Beneath My Skin

The boxes on the calendar grid
Twelve months and seven days a week
The columns and rows neatly spread
For everything to be kept in check.

A clean slate- blank, empty and bare
marks the new life of each square.
How each box so long to stay
that same way each and everyday.

If only they could stay that way
like they were many yesterdays.
Alas, it is not to be
for them to remain carefree.

Ink marks soon found their way
more so with each passing day
to the boxes that once were bare
and scarred them beyond repair.

O how heavy the burden to bear
for the load to be stuffed in each square,
to snuff out every empty space
and wipe off every smiling face

where no air is left for breathers
cos' of all the ink that clattered
as fatigue plagues all sensations
at the brink of suffocation.

How I long for yesterday
before the ink marks found their way.
Yet, I know yesterday can't stay
If it could, it won't be yesterday.

There remains One who stay the same
be it yesterday or today.
Wait on that One to renew strength
to climb up again from the depths.

The heft of the filled packed squares
will not be heavy to bear,
for the load's not meant to be
weight for mere humanity.

How I eagerly long to share
the strain of all the filled packed squares
with the One who stays the same
be it yesterday or today.

When I was a young infant,
someone gave me this word,
'He is always enough for you,'
and I believed it to be true.

When I was a young toddler
facing several little stumpers,
that word I often recall-
apart from Him I need nothing more.

As I grew and matured,
unknowingly I took for granted
what that word truly means
is more than what it merely seems.

I stumbled but I did not fall
thanks to Him I stand tall
And deep down inside I ponder
how could He remain yonder?

He is always enough for me.
That i had always known to be.
Yet I lean not on Him
when I was caught in the whirlwind.

O how foolish it is indeed
to take to the winding streets
when the highway and straight paths
were always there for me to pass.

The relief dawns upon me
when my eyes opened to see
my ashes traded in for His beauty
basked in His glory and majesty.

I lift my hands in surrender
to Him I will gladly offer
my heart, soul and whole being
for He is always enough for me.

For years the trodden path,
so familiar and at times tough,
had been a comfort zone
for the traveller now outgrown.

The beaten track now behind him
tells his story within,
well-littered by the fallen leaves
to which his soul was fondly cleaved.

The cobbled street ahead
gazed at him cold, with nothing said.
He knows not what awaits
beyond the steps he used to take.

Count it all Joy
when things don't go our way
For I thank Him
that you are here with me

Count it all Joy
when things do go our way
And I thank Him
that we can share the Joy

Indeed it is all Joy
whether tears or laughter
For He has let it be
that we may so enjoy

Blessed be His Name
through it all
be it given or taken away
For the Joy that's in my life

Months, since the pen was lifted
The first few strokes, dry and inkless
A slight indent on the page
etched by the rusty fountain edge.

The mind behind the strokes of pen,
had all come to a parched end.
Words that flow to the ink
suddenly seem out of sync.

A cry made in desperation
amidst struggles for inspiration.
The strokes that once were familiar
no longer appear as clear.

Scratched the pen hard against the pad
Forced the remnants of ink that's left,
to ooze out in sloth and laziness,
in hope of a slumber awakened.

Awkward silence abounds,
with eyes gazed on the ground.
Moments of uneasiness unfolds
as their hearts grew cold.
When words become a hassle

The turn-takings for a resolution
doesn't seem to be a solution.
As emotions creep in,
as the pain seeps in.
When words become a hassle

Perhaps some period of solitude
would do good to their attitudes,
to calm the storm
and ease the tide back to norm.
When words become a hassle

Would things be the same
after they become sane;
and would there come a time
where they'll be fine
When words no longer become a hassle

It had been a long time. He could not remember when was the last time he felt like this anymore. It seemed eons ago. The days of living in daily resentment, pent up anger, unappreciated love and angsty disgust. Those dark days. They were somewhat a closed chapter in the book that he thought he would never see again. There were times he looked back. Comparing what was and what is now, all he had before was merely ashes and dust. The treasure and gold he lived in now were by far the greater pleasure he would choose to delight in.

He was enjoying the pleasures of his new found direction, marvelling at the transformations that took place in his life. The past was just a ghost that he scorned and loathed. At the same time, he also had some fear. Not an overwhelming amount, but a small dose of it. Fear of the ghost of the past revisting him. He knew that it was a pretty irrational fear, that's why it remained just a small tinge of fear. In any case, if the phantoms appeared again, he would just slay it with a cross and holy water, just like how Van Helsing did it with Dracula. A pretty amusing thought, he thought. Thoughts of being overrun by the phantoms never occurred to him. Such would be irrational and he had no room to entertain such ridicule. Neither did thoughts of facing the ghosts again ever came to him. Perhaps such was pride, or possibly ignorance, but likely to be foolishness. He certainly wasn't prepared to face them again.

Moments ago he was caught unprepared and was given a low blow. For a split second he thought he had been transported back in time. He could also mentally visualise his emotions being thrown into a turmoil, degenerating to the miserable set of feelings he had been so used to wearing in th past. Fortunately, he did not sink in and lose himself. Just as the garments of desolateness were put on, he desperately tore them away. As he tore them away, he gained an adrenalin rush and he frantically ripped them all away.

For those who had tasted Ben & Jerry's, Wall's ice cream is just shit. Marigold too. For those who tasted nice steamy hot pasta, instant noodles is trash. There is no reason to substitute the greater delight for a lesser one. He was lost for a moment, but only for a moment. He won't give up a banquet for a Ramly burger.

Taste, and see that it is good.

Sheer strength and power
Brawn, sinews and vigour
Hercules - a hero indeed, a hero indeed

Firm and impregnable
Unyielding and indestructible
Archilles - a hero indeed, a hero indeed

Of varying lengths.
shadows on the sundial shifts.
Seeping slowly,
sand trickled down the hourglass.
Tick tock, tick tock,
the hand on the grandfather clock moves.

Neither a bird nor a plane
He is swift with his red cape
Superman - a hero indeed, a hero indeed

Matchless wits to match his fancy gadgets,
He made Gotham a fortress
Batman - a hero indeed, a hero indeed

He faced the roaring lion and did not flee
He thought he too was a hero indeed.
How foolish of him that to think
He got crushed before he could blink

Heroes indeed, heroes indeed
A figment of creative imagination more like it.