If You Were My Friend

If you were my friend,
I would have let you go many times,
to be friend of your own friends.
Since you would be as free as a bird,
and never be object of my own vanity.
I have never heard of a happy bird,
singing freedom from inside a cage.

But if you were to be my friend,
you wouldn't be irked by my prying,
nor would you by my calls and queries.
Since there'll be no elated heart if chained,
and no poignant passion out of questions.
The only thing you'd miss is jealousy,
for I really don't have that sort of thing.

If you were my friend for some time,
you would see me as I'd see you,
and stand by me as I'd do by you.
But be prepared for this one truth,
that joy is only found in each our pain.
Oh.. I did mean to mention pain,
for tears and laughs are just akin,
yet for true friends wishful to remain.

So you might think you were my friend,
when you rejoiced in our ascendancy,
were enchanted through affinity,
or overwhelmed in a sea of harmony?
If yes, then we were far from reality,
where we're just part of world's labyrinth,
where lofty love is purified in rupture,
so as friendship in a flame of qualms.

Now if you were genuinely my friend,
I would mother you till death gets me,
and I'd be there you asked me or not,
though you might not see me that clear,
and things around you might be so dark.
For it's not what you saw that you'd get,
just my nearness within you out-and-out.
You'd be my friend though I own you not.

Just Go Home...

One after the other,

a friend is leaving.
It always feels odd,
if you suddenly miss,
the smile so much caring,
the placid rub on your hand,
that dreamy voice heart-warming.

For it is not about no trust.
Since we too all have to leave.
But you will notice this at times,
if one's way just goes wrong,
you will be left lame and numb,
while your scream will be muted,
and your hand can't even reach.

Why would one forsake one's heart,
and pick a path that's just not right?
Why would you choose your own delight,
if that will clearly ruin your life?
And how could one feel so gleeful,
if life is a lie and a masquerade?

Look at your friends praying for you.
Listen to those calling your name.
Feel in your heart their empathy.
And don't just say 'Leave me alone'.
There's no such thing as your own joy,
for you and I are not alone,
and Life is grander than you think.

If only rain can bring you home,
we'll wait for you with open hands,
to give you peace you wished so long,
to see your smile without the angst.
You're wholly free to read this rhyme,
to hear the voice you only trust,
then just go home to your true soul.

You'll Find A Way

Uncertainty befalls a thousand times,
anguish and agony are always there.
It's just a second you sense a mirth,
then in a flash you feel you're lost.
A whisper soft from your dusky lips,
where is everybody?

When those you trusted look queer,
and those you knew sound whimsical,
loneliness and voidness strike in a trice,
devastating each heart however strong,
denigrating a character however firm.

But wait, is there anyone so big-hearted,
so indulgent to face a stubbornness?
You know not the edges of your heart,
and neither the bearing of your faith.
Sometimes we wished for other's glee,
but forgot to soothe the spirit within.

If one day you wake up so confused,
don't ever think you walk on your own.
There is always everybody around.
There is always a way to go through life.
Since all you hear and feel that day,
are the angels to hold you sound ever.

From now on adhere to your valour.
Don't ever run away from hateful visage,
don't even think what you have to say.
Remember your trusty unseen guardians,
who are at your side standing up for you,
holding your hand to keep you straight.
Just stay daring, and you'll find a way.

Images that Keep You Alive

Beauty fades so rapidly,

especially when you do hope,
that it would last a bit longer.
But wait, what is it that you love?
Is it only the sense attached,
or the very person you imagine?

If you can't hold a person anymore,
you can smell the scent yet everywhere.
If you desperately miss somebody,
you would bring the face into the real.
If the pain inside seems killing you,
you kiss the image to heal the wound.

Not everyone can unveil the secret,
of being embraced by the transcendence,
of being sheltered in intimate presence,
because the death of their mind's eye,
or their weariness of lustfulness.

But don't pigeon-hole images as illusions,
since there's no illusion as real as person.
Don't ever insist on one's appearances,
as if you're able to control an existence.
These images of those you are so close,
are truer to life than your own body,
a living nearness than just one's face.

Now if you decide to move on in life,
don't hesitate to allow this presence,
even if you can't smell and hold it again,
since they no longer remain some flesh,
but unfeigned warmth you'll ever hope,
the lovely images that keep you alive.

If Only

If only you were here,
things would be more endurable.
If only there's no heaven,
no one should ever leave anyone.
If only eternity is a fact,
we don't have to let go somebody.
Then what is a true friendship,
if leaving is our daily reality?

We would know of no reason,
why a child should grow up alone,
why somebody insists on seclusion,
why a friend must beg for a company,
why one is bereft of one's soul mate.

You may have taken it for granted,
as if happiness is just a lone oeuvre,
like there's no unbearable singularity.
But why we always fail to prove,
that we are so mature in love,
as if it means an independence?

Seeing your dearest one leaving,
shouldn't be a reason to hate everyone,
or even to cold shoulder your friends.
You will discover that in your heart,
the deepest intimacy lies in the sorrow,
in the sharing of tears and elegies,
with whomever present next to you.

So if you can feel joy only with someone,
you might turn a blind eye to others,
and yet slip up on your own paradise.
If you can see love only in the laughter,
you might be lost through the misery.

The truth is, you never lose a friend,
yet if you cannot but say goodbye.
If only you are willing to share,
even the darkest hours of your life,
you'll see that the one listening to you,
is a friend you thought you had lost.

Still

When each day is like searching,
there must be something wrong inside.
When you always look for someone,
emptiness might have consumed you.
Longing is sweet, but heartbreaking too.

Still, the world seems not big enough,
and your heart will never be fulfilled.
It's so weird to have so many friends,
but in one go you find no lull within.
It's just pointless to grab one's shadow.

Still, we love to do anything trifling,
and we like to make everyone happy.
But all at once comes a bad question:
who will then make 'me' happy?
Yet this is not a selfish mess at all.
This is where you won't find answer,
and then the world seems to stand still.

Still, you just don't have any idea,
why the very person you have fun with,
might at once stand there with no word.
Is it true that amity is about searching?
Is it ever true that this is wrong hoping?

Stillness can become quietness,
and quietness may turn into blankness.
Perhaps what you surely need now,
is not your struggle to comprehend,
but a simple stand of being understood.

So ask a friend to understand you.
If you never did, simply ask one now.
It shouldn't be so hard to ask for a heart.
And at the end of the long dark corridor,
you'll be counted smoothly and candidly,
by your still friend.

I'm All Yours

When you were born on earth,

the only miracle was your trust.

Could you modestly remember,

how serene life was at that time,

how lovely your smile looked like?

Now and then we are startled,

asking if we've lost those moments,

musing if we could taste them again,

just one last time at this minute.

Even so, beware of this chimera...

You could be drowned in its lethargy,

not grasping the eminent gist of all this,

that you must learn to have faith!

Is it back-breaking to trust someone,

to lean your head on one's shoulder,

to lay your heart in one's keeping,

to close your eyes by one's presence?

Perhaps you have to try more often,

allowing other to help you stand,

asking your friends to be there for you,

sharing your stories being kept too long,

and telling these words unashamedly:

I'm all yours now...

Only then you'll see what trust really is,

something in fact you never lost in life,

but is simply hidden behind your vogue,

waiting patiently to be ventilated,

to change you into a precious person.

Silent Burden

Would you take it if one says,
'Everything will be okay'?
Would things turn to be all right,
when you think to have done your best?
If only life would be that plain...

But not everything is fine,
not in your tranquil good times,
not in your own balmy bedroom.
You can pretend to enjoy this life,
in the ways you almost feel heaven.

Still, things can be wrongly said,
and they can be mistakenly seen.
And even worse, this won't be voiced
by those whom you know not,
but by the ones dearest to yourself.

All your arduous days and nights,
might be not good enough for them.
But 'good' isn't much the right word,
since they, too, have their own pains,
and you just don't have any idea,
on how tiring their burdens could be.

Maybe what you drag in your heart,
is not yet one inch of their darkest nights.
So when you think they upset you much,
with the words you may feel harsh,
always remember this one thing:
it's not about you, for God's sake.

It's about us denying our destiny.
It's about us afraid of our soreness.
It's about us not able to be hushed.
Then be strong in your silent burden.

You Don't Love An Idea

Once in your life you found someone,
you wished to keep all the sensations,
you eternalised the infatuations,
even carved your names too on a tree.
Don't you see those were just ideas?

After all you can't love some ideas,
moreover touch those convictions,
or somehow miss the conceptions.
Since those ideas do not adore.
They cannot miss you or kiss you.
They do not mind and care for you.

But we remember the person,
and not plainly the perception.
We care to hold somebody's hands,
rather than just one's common sense.
We like to touch a person's skin,
instead of simply one's teachings.

And love is not about ideas.
Not likenesses, nor differences.
It must pertain to what is real.
It's someone's being you can feel,
a human face that speaks for real.

You might forget the gifts you earned,
but don't neglect a person's yearn.
Your friends are not just ideas,
but flesh and blood you love for real.

The Eternal Scars

Right in the hush of the night,
staring at the pitch-dark ceiling,
can't feel anything but astray.
What's all this agony about?
Why do these cuts surface?

You may disguise the wrinkles.
You can shroud those guilts,
or even mount a friendly mask.
But you can't live like that ever.
These scars just enter the picture,
even if you beg not to occur.

The past you always want to wrap,
now seem aim to vex your rest.
What if you can't fix these things?
What if you can't let them go,
those causing you these damages?
What if the only option tomorrow,
is to bear the pain and shame?

There must be no more time waste,
yet the silly pursuit of happiness,
let alone any façade of friendliness.
Those scars won't just fade away,
even if you gag them all the way.

Don't try to escape the woe,
but go embrace it with pleasure.
Then you may lie down to sleep,
although your heart will still bleed.
But remember this in your belief,
always other friends in the history,
who'll keep your being in one piece.