A Blank Page To Lie | Poetry

The blank page is the enemy.
The blankness is to defeat.

But what would you do
if you couldn’t escape even
your own piece of paper?

If you couldn’t even be
true to words,
when they begin to tell lies.

What would you do then?
When your world
begins to tell lies.

When you can’t tell
your own head
what you want in your imagination?

Lie to me, you’d say.
Lie to me, over and over again.
But do not write
the truth.

Run as fast as you can,
from your own imagination.
Because it might come true,
in a horror setting.

Lie to me, over and over again.
But do not write the truth.

For a blank page to lie,
how horrible it would be.
A blank page to lie,
would kill you,
over and over again.

For a blank page to lie,
maybe it’s truly real,
this time.

Real things do break,
you know.

On Happy Endings

Oh I love happy endings. Who doesn’t? They are nice and sweet, leave you with the fuzzy warm feeling inside. They make you oh-so-hopeful. There’s nothing inherently wrong with it. But its representation as the final and fatal is likely to be less than sweet at times.

The one thing straight forwardly wrong with the happy ending representation is how it overshadows the entire process, the journey. In an on going universe nothing truly is final. It’s a journey.

Happy ending is an outcome, of actions we take. But how often do actions know where they are headed to?

This representation of happy endings as the all-end-goals have us seeking for resolutions in the most desperate of situation, and we’d get sad when the ending isn’t pretty neat before the credits roll. Of course we’d be sad, we have projected a piece of ourselves into the character on screen, or on the page. Loose ends pinch us, because we have a lot of loose ends all over ourselves.

Over focused happy endings take the charm away from the entire process, tying our actions to an ultimate outcome which is supposed to be ‘happy’ and an ‘end’. But think of a time when you couldn’t take the next step itself. How would you imagine the end, no matter how happy? You’re in between moments, soaking in time. Maybe there’s no need to tie the ends sometimes, maybe they cannot be tied at times.

We’re here in between, in the middle of a nasty process of trying, failing, learning, leaving, moving, grieving, overcoming; in between transitions waiting to take the next step. Maybe we already have, maybe we haven’t. It isn’t in the end.

Begin Again

A beautiful day
is ending,
let the night rise.
Look at the moon
and the starlight.
How would you know
its beauty
if you didn’t let go
of the day.

A beautiful day
is ending,
for another shall begin.
Maybe we shall
see all of the lights
again, far away
from here.

When you see them,
your eyes will burn bright.
And I hope you will
think of me, again,
even if
for a fraction of time.
I shall for sure,
because you’ve
always been here,
in my sweet memory.

I will think of you
as a star in my sky,
and as we move
in directions
that are different,
I will pray for the best.

If stars stayed together,
we wouldn’t have
constellations
to look up to.
We shall make a good one.

We are all star dust,
after all.

It will begin again.


Some things can’t be said, I’ve realized. My throat runs dry, I forget. But they can be written. They can always be written. I will try to write them.