Jester and Knight

Walking towards a dead-end from the starting.
Speaking to your lips that are as unmoving as the dead's.

Crushed from within, a void turned black hole.
Cold without love, a gaze turned blind eye.

Fucked upside down on a rollercoaster which was going the wrong way round.
Screamed your lungs inside out which sounded more like laughter.

I love you like how a housefly love a carcass.
Indiscriminately and utterly drawn to your shit.

Stuck between two walls, a lover and hope for the better.
Torn between two choices, to weep or to seek for morsels of your love.

An endless void which I galdly jumped into.
A recurring nightmare which I yearned to dream.

Shrieked like a banshee on heroin.
Cried like a widow in hysterics.

False hope upon sucky mindset upon false hope.
Pride crushed under rejection upon rejection.

Ripped from reality he dreamt pretty pictures.
Back in reality, she realized that he was just a collage of the hideous truth.

Distracted from the world life was a mess
she was the life of him
and he was nothing in her life.

She longed to be his wife
but the very arms she wanted to hold her
pushed her back into the jaws of her life.

He is the king
and she, the jester in his court.
His ego grows upon her humiliation,
laughing at her with his queen at his knees.
So close to his heart,
a place she can never reach.

As he turned to leave he regrets his decision,
fatigue and laden weight held his heart down,
how he wished he could stay
but the more he stayed
the more he moped
and the more he moped
the more he couldn't find out,
distractions all round,
he was overwhelmed.

Sorry was all he could mouth,
in reluctance he turns to leave,
a flick of his hand,
a feeble attempt at a wave,
life would become simpler...yes it would

The jester laughed through her tears
as she groped for the balls that were rolling away
sprawled on all fours
at the feet of the defeated knight.
She was more beastly than a dog.

He walked away,
his helmet clattering in the wake of his iron footsteps.
The night grows colder
as tears froze on their faces,
the two losers in love
each parted their ways to find solace
in the darkness they see
without their love.

Scherazade's Story: The End

Wooden puppet.
Woollen heart.

Unmoving,
like a puppeteer's unloving heart.

She never thought
she could see him again.

A birthday present that
arrived two days late.

Doesn't matter that
it lacks the two verbal
"Happy Birthday."

Her best gift was
to see his face again.

The puppeteer
has finally made his break,
and asked the puppet
to witness the splendor
of his success.

Happiness set her
heart aflutter.

Twenty days
before it marks a year
since the day she
gave him her heart.

Marks the day
the world truely sees
the hidden hero that
only she had seen.

With this zealous bubble
bursting inside of her,
the puppet danced harder
than she ever would.

Because there he was,
before her sight again.

She tried to express
her longing through
a fleeting glance.

Lament her anguish
through a tender whisper.

But her puppeteer
sees nothing but
a fiery glare from
beneath her long locks.

The angst that built
with her growing desperation.

She needed him,
needed him close.

They were barely
an arm length apart.

But the puppeteer,
like her,
no longer have a heart.

She had shorn off
her hair the way he likes it.

Yet the imploring eyes
of the puppeteer seek
anxiously for someone
that was not her.

Raised upon the stage,
he stood tall and mighty
above the crowd.

But the puppet
could no longer see him
as she turned her back
towards him.

She had came to
believe that
he would never love her.

The puppet started to
push through the crowd.

The spell that
granted her mobility
without her strings
begun to slip away.

Her skin felt cold
against the sweaty arms
of the audience
as her limbs harden into lumber.

Her sprint started
to weigh down to
a stagger.

Her cries were
muffled into a whimper.

Her heart shuddered
as the last flame
of passion flickered
in a dying stance.

The puppeteer
strike a chord
on the piano.

But her deaf ears
could no longer hear
his tune.

She clattered lifelessly
onto a passing cart
and was wheeled further
away from him.

Her last tears
glistened and hardened
her eyes into glass.

Twenty days
before it marks a year
since the day she
gave him her heart.

Marks the day
the world sees
the last of her love
that only the
puppeteer had not seen.

Lumber limbs.
Glazing glass.

Unseeing,
like a puppet's loving heart.

Scheherazade's Story: The Puppet

With the dance of his fingers,
the puppeteer sway the puppet
to the tune of the melody.

On stage,
the puppet's strings were invisible.

Under the spotlight,
she appeared to be alone.

Watching her repetoire of
sorrows, love and longing,
the audience cried at her pain,
scowled at her overdramatic antics
and smiled at her contentment.

But they saw nothing
of her happiness she basked in.

The hidden smile of her puppeteer
from the dark shadows of the wings.

The closeness of their duet,
him leading her with
firm but ever so gentle tugs at her strings.

He gave her life.
And the ability to dance,
making her the girl that many men swooned after.

He was her god.
The giant that controlled her universe.
She worshipped him.
Feared him and cared for him.

Nevermind that
they were always far apart,
they were always connected by strings.

Always,
but not forever.

"Find happiness without me."

The puppeteer snipped off her strings,
and sewn her heart back.

She can now do her own dance,
one that tells of how
it's like of being loved.

But she doesn't know
of any other dance.

Who is she without him?

If there's a dance of being loved,
she needed him to teach her,
show her how it's done.

He never did.
Neither did he fulfill
all the empty promises he made.

Without him,
she will leave her strings
trailing into the empty wings,
pretending that he is
at the other end.

Then smile and giggle geefully
at the imaginary life
the puppeteer painted
with his lies.

She merely doing what she does best---
loving him.

And perform that duet that
now speaks of her love,
alone.

---------------------------------------------------------

Christmas is due to be here soon,
a year should be enough.

Scheherazade's Silence

After a thousand and one nights,
telling her stories
had become a habit.

Tugging at the curls that now
flow to her heaving chest,
it seemed to her
that nothing had changed.

She stared intently at the
ivory flake that
swiveled in suspension,
and sank to the bottom of
the snowglobe.

She would then
pick up the globe
and turn it upside down,
again and again.

Ogling hungrily at
that particular snowflake
doing its routine continously.

Every now and then,
much to Scheherazade's delight,
the snowflake would do
an extra flip in
its usual somersault.

It was her action hero.

She couldn't help
but swoon.

Crushing her smile
against the glass orb,
her intense urge to kiss
smothered all the resistance.

She could almost feel
his lips.

Sheherazade paced
silently through the
palace's lit corridors.

Her passion
was made a secret,
pressed against her heart
like a precious ruby
she would die to keep.

The jewel was hers
and hers alone.

To lament about.

To engulf herself
in pleasurable pain.

In every darkness,
even beneath her eyelids,
she would see his face.

In every silence,
after inhaling each breath,
she would murmur his name.

In a thousand and one nights,
he had many names.
But only one
stayed true in her heart.

She would repeat his story,
to satisfy the king's hunger
for her surreal tales.

The murderous schizophrenic
would lick her words
off her lips like honey,
and keep her alive.

Time made it
an obligation to
reminisce his warmth.

It is as inevitable as
the snowflake's finishing act of
falling to the bottom
at the end of
its rendition.

Scheherazade would awaken as
the queen once again,
to find reality cold
without the warmth
of his hand.

The Last Secret

---------------
繕った
隙間に刺さる
記憶－たち
---------------
She is safe.

The River of Past
is cleansed of
its filth.

The Present
embraced as sunlight,
carassed as breeze,
and healed as rain.

The girl sprawled
across the grass,
wearing only
her bare skin.

Her bloodied
ivory flock was
carelessly strewn upon
her heap of
diassembled armour.

Her fingers
traced the scar
that snaked from
below her navel to
her left bosom.

They touched her lips,
that lingered with
the farewell kiss
from her Fantasy.

She had closed her eyes,
but she is not
in a slumber.

Her senses were
wary of the
eyes that watched
her from the overgrowth.

A war was fought.
But there'll never be peace.

The Dark Army
will find her.

And Evil will prevail
in many other forms.

The child must grow.
But Time is running out.

Words at His Grave

I never thought I would laugh so hard.

And till now when I think of it,
a grin can't help but twist on my lips.

Something still don't change.
A curse is a curse.

When I declare that I'm moving on,
you will pop back into my life
and make me hesistate.

But not this time.

There's no more sorrows.
But I just want to tell you
how long I have dreamt of this day.

You coming to me,
instead of me casting out the net.

Although it seemed
that I had kind of ruined
the perfect revenge plan.

Like a child who
had finally caught a butterfly.
Whom in the urge to
touch its wings,
accidentally let it
fly away.

You made me the fool
once again,
you rascal.

I should had put more thoughts into it.

It's undeniably foolish.
So much pain
that snowballed because of you,
yet such little things you do
make my day.

Still, I have been
dreaming about you
the past few days.
Brother said something yesterday
that reminded me of you.

The subconcious mind still
echoes the impact of our melodrama.

Many things had happened
since I've met you.
But I have braved it through.

Wish me luck
for my future endeavours.

Take good care of yourself.

For god knows when
I will (never) be back here again.

"Isn't this what we always say, Brother?"

Edit: There's some changes. Fear is a good teacher. Happy Holidays xD

The Revelation

Humming a hymn,
the girl sat in the room
huddling her knees,
rocking back and forth.

She is scared.
There's a restless buzzing in the shadows.

Her heart pumped against her rib cage.
So close to the stuffed bunny
pressed against her chest.

The bunny with rip in its heart.

The girl hummed loudier right now.
She rocked back and forth more furiously.

Her face was wet with sweat.
She sunk her teeth into her bottom lips.

There was an excruciating pain on her chest,
where the stuffed bunny is.

Her tune came into a halt,
when she could take it no longer.

The girl toppled over,
her right cheek pressing
against the marble floor.

With widen eyes,
she gasped in horror
at the pool of blood
spreading across the white marble.

The white linen of the doll
had been soaked crimson.

Her chest has split apart,
and she could see her heart beating furiously.

The buzzing from the dark
now become an excited murmur.

She seized in a ball
as her flesh continue to tear apart
all the way to her stomach.

Her jaws snapped open
in a silent scream,
as her entrails
plopped onto the ground
with squeamish squish.

The murmur rose to mutter
then a roaring of chatter.
Her vision blurred---
she couldn't see the footsteps
she heard thundering towards her.

They were people.
Each holding a vessel
that held parts of her secrets and dreams.

At this juncture,
they were crowding around her.
Pointing towards her direction,
deep in discussion.

Her eyeballs rolled in their sockets
as the girl scanned the surrounding for aid.

She laid eyes at her blood stained doll.

So thoughly drenched in blood was it,
even wool within was dripping with it.

The doll seemed to be sniggering.
"Now you are just like me."

Darkness swirled before her eyes,
and the girl finally know the truth
behind her fate.

Foes for Friends

There the knight stood,
with the remnant of her armour clinging onto her.

A glorious warrior was she,
now reduced to a disheveled and helpless prey
to Death's slaughter.

Gripping her rifle
that is stained with blood,
she's now no different from the lowly footmen
whose bodies now strewn across the field.

She sneered at her foolishness
as her knees buckled
under the pain of her gaping wounds.

Benovolence had been dispensable.

The weight of her fully loaded weapon
crushed her ego
like a mocking laughter.

Ripping off the metal plates
that clung onto to her,
she willed herself to get back to her feet.

With gritted teeth,
she rose up
and took a aim.

She did not hesistate.
Vengence was in her veins.

She strode towards the battlefield
and stuck a gunpoint at their heads.

Who cares if the rifle is a long range weapon?
Nothing beats a close look
at their cowardly face of defeat.

The warm blood that splashed
on her face
cleansed the murk of her past defeat.

But back in reality,
the fallen warrior is still sprawled
on the ground.

She felt the chill of Death at her temple,
as the enemy cornered her
with a gunpoint on her head.

"Do you have a death wish?"
the Dark Knight asked his hostage.

A bitter smile twisted across her lips.

She might as well end it gloriously.
She closed her eyes.

The gun lifted from her head
as the cold grip of the iron gloved hand
seized around her wrist
and brought her to her knees.

Her eyes fluttered opened in surprise
as Dark Knight made his proposal.

"What would you say if we have a merger?"

His meanacing grin
could hardly be concealed behind his helmet,
as his deathly gaze
burned into her dilated pupils.

The wind howled,
mourning the death of her fallen troops.

But no tears were shed.
The sole survivor lowered her head onto the floor,
in a subdued bow
to her new master.

The victorious roar from the Dark Troops
hardened her heart
as she slumped feebly across the enemy's horseback.

There will be time
for revenge.

Right now,
they are allies.

But only for now.

In the Midst of Work

work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work Finally, a time to blog, to breathe. work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work People could tell I'm going insane.work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work So what's my problem? work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work My emotional baggage. work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work I can't get rid of it. work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work Neither can I replace it.work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work I'm screwing work. work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work workwork work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work workJust like how its screwing me. work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work Someone help me. work workwork work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work Get rid of this emotional baggage. work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work Or stop work from screwing me. work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work No one suffers as much bad luck as I do. work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work Give me a break. work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work I know I can do this. work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work So just stop taunting me, Fate. work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work The more you do when I say. work work work work work work work work work work work work work work Let's us move on, shall we? 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His Epitaph

If I ever see him again,
I will do everything to say
"I'm sorry".

Nevermind "I Love You,"
cause he doesn't love me.

If he ever needs to know,
my tears will show
how much I love him.

Too numbed by missing him,
I didn't see him passing on.

Instead my heart beat for his murderer,
whom destroyed everything I have of him.

But I hate him.
I hate him for changing.
Yes, he killed himself.
I love him.
But he's not the one I love anymore.
The person who had so much love for her.

But I doubt I will ever get the chance.
So right here I shall I tell him:

I'm still sorry for loving you.
I know I'm not worthy.
That's why I can't mention your name
even with your death.

I'm sorry I'm so persistent,
that I refused to believe that
you weren't the same anymore.

You were like a beautiful candle flame,
that spread into a hideous wild fire.

Fate's Taunting Game

The sky was overcast
with the gloom of a foreboding rain.

There's a slight grief
that brushed against my heart.

And before I could hear raindrops platter
there were tears flowing from my eyes.

What's wrong?

Nothing's of matter.

Actually,
It is the fact
that there's nothing that matters.

I don't want to blog anymore.
I am sick of repeating it.

My sorrows.

Unable to attain something more.
Stuck here in this bottle.
Living life in this monotonous cycle.

I love what I now own,
but my heart yearn for something more.
It is like having three meals daily,
but all without dessert.
Surely it's not too much
to ask for an occasional treat?

Once I thought
what I wished for is unattainable.
But every wish I make
it was granted to people all around but me.

While I wept alone,
I thought of the girl who ran from us
to cry in solace.

It must be pretty nice to be his damsel in distress.
But wasn't I the one who made the wish?

The One Above Fate decreed
that I should be contented with what I have.
But what do I do when Fate
being a bully
snatches things out of my hands?

Things that I gasped in my hand
vanished without a trace.

And I was just there
when nothing happened.
The next moment,
someone retraced my steps
and got all I wished for.

I don't yearn anymore.
I don't hope anymore.
I'm too scared to dream anymore.

One fantasy is lethal.

For the next second when it happens
in reality,
the girl won't be me.
Too much.
I can't take it anymore.

It's Fate's taunting game.
One that it refuses to stop.
Take things away from me.
Give it to others.
Rub it on my face.

There's no need for answers
or solution.
For the One Above Fate has decreed
that my future will stay bleak as ever.

Before I destroyed Her messenger,
before She refuses to say anymore.

I don't dare to think about you,
my imaginary love.

For I fear the next time
when I finally found you
your heart had been given away.

Love is not all that I wished for.
I wish for my best in everything.
To be a better person,
for you,
for me,
for everyone else who loves me.

Once I was stronger,
I didn't need you.
But that was when life
proved everything that I was worth.

Please, stop this game.

As I lumbered along the road,
I let out a whimper,
a whisper of the screaming in my heart.

Imaginary Life

A commitment is a constrain.
it weigh you down like an iron chain.

Another shackle clasped on my feet,
another step slower than you,
my sweet.

An awkward venture
to a grey area that does not fit.
Along my path to you,
stood lamp posts that were not lit.

Groping in the midst of the murky mist,
their and our mindsets do not fit.

When can I accomplish this impossible feat?
After all this search,
would we eventually meet?

----------------------------------------------

I long for the day
when I need not speak in jargon.

There's no need for change
when the jargon itself
becomes a jargon no more.

Then we can take a nap on the bus,
and have a fluffy after that.

Life is boring,
so hasten up.

And save me from this fire
that I dared to play with.

Dispensing With the Jargon

Thus, here's a little more conundrum:
(It's self contradictory, but I couldn't resist xP)

The tears I shed,
were not only for the broken string of beads,
but also the pain that was inflicted,
upon the torn soul that the phantom left for me.

The torn soul
that was marred with scars
long before he came.

Wounds upon wounds
upon wounds.
Hopes after hopes
after hopes,
for wounds caused by hopes to heal.

P.S. Pardon my grammatical errors. >.<

A Good Thing In Life

"Not a red rose or a satin heart.

I give you an onion.
It is a moon wrapped in brown paper.
It promises light
like the careful undressing of love.

Here.
It will blind you with tears
like a lover.
It will make your reflection
a wobbling photo of grief.

I am trying to be truthful.

Not a cute card or a kissogram.

I give you an onion.
Its fierce kiss will stay on your lips,
possessive and faithful
as we are,
for as long as we are.

Take it.
Its platinum loops shrink to a wedding ring,
if you like.

Lethal.
Its scent will cling to your fingers,
cling to your knife."
-------

A poem on onions and love.
An epitome of how understated true love is.
It's not my work.
But it's the few of the good things left in life
that I can appreciate.

My heart now anticipates like many times before.

Who would have the eyes for such a miserable creature like me?

If you really come for me,
would you take my heart that's marred with scars?

A figure neither beautiful,
nor a voice that rings like bells in the wind.

Why would you kiss a mouth,
that's as foul as death pit?

What would make you tenderly soothe your fingers through my hair,
What would spur you to grab my hand and hold me close?

If you really come for me,
would you write poems of my sorrows,
pledges of care for me?

A soul that's neither contented,
nor a spirit that soars to the sky.

Why would you whisper verbal endearments into a ear,
that's deafened by the long silence in her mind?

What would make you play the piano,
What would make you sing our duet?

If you really come for me,
would you stay beside my casket to weep for me?

Love for My Phantom

Can't you see,
my love?

I have always braved the shadows
to look for you.

I know you longed for light,
so I have always brought you
glows of hope.

But my beloved,
while I quench your thirst for light,
do you quench mine for your love?

I am the bearer of light to your life,
but darling,
you care only the light I brought forth.

Many a times I was told to leave you alone,
to mellow in angst,
and die of despair.

But everytime I walked pass a shadow,
it pains me that you're suffering inside.

My dear phantom,
even the angel dims in comparison to you.
A perfect being such as He,
doesn't lovingly bathes me in anguish
like you do.

Oh,
my dear phantom,
perhaps it's time
to stick a dagger in your heart.

With the hurt you'll feel
that lasts only for a second,
perhaps it will stop
the hurt I feel because of you.

The Equilibrium

At the edge of the cliff,
the angel spread his massive wings
ready to take flight to the heavens above.

Upon his flight
he still wore that smile---
a symmetrical curl of lips.

The lips that a mere mortal woman like me could not deny,
that there was at least once I was tempted to kiss.

But I loathed him.
Surely there's some unspeakable scum beneath what he seems to be?

A green eye monster she must be,
to tear apart such a beautiful being.

But contrary to the hissing rumours,
I tear apart too, a phantom that dwells in his realm of shadows.
To seek an angelic smile upon his face that's shrouded beneath his hood.

In the position of where I lay,
between a fleeing angel and a phantom enraged,
my puddle of tears reflected my face.

Sunken the eyes were,
cast in shadows like the phantom.
I could barely recall the angelic smile on my very own face.

I withdrew my angst,
and got up on my feet.

It was only today,
where I've got to see myself again
did I realised that---

I was broken inside,
only because I failed to mend it.

For hating all whom I loved and never loved me,
I too, had never loved myself.

Fate's Forgery

The girl carefully thread her way through the uneven paths.
But she could never be careful enough.
Fate still robbed away the things she loved.

Flowers entwined form the most beautiful picture.
Yet, in too tight of an embrace they would just strangle each other.

It doesn't take just a day to find nothing belongs to you.

The flowers wither as the weed creeps up to a new flower.
The forest remains ever changing.
But no matter how much it changes, the girl would remain a stranger amongst these trees.

Her heart should have stopped beating five years ago.
Now that she had failed,
she shall suffer the anguish of lonliness she had failed to escape from.

The bunny rag doll drops at her feet.
One would never doubt something that is truely hers.

She picks it up.
It's back to square one.

Perhaps it's time to make an escape again.

Closer

Lumbering with fatigue,
the girl finally reaches the other end of the woods.
As the flock of birds futtered pass her,
her tired eyes widened at the sight before her.

Flowers.
They spread across the field, swaying gently along the breeze, basking under the warmth of the sunshine.

The sunlight reached to her like open arms of an embrace.
It stroked her cheeks and ruffled her hair,
and before she knew it,
she felt tears flowing from her eyes.

Her heart of tears has melted.
and a new heart of flesh pumps blood in her veins.
She let out a laugh,
that was fuelled by joy.

She stretched out her arms with ecstasy,
her fingertips brushing the feathers of the passing birds.
She sprinted into the sea of flowers,
and had her fill of flower scent.

Her ivory flock was stained with the work of mischief,
with colours of berries and streaks of mud.
At dusk, she plopped down amongst the flowers with a contented smile.

The birds chirped goodbye,
while the flowers stayed close to her as night arrives.

She shut her eyes firmly,
without the fear of a dreamless sleep.
For the flower she seeks is closer than ever.

Bye, Bunny.

Numb with cold, she followed the tracks into the woods.
Draped in pristine white, she sat on rock and stared blankly overhead.

The forest ground, gleamed with green.
Everything is full of gist.

If she was her, her heart would had throb with anticipation.
But as her mind whirred, she had to shut her eyes.
All these things were too much to proccess all at once.

There's a mistaken caterpillar curling on her painted green nail.
She brought her hand to her chest and felt a constant rhythm under her skin.
A smile then stretched across her lips.

Her mind had told her it was the right thing to do at the moment.
She hadn't felt anything.
For her heart is no longer where she had placed her hand.

It had been stolen by a phantom, whom she used to peer into the shadows to spy on.
She had crafted a mask and slid it on his face.
So in her eyes, he always smiling.
So it seemed that he always looked at her with amorous eyes.

But that was in the past.
And what beat in place of the heart of flesh, was a heart made of crystals of solidified tears.

It doesn't generate hopes.
And neither can it feel strongly.
A seeping sense of loneliness is easily banished by her mind.

Now, she only does what her mind deemed right.
Which was why she dropped her bunny rag doll amongst some weeds.
Even if it was the only thing she had that defines who she is.
It was her weakness, said her mind.
The doll would hinder her with the past.

She walked briskly from the abandoned cloth bunny towards a flock of birds.
Of course, she can't fly.
When they soar, she will sit here, under the tree, and close her eyes.
And dream of a flower that she will never come by.

Her bunny doll would make her search for the flower.
But, No, says her mind.
Dreaming about it would be enough.
It's like, there's no need for the phantom and his cloak to keep her warm when there's sunlight.

Now, it is just the break of dawn.
A long winding journey forebodes ahead.
But she is already exhausted.

The Filler

The last few days before school starts.

Standing on the platform waiting for the oncoming train,
my memories are folded and tucked at the back of my mind like packed luggage.
Feeling the bliss that caress me like gentle breeze blowing through my hair.

Subtly, the train will reach this stop.
But there's still time to reminisce.

Imperata cylindrica is tall and thin, but it can't fly with the wind.
A mistake or a lie, it doesn't matter.
Now its overlooked.
There's much more of its kind.

But here's a salute to it.
Veined with iron it is, it's an attribute of the commander it self-proclaimed to be.
It was, afterall, a more favoured weed.

It's time for me to slip this piece of memory back into my bag.
Instead, I look forward to where the train will head.
Over the hills, through the meadows.
Passing the weeds.

But at least,
there will be flowers too.

At this very instance, another train sped onto the track that I just came from.
But there's no going back for me now.
For I only hold onto an one way ticket.

That's life.