are we ashamed of fixed impressions, and carry the burden of acting differently to different people? Is it because we are also jumping the gun on them? People can change in the blink of an eye. Shame is reserved for feeding dark intentions to fool our own. To hold a negative impression of anyone from the past isn't right. It's a good advice for the people around me, but a greater one for myself.

Know our bearings when we stand, as courage comes to those standing for truth in the right direction. And if you are to see your feet in the clear waters, have patience. The sand takes time to settle.

To each his own

Y'know what.

Behold the belittled lily, purple heather and burgundy rose.

For they give us hope to find contentment in our own novelty.

Little Wing

Fly, little wing

Into the swirling gust of hope

High above the pouring sky

Far beyond the rainbow's end

Where souls hear the faintest cry

Fly, little wing

With the pride of a wallflower

Blooming amongst the busy street

Unafraid of the cold oblivion

For their lives chant a toneless beat

Fly, little wing

Ride the waves of abiding faith

Across the old slumbering shore

With voiceless emotions of the setting sun

Till the heart finds a familiar cure

Fly, little wing

Share the calm spell of your mystery

And sweet dews of the early night

Ushering shadows of gentle moonbeams

And astral dreams towards the starry light.

Fly, little wing
The unhurried mind in aphotic plains
The sole guardian of solitude's heat
The old embracer of the icy gale
The lost wanderer whom I would greet

Fly, little wing
Catch the glimpse of the morning star
Shining down on your glistening road
To a place of uncharted trails
Where stories turn into an arcane code

Fly, little wing
O' dull feathers of the azure sky
And fellow miner for the heart of gold
Hum softly of your mortal price
For what's buried will be timely told

Fly, little wing
Breathe the cool air of credence
And sing your own saccharine song
For who are they, to rightfully say
What is different, and what is wrong?

Fly, little wing
Stand proud by the fallen twigs
And see the past through autumn's hues
The silent splendour of waning years
Amid the essence of vermilion views

Fly, little wing
Into the endless horizon

Painting portraits, of your final crime
Gliding past, collapsing stars
Ever dodging the hands of time

Fly on, little wing.

Allure us with your distant smile.

A beautiful chapter

At the end of the day, it's simply being who I am at the moment. My status, recognitions and materialistic rewards didn't mean a thing, for I'm contented waking up every morning understanding the true meaning of gratitude.

I'm still ordinary.

Oh simple things

Try embarking into the depths of the sea. There'll be no natural shimmers or glitters, but with the sight of an oyster bed, it summons what humans instinctively crave for - hope and wonder. At certain moments, optimism turns into felicity as a pearl gets uncovered from the dull shells - a physical trophy. The real beauty lies in the remoteness of the diver's admiration, gratefulness, and quiet expression which may involve a simple nod to acknowledge his discovery. Perhaps the soundproof and darkened water has moulded him to understand what others don't.

I'm always allured to this essence of mystery. A mixture of knowledge, self-awareness and a beautiful form of introversion. Unspoken words will be heard and hidden actions will be seen, innocently making everything real and grounded.

Some argue that our true colours shine during crucial times or when we're at our limits. The opportunity to think in a stable state is decreased, opening a window for us to revert back to our instincts. It is natural to grasp the fundamental elements, hidden deep in our core in times of need. The substance composing this core is unclear to me, but I know that its purity can be unknowingly tainted. "Just be yourself" - a textbook solution prone to misconception, and an advice best heeded only when we're prepared for it.

I do believe this form of purity exists, even today. It is the nature of man to appreciate this beauty of inner perfection. He'll dedicate a personal trust in his judgement on what he sees, but what if he discovers a flaw in it? The way he responds, tilts on the equilibrium of his emotions. If he feels that his trust was betrayed, he'll question his judgement and becomes blind to everything else. While if he chooses to only be disappointed on the illusory perfection, he'll see the major goodness which still remains. If permitted to, I'll choose the latter.

Ah, yes a new calendar. I've not been a fan of a motivational start, thus I'll pay a visit down memory lane. Remember your kindergarten art assignments? I recall submitting repeated drawings of the same old thing.  A house, with two curtained windows, perched on a hill, in the hour of a sunset. Most time will be spent doing the foreground, which is a set of textured wooden fence accompanied by the slight overgrowth of flora. It seems to have a story of its own. One day, I wish to framelessly pin it on the side of a secret pine trail, while placing hope in discovering a similar painting in an untouched meadow.

I've flipped my canvas into an empty page. Last year, I learnt that perfection can never be shown, only discovered. And only discovery itself, defines perfection in this world.