Outer Beauty, Inner Emptiness (Poem)

When the flowers bloomed,
Their beauty captivated me.
My heart was a reflection of their vibrant colours,
As they bowed their heads gracefully.

For a moment in time,
I imagined we were flowers,
Fragile beauty surviving
The harsh reality of the world.

I imagined love did not need roots to grow in the soil,
That love could sustain on the clouds of castles in the air.

But then they withered and died,
Leaving behind nothing except
The tiny grains of shrivelled up petals,
And the cold, lifeless earth.

In a way, I guess, we were like those flowers
Unbelievably beautiful while they lasted,
But horribly
achingly
empty
...

(when we ended.)

Maybe (Poem)

Yes or no, two simple words
Yet your mind is torn into two
When I asked you, "So what now?"
You say, "I don't know what to do,

Maybe we should wait and see
We cannot predict the future
Maybe you'll find someone better,
Maybe we were never really meant to be."

And just like that, I became a tentative consideration, a likely possibility
Reduced to a wavering suggestion, an uncertain probability.

And I can only wonder,
What happened to 'Yes, I still love you so',
What happened to 'No, I want to let go'?

So don't say maybe, perhaps, we'll see
I don't need your doubts or fifty-fifty
'Cause maybe isn't what I wanna hear,
Maybe just isn't good enough for me

Maybe you were right and I was wrong,
Maybe you and I were really never meant to be.

Where? (Poem)

Where do sighs go to when they escape from our lips?

My daddy smiled at my strange curiosity,
He claimed my first words since young came in the form of a question
Yet he always had a story for every question asked,
He always had an answer for everything.

'My dear child,
They travel on the wind to remind someone else of sad memories and grey skies
From there, they escape once more through the person's lips
They slip back out into the breeze,
Becoming part of a never ending cycle.'

Then, where do tears disappear to when they fall from our eyes?

'My dear child,
They splatter into small wet puddles
Pooling on the concrete ground,
The air steals them away, weaving them into clouds,
But they long to return to the ground.
So they fall back down in sheets of silver needles,
Pricking your skin but leaving no mark.

That is why people say the sky is crying every time it rains
Because somewhere in that single raindrop,
Therein lies a part of your tears.'

And I remembered
Once, when I was crying,
He gently took a tear from me and balanced it on his fingertip
'Look,' he whispered
'This tear will turn into clouds and fall down as rain. I think the sky has cried more than its fair share ...
Don't you?'

So ... where do people go to after they die?

At this question, my daddy fell silent.
It was strange.
He always had a story for every question asked,
He always had an answer for everything.

Slowly, he looked up at the sky,
Pressed his palm against his heart,
Then he lowered it to rest over my fingers and looked at me.

He didn't say a word,
Still, I understood.



Some emotions don't need explanations,
Just like how some questions don't have answers.