How to Own a Space

I was given a room, an old one.

It was pretty furnished - a bed, a fan, a small closet,

Oh! And a nicely-varnished bookshelf.

Then there were...

few little things the former dwellers used.

I looked around and saw the walls peeling, 

discolored from past rains coming in. 

A cracked glass window let in dusty air.

Corners were covered with nets to keep off insects.

It was now my room, such an old one.

So I grabbed a broom, a mop, a trash bag,

then prepared a rag and a basin of water.

I scrubbed the floor, surfaces, edges,

and wiped things off to my satisfaction.

I pulled in my piano and set a chair,

and pushed in my study desk.

Then I hanged my clothes in the closet,

and placed my shoes and boots on the rack.

I then brought out bottles of paint and brushes,

and dabbed colors on walls and windows.

I formed lines, vines, and roses

then plastered sheets of paintings and sketched faces.

I turned around, looking at all that I made.

I adored the change, oh I loved the remake!

The room, sure was an old one,

But it was now a different space.

This room is now my place.

Drawn to Freedom

I cup my hands over you, 

O floating light,

And keep you safe,

keep you in my heart.

I wish to have a whit, a speck,

A touch of your sliver,

Bury me in your dust 

Until I own it,

Yes, own it forever!

O freedom,

I like your pleasant face.

I envy your mirth,

How you're loafing, 

Smiling at the sun

And let your dress flutter 

When you run.

O freedom,

How you spread your arms before the sky!

You walk this earth barefooted,

And in the grass, you lie

Embracing and soaking,

Soaking in its sweet scent.

Freedom,

I like your verity,

You strip off clothes of hypocrisy.

You face the world unmasked,

Trudging hills and bushes,

Scathed by torns and branches.

You are brave, very brave.

Freedom,

In the night, your mind wanders,

Dabbing, staining papers with paint

And then threading words,

Creating worlds that don't exist

Yet live through pens and paintbrushes.

Forgotten Present

I am sorry, Present.

You're a gift I've been taking for granted.

I keep thinking about Past and Future,

When all I ever have for sure...is you.

So at this moment, allow me to remember

Who you are.

You are sacred

For you are the space in time where God and I meet,

Where God's words are spoken the loudest,

Where His presence is the warmest,

And where God is just being Himself.

You are the reality

For you're the world where there is real breeze,

Real heat and real coldness,

Real sunrise and real sunset,

Real skin and real breath.

You are beautiful.

You are the detail I always miss,

The splendor of heaven 

Revealed in tiny things.

You are both God and man's triumph.

You are mine.

Past has already died.

Future has never been born.

But you, Present,

You live.

Uncertainty

I am in a journey I didn't wish to start,

and I can see not where I am heading.

My map seems to point to Paradise though,

for the road lies in the Calvary

of bombarding uncertainty

and answered prayers,

but it's the same Calvary of dark abyss

where things are beyond my control,

where there's God's ringing silence,

and where I can only trust His heart.

I am in a journey I didn't wish to start,

and I can see not where I am heading,

so I just keep my eyes looking heavenward,

and my arms outstretched in worship.

I hold only to my faith, to the signs,

to my pain, and to my dreams.

I hold only to God's promises,

to that future, hope and prosperity.

I am in a journey I didn't wish to start.

I can see not where I am heading, but it's fine
for everyday I pray to God for surprises
and keeping things hidden and secret in the meantime
would make the unraveling a lot worthwhile.
Perhaps, God wants me to see
not the end of this journey, for all its worth,

so I could focus not on the end rewards

but on the beauty of the pilgrimage.

In God's Perfect Time

Should I wait for green leaves to dry,

or for many storms to stop pelting down?

Then I will.

Should I wait for the orange-drenched sky,

or for a gold to lose its luster?

Then I will.

Should I wait for my bones to go a bit brittle,

or for my falling hair to grow thick as a roll of yarn?

Then I will.

Should I wait until the soles of my shoes go thin,

or 'til my nails grow long and be cut for the nth time?

Then I will.

If this is what it takes for God to align the stars

and get me a ride on the moon prepared,

then I will wait.

I will, as long as I behold that sunshine in my mind,

that morning when I would finally wake up

and breathe in the air I am waiting for.

I will, as long as I hold dear the fact

 that after a seemingly endless wait,

in God's perfect time,

what'll be in my arms 

will be perpetually worthwhile.

Strength of the Blemished

I come before You, Lord,

I, who is a selfish creature.

I own thoughts of greed by nature

and desires that solely benefit myself.

I aim for approval as much as

I grip the concept of self-worth.

I am weak, Lord, as much as this 

vale of soul-making needs me to be.

But I am glad to behold

such imperfections in the mirror,

for I won't touch what I don't know exists,

and thus change what I don't acknowledge.

Oh, I am weak yet I rejoice!

Because as long as I hold this fact,

You, O Lord, provides for me,

and my strength will be unceasing.

Defeating the Writer's Block

Break the silence and crack some words.

Go, put bits of your soul into these pages.

Allow that writer in you squeeze herself out

of your warring heart and mind.

Let her decide what is worth a piece,

for she can say what color comes out

from amalgamated black and white.

No need to take sides 

'cause she can see through gray and define it.

Tell its name and you defeat the writer's block.

Confusion.

Let me start at that.

Why we can't see through His eyes

I wish I could see through Your eyes, Lord,

especially now that things are unfathomable,

and my suffering feels interminable.

What will tomorrow bring?

Is it something better, wonderful, beautiful?

What is ahead of me that I cannot see?

I wish I could see through Your eyes, Lord

because all I could see now is a huge boulder.

Should I cross over? It could be too steep.

Should I crush it? It could take me years.

Should I change my path? I could be wrong.

Would whatever lies behind be worth it?

I wish I could see through Your eyes, Lord,

for I see nothing now but thick fog and black smoke.

Everything seems like a chaotic blur.

Truly, whatever's painful to behold, the eyes distort.

How vivid things are for You, Lord?

What is it that I fail to see?

I wish I could see through Your eyes, Lord.

Bring me hope. Give me light!

Tell me what's on the other side.

Tell me how the story ends.

And then what? Would I be happier?

No, the question is, would it make me wiser?

I wish I could see through Your eyes, Lord,

but if I could, what would be there to believe in?

If I could, would I be stronger?

If I could, would I still strive to become better?

If I could, would my love for You get deeper?
If I could, would I realize what matters most?

When it is still the right word

It was just too great, I was at a loss for words.

I found out, only my tears could carry its substance,

and I could only be appeased through silent prayers.

Pain is not the right word but something more than that.

It was deep, dull and numbing.

Sometimes, it could be very sharp

that I didn't even notice I was broken into pieces.

No, pain isn't the right word.

All I knew was it was too great, I looked okay.

It started the morning after that one fine day,

when I knew I had to start facing atypical days

'cause you're no longer in it.

Every dream I had wafted away, deferred.

It crushed me or something more than that.

It was too unbearable that it kindled a fire of hope in me.

I suddenly felt that God's eyes were on me, on us,

and He knew my heart, your heart.

Then it dawned on me what word I was looking for.

I guess, I just had it in another form, but still...

love is the right word.

Coldness

I'm embracing this coldness,

such that was brought by the wind

and flowing water.

I want to feel it, keep it,

breathe it in deep in my lungs,

then see it take form out of my breath.

This coldness, that came after 

those painfully hot days

makes me glorious.

Aye, as long as I'm cold, I have glory!

Yet I know that when the time comes

that the chill stays long enough

in my bones, muscles and organs,

the glaring sun would rise

and meet me again,

and bring me new glory.

One Rainy Night

Cry with me, O moon

amid this drear starless night.

Breathe it out like the furious wind,

shout as loud as the roaring thunder,

flood this earth with tears.

The nature would understand us.

This world is diseased beyond all healing.

It isn't as peaceful as we are in reverie.

We will always be bombed with insults,

burnt alive with hate,

and destroyed by pain.

It will always try to mar our beauty.

So let's grieve tonight for all that we've lost.

And when our eyes bring tears no more,

our mouths already parched,

and our hearts weary,

we will lay down to rest.

We will lay down to rest.

Your Haven

I want to be your haven,

here, in my arms,

in the warmth of my embrace,

where you can rest,

where you can be sure of your safety.

I want to be your haven,

where you can breathe out all your pain,

frustrations and disappointments;

where you gather strength and courage.

I want to be your haven,

where you'll be nourished;

where you'll feel your worth,

see your beauty and goodness

and get to believe in yourself.

I want to be your haven,

even just your haven.

And so everytime you have to leave,

 I will just watch you go,

with a trusting heart,

with complete surrender.

But if ever you find another haven,

yet in the end, still find your way to me,

I promise you

that my doors will be widely open,

and still be your haven.

He, who truly loves

Oh, how I wish I could caress Your cheeks,

and look lovingly on You,

- straight in Your eyes!

I want You to feel how much I love You

and how I love loving You.

You are utterly beautiful, Lord.

Your presence feels warm in my soul.

Because of You, I feel like

I have too much love to give

that sometimes,

my heart's like bursting!

But give me strength, Lord.

A whole lot of it!

For I know that this brings pain

just as much.

Fill me with wisdom,

calm my spirit,

appease my soul!

Prepare me, my Lord,

for a long purpose-driven journey

for now, I can see myself

treading this world

with a loving heart,
but with You, Lord.
Yes, with you!
You, who truly loves.

Warmth

I'm lifting up my sincerest thanks to You, Lord!

Today, I hope that as I look up the sky,

my smile would beam the heavens.

I woke with Your embrace in the cold morning,

the first warmth I felt before sunrise.

The moment my mother saw me open my eyes, 

she sang me a Happy Birthday.

I thought it may almost be akin to the first time

she saw me open my little eyes to the world.

My sister whom I slept beside with

gently touched my head as a greeting.

My eldest sister gave me a crazy song and dance number.

My father greeted me and rejoiced with me

as I faced a day of birthday leave.

When I picked up my phone and unlocked it,

more greetings, I love you's, 

and heartfelt messages welcomed me. 

Unworthy I was, for I never thought I am that loved. 

I know it was a teaching on gratitude,  Lord. 

Oh, my mornings never felt that warm!

Lord, You've walked with me through these years,

rocky, steep or narrow the paths had been.

You have never left me,

nor lifted Your gaze upon me.

Certainly, even by the time my memory fails me, 

I won't forget the warmth of Your hands. 

Your hands that molded me, 

the first that touched my cheek when I was born. 

Your hands that held me and helped me to my feet 

when I was learning to walk.

Your hands that comforted me when I was in pain.

Your hands that tapped my back when I was feeling down. 

Your hands that're holding mine now

as I continue to tread the earth.

Lord, if there's one thing I must celebrate on my birthday,

it's the fact that You chose me,

me against the infinite possibility!

This feeble sinful me,

who You knew would hurt you,

but still chose to share Your warmth with.

One day, I dreamed to be truly loved by a man.

One day, I dreamed to be truly loved by a man.

A man who may be way different from me,

but understands me.

He, who takes pleasure in our differences,

and is willing to make compromises.

A man who may be different from me

in many or some aspects, but shares my faith.

He, who is a lover of God.

A man who brings me closer to God.

He, who reminds me of how loving God is

just by making me feel loved himself.

A man who thinks I am lovable,

beautiful despite all imperfections.

But of course, he, who makes me feel that I truly am.

A man whom I can come to when I'm lonely,

or disappointed, or angry, or frustrated,

and won't judge me for how I feel.

He, who would try to appease me

because he cares.

A man who does not hide the truth.

He, who is secured with the truth,

and prepared to face the truth.

A man who makes time for me,

who proves that he wants to be with me.

He, who makes way for us

without excuses, only pure desire.

A man who takes pride on my achievements

or little successes.

He, who supports my dreams,

and motivates me towards them.

A man who may lose his temper,

but does his best to keep his cool.

He, who, at the end of it all, prioritizes

to not hurt me in any way.

Most of all, a man who is decided to love me.

He, who stands by that decision

and would be happy to stay with me

come hell or high water.

Your mere abstraction

I don't know where you are now,

but I have my memories of you.

Anytime, I can close my eyes 

and in your mere abstraction,

I can draw the shape of your face,

your hair, your brows,

your eyes, your nose,

and your lips.

I can deeply breathe

and smell the scent of your skin

and your clothes.

I can lace the fingers of my hands together,

and feel the texture of your palm.

In my mind, I can ask you,

"How's your day?"

and hear your voice,

answering me back.

I can tell you my silly jokes,

and hear your crazy laughter.

Anytime, I can be 

with your mere abstraction,

for as long as I want to, and

just as long as I close my eyes.

In my mind, I can love you

as much as I want to,

and imagine you

loving me back.

You are free

You are free.

I'm untying the strings,

and releasing the chains.

I'm spreading my palms,

and loosening my grip.

Step out and see the world!

I'm unlocking the door for you.

It's about time that you get a hold

of that sort of freedom

which you lost and yearned

for a very long time.

The freedom to fly

and look at the world from above

after being caged for eight years.

The freedom to finally swim

the depths of the ocean

after a long period of containment.

The freedom to jump as high as you can!

And jump with others like you

on the endless width of lilies and water.

Ultimately, the freedom to just be 

whoever you want to be.

You are free!

Make good use of it.

Enjoy it. Don't worry!

As I, too, am free.

Walking on Thin Ice

You once told me you're walking on thin ice,

but actually we both are.

Not on the same thin ice, though.

Yours, you know, I can do nothing about.

Helpless you are, but mine is you.

You are my thin ice.

Each day, I must be careful not to make a crack.

As much as possible, I should put so light a weight

that must, sometimes, be even lighter than my body weight.

It's exhausting to fight with gravity,

and even more, to walk on your thin ice

when I can actually see the nearby solid ground.

So for several times, I've stumbled.

I've faltered.

I have not just made cracks;

I've made huge holes.

For many times, I've fallen,
submerged in your ice cold river.

I almost died,

caught by your coldness that chilled not just my skin

but everything that's deep beneath it.

It froze my whole being, nearly to death.

Yet for the umpteenth time, I've fought it all

and have swam back to that light.

That light which never failed to assure me

that someday I will again feel

the warmth I've been longing for.

Must I regret

I am asking you,

must I regret?

Must I regret that I thought of you more than you thought of me,

or that I wanted to be with you more than you wanted to be with me?

Must I regret that I told you how much I cared,

or that I wanted you to at least care too?

Must I regret that I waited for you,

or that I assumed that you'd be happy to know I was waiting?

Must I regret that I let myself be deeply hurt by you?

or that I gave you chance for an nth time?

Must I regret that I loved you this much,

or that I let you know it?

Please tell me,

must I regret?

But should I regret now though I know

that just regretting is the worst I can do?

How Does the Place in Your Mind Look Like?

I imagine my mind as an old temple,

with a tall gate left ajar.

It was so 'cause it wants to preserve 

the stillness of the place, 

and to welcome visitors at the same time.

If you would pass through that gate,

you would discover that the temple

got no ceiling at all.

There are tall, cold,

and smooth stone pillars though,

which seem to be supporting something above,

but you would not bother to look up

to see what they are.

Looking at your feet,

you would notice rough cemented ground,

which ran vastly along the whole temple.

It wants soles, but not their smell.

It keeps them safe, but leaves them callused.

You wouldn't dare to look at your sides,

'cause you would know there are walls,

but won't actually see them.

Just the vague shadows from your periphery 

would suffice.

Beyond this, there is nothing more,

yet you wouldn't be led to think

that the temple is empty,

There is an air of fullness in it.

There is an air of desire for growth,

purity and beauty,

yet already blemished.

The farther you walk,

the deeper the air gets.

It could be stifling and suffocating,

and you might leave, running out the gate.

But if you'd sit in a while,

breathe a little and endure it,

it is likely that you would lock yourself in.