Sunday, October 10, 2010

The blinding shadow

Marion was a little child who live down the road. One day Marion went to pick the cherries in the bushes, where the blueberries scattered among the leaves like freckles on a lovely smiling face. As the basket was getting full and the picking began to tire her, Marion sat beside the little spring nearby. A rabbit passed by, looked with its dolly eyes, and went away. A refreshing breeze blew but with it the clouds were dragged along, exposing the ground to the open sky. Marion edged herself to a nearby tree, when she noticed a man standing close by. He was sweating under the direct sun, that Marion asked him whether he would like to come under the shade.

The man declined. "Oh how I wish I have a shadow, so I can sit with you in the shade," he lamented.
"What happened to it," Marion asked. The man sat cross-legged and began to unfold his story.

"It began a long time ago, when I was only a boy, slightly older than you. I was like any other boy of that age. Our life consisted of playing in the day, sleeping in the night, and eating in the lapse of time in between. My life was simple and if anyone asked me then and there, what would I want to be when I grow up, I would straightly answer a policeman. The uniform held its magic to me like any boy and to add to that, we always played hide-and-seek, pretending one was a policeman catching robbers. And on one of this games when I was the one who had to seek the others that my world changed. In the excitement of the moment, I had already caught two of the robbers and I saw another one running into the crowd at the market. I took a route between the stalls and jumped onto my friend, rolling ourselves on the ground. I stood up laughing when my voice suddenly stopped as I noticed the person lying on the ground was not my friend. What's more it was not alive. Only a black shape lying on the ground."

"My body began to shake with fear and I began to run away. I heard a voice cried, shouting after me. I looked back and I saw an angry man with a very large nose and eyes burning furiously, cursing at me. He chased after me but I was faster. I was losing him and was just about to cross the bridge when something tugged me sharply. I looked back and saw the man holding a crumpled black cloth in his hand. My body felt cold at a sudden, knees trembling that I had to grab the bridge to prevent myself from falling. The man pulled the cloth sharply which caused my body to jerk backwards. Only then I realized the man was holding my shadow by its neck and pulling me to him bit by bit. "Come to me, boy!" the man's voice echoed hoarsely. He continued pulling the shadow, tugging hardly. I clawed hardly at the ground, frantically pulling myself away.

""Come to me booooyyy!" he shouted again. His eyes was blazing and foams are coming out of his nose and mouth, dripping all over his beard. I do not know what would happen if I didn't run, but I ran. I stood and with all my might I took a step over the bridge. And another. And another. Suddenly the force pulling me back snapped, sending me stumbling over the bridge. I didn't look back as I heard the man shouted and for that few days I walked without stopping. That was 14 years ago but I still remember it clearly like it was yesterday." There was a short silence as he finished his story.

"You don't have a shadow now, do you?" Marion asked.
"Yes, I lost my shadow to that man. I wish I have it back. Now I can't stand under the shade, fearing my shadow cannot find me when it escapes, or worse, if a wild shadow comes to me."
"That is so sad," Marion said, "can't anyone help you find it back?"
"Well yes. You can help me, if you want."
"Really?!" Marion dusted herself and stood up.

"Yes. It is quite simple. I just need you to stand over there. There. There, not under the shade. Come away from the shade. A bit further so your shadow will appear. Right there, brilliant! Now, walk to me. Come to me now, closer. Closer. Come to me now, girl...

Saturday, September 25, 2010

thy or thee -Part 1

Apathy empathy sympathy,
I can't ever discern one from the other.
All I know is what they've told me
They said I have neither of the three
I'm inhuman, heartless
A human without sympathy.

.. .

Thursday, May 13, 2010

"If you had not...."

There was once a time, when Humpty Dumpty was running around. Faster and faster he went with his laughter filling the air. He was very happy running around.

Humpty however forgot that when one ran too fast, he was bound to fall. Thus Humpty fell and hurt himself. There was a small crack on him which ran just above his chest. Fortunately Potsy Potter came along and had with her a patch of bandage, which she applied while saying how clumsy Humpty was. “I’ve told you before not to run around,” she said.

After that they went to the park, for Miss Potter had some errands to do. Along the way they spotted a dandelion, alone by itself as the others were already blown away by the North Wind.

“How lovely that dandelion is. It is dancing happily, that one can hardly stop oneself from swinging along to its rhythm. How I would be so glad to plant one,” said Miss Potter.

Therefore Humpty went to pick the dandelion when suddenly a gush of wind blew it away.

“Run for it Mr Dumpty, run!” Humpty ran but he was too slow. The dandelion was already far away, a tiny speck. “If only I had not fallen and cracked myself,” said Dumpty as he pointed to his chest, “I am sure I would have caught it.”

“If you had not run stupidly around, then you would not have fallen in the first place,” said Miss Potter as she stomped off angrily. Suddenly Humpty saw another dandelion and quickly pointed to Miss Potter. She however coldly replied, “I dislike dandelion. There are always so flimsy and waving around, one can only wonder when they are going to be blown and fly away.” So they continued walking for a while in silent.

The road came to a bridge and below this bridge flow a pristine stream. As they crossed over, Miss Potter looked down into the river and saw a water-lily, with its blossoming flower in pink. “How lovely that flower is with its petals poised at the verge of blossom. Its colour reflected on the river, like the cheek on a young girl. I would so very happy to have one.”

Upon hearing those words Humpty eagerly reached towards the flower. He kneeled on the bridge and stretched his hands but it was a grasp to short when suddenly the root of the water-lily snapped. The flower and its pad were taken away by the flow, followed by Humpty’s disappointed eyes. “If only I had not fallen and cracked myself,” he said, “I could have lie on the bridge and reached for the flower.”
“If you had not run around, you would not have fallen,” Miss Potter said, as she walked away with Humpty following sadly behind.

Shortly afterward they finally arrived at the park. Around the park ran a wall and on that wall grew vines and vines intertwined. Miss Potter eyes’ happen to rest on a morning glory which was full-bloom on the wall. “It is almost afternoon yet the flower is still in bloom. It is said that a morning glory plucked full bloom at noon, will bring such good fortune,” she said. Thus Humpty quickly climbed the wall towards the flower, plucked the flower and showed to her. Suddenly the crack on his chest began to widen and Humpty lost his grip and fell. He broke to a thousand pieces and even all the bandages in the world couldn’t put him together again.

Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall,
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.
All the king's horses and all the king's men
Couldn't put Humpty together again.

Poor Humpty. If only he had not ran around. It doesn't matter what you do afterward Humpty, it's the fact that you ran in the first place.


Thursday, April 22, 2010

It all began with a tick

  It all began with a sound, a soft tick that came somewhere near him. He was looking around when her wife asked her what it was.  “Do you hear any sound, a tick like a clock, or maybe a bomb?” he asked. Her wife said no and living in a time when terrorism was not yet a word, she dismissed the question without a second thought. However the ticking did not stop, so he decided to go and see the doctor.

    “Your ears are fine and there are no injuries whatsoever,” the doctor said as he stowed away his tools, “and you are quite young to be experiencing any hearing loss. There is probably nothing wrong so I suggest you get some rest and a good sleep tonight and soon you will no longer hear the sounds again.” The doctor sent him off with a cheerful smile on his face, bidding him to come back if anything happens. He went home and followed the doctor’s advice with a bit of doubt, doubting whether the ticking would go away. The doctor’s words happened to be true; the ticking was no more by the next day. It was instead replaced by voices.

    At first these voices were like mumbling and no coherent thoughts could be heard from them, but after a few days they began to take shape. It was as if the speakers were talking in a ballroom and only now that they noticed a newcomer and began to address him. However the voices were in some foreign language, some were guttural while others hissed and not to mention the few that shouts unexpectedly in random intervals. The man was able to identify only a few languages from the lots of speeches and surprisingly the number began to dwindle as if the speakers were fed up speaking to the man, who didn’t understand a word they say, minus the few. This few consisted of two men’s voice, one with a sonorous voice, the other was slow and becalming, and another voice was a woman’s, laced with a French accent. The woman’s voice however disappeared as soon as he told his wife about them. “Maybe they are people in your head?” her wife replied.

    It was not a comforting thought, having peoples in your head, so the man soon began to feel agitated and restless. He began to pace to and fro in his study room, when one of the voice spoke. It was the one with the becalming voice. The voice asked him to sit down and began to talk, though the second voice quickly began to facilitate the dialogue more often. Soon enough only the second voice could be heard, though the man knew the one who initiated it was still there. The man knew but he did not actually see them. He was once asked how he could manage to talk to people without seeing them, he answered, “It is like hearing voices from a friend of yours who is sitting on an armchair near you, while you are writing a letter to your aunt. It is not exactly difficult, since a letter to an aunt contains much the same every time but you need to look at it anyway in order to write it.” It was understandable then that soon enough, there was a whole lot of papers documenting his dialogues as he had taken to writing while they took place and as he quickly ran of aunts to write to, he began to write the conversations on paper.

    The story of how it came to published was never certain but it was said through various mistakes- the wife taking the wrong letters and posting it, the aunt leaving it on the wrong place, the maid mistaking it to be posted again- that the letter arrived to the editors of a newspaper company who decided to published it, which received great interest from the public. They demanded more.

   The writer was seek out and upon discovery of his abundance of notes, they were all pressed for the public to read. The man soon became a household name and the name Sir Richard Bradsworth was stamped in history as a famous writer, with his Tales of Lost Voices. Although  no one ever knew if the Sir Bradsworth actually sent the letters themselves to the editor or not, but when asked about how he came to write it in the first place, he always started by saying, “It all began with a sound, a soft tick.”

Clearly style of writing influenced by Susanna Clarke in her book Jonathan Strange&Mr Norrell.
Thanks for reading.

Monday, April 12, 2010

Lambung ombak

"Ku kayuh ke kanan, teroleng-oleng,
di biar diam, terambing-ambing.
Arusnya pusar, kocaknya tiada.
Gunung di dasar, puncaknya tiada."

"Laut mana, wahai nakhoda?"
"Bukan laut tetapi lubuk."

"Lubuk mana, begitu rupa?
  Dalam hingga terbenam puncak."
"Lubuk di dalam manusia, lubuk hati"


Wednesday, March 17, 2010

khilaf kifarah

Ku insan yang lemah
Penuh kelah dan kesah
Membentak mengadah
Lantas kau hadiahkan kifarah
Menarik ku yang telah
Hanyut dalam dunia indah

Ku kini mencuba
Medekatkan diri mendamba
Cinta yang tak kunjung tiba
Walau kejang tangan di dada
Menadah tangan ku berdoa
Rindu itu masih tiada

Khilaf dari insan
Ditenun jadi perhiasan
Doa jadi permainan
Bagai mengherdik Tuhan

Ku adalah makhluk

Saturday, March 13, 2010

Kias kata

Ku kias kata,
Menyelindungkan cinta
Walaupon belum kita
Pernah bertentang mata

Ku rasa iri,
Terasa sendiri
Bisumu ku tak erti
Gundahkan hati

Aku malu mengaku tak mampu
Rasa rendah diri yang mengungkit
Bicara lalu datang satu-persatu
Namun hati mudah kembali sakit

Tawarkah hatinya
Bencikah dia?
Kabur keindahan dunia
Bila hatiku tertanya-tanya


Saturday, March 6, 2010

- -

Wipe these dreams, they are not my own
My eyes burn, burn as they run dry
They say tears can drown your thoughts
They forgot the heart lies in sea of thoughts

Snow White, this is a mirth
Yellow won't break my courtesy
Words won't scath my
It's the gaze that drove doves in droves

Over the sea,they say a sea monster lies
Who can say it's the truths or a lie
But if in a lake the sea monster lives
It's a lake monster it be, if it exist

I scry the wind, but winds ran from me
I blew the ray, but it broke in half on the way
I drank it, the smell of history
He told of it, a fable and a gist

Why, why the words don't always rhyme
The thoughts never stand
The phrase never blends
The ends never ends

Why, why the dreams are chased
The fears they come near
troubles then appear
Tragedy runs forever

In this deafening light
The shadows began to talk
It is such a frigtening sight
When thoughts began to walk

First they linger and sniff the
"what have I done?!" said he
From the past the will they muster
To answer the rough riff from thee

*copied and pasted from my ipod. don't know what I was thinking at that time and don't want to know why. must be psychotic on that day. truth be told, it's scary reading this and knowing I wrote it*
Imagination overload

Saturday, February 27, 2010

Of how my dreams are alone

I sat on a bough and gaze far away
I said to myself, this is the day
The day, the moment all to unravel
My legend and all of my fables

But I waited still
I dreamt on more
At the end of the day
Everything's like before

How my dreams are alone
How my wills they whither
All the ideas I conjure
were never written on paper

Yet I dream of galore
Of how the readers adore
Every work, every bits(beats)
Every words a masterpiece

So I muster my will
I wield my heart
My wisdom and wit
And began to start

Of how my dreams are alone
of how these dreams are my own

Wednesday, January 27, 2010

Sunday, January 24, 2010

The beginning

Every memorable romantic story usually have an incident, something that struck out as different, albeit the smallest detail. A coincidence where the girl's character links with the boy and that moment will be accompanied a lovey dovey song and the scene will be played in slow motion. If one were to describe a story, the words would be, "Do you know the story where this girl..." and they will fill the details from the scene, right to the moment the wind blows the girl's hair languidly.

Well, here is my story and the scene did began with the wind blowing at my face. Hot winds of summer.The hot gust worsens the dry atmosphere of my room, when I decided to close the window. Incidentally a friend of mine decided it was a good day for her plant to get a dose of sunlight, where she decided my windowsill as her best option. Only after I closed the window did I realised the suddenly missing pot. I quickly open my window and there the scene played slow motion, as I watched it fall, and much to my horror a person walking three storeys below me.

Maybe it would have turn out differently if I didn't gasp. Oh, well.


To make it clear, let me start from the beginning of the beginning. Well, not really that beginning, just early enough to help me write. There is never enough detail for me to describe about myself, not that I can't think of any of those but simply I think that they can clearly be seen in a sweep of an eye. Just the normal. Female, young adult, Caucasian etc. Other than that I find nothing of interest about me that relates to the story, other than details of my background. My apartment is