Toddlers

I cannot clearly recall the times I have enjoyed my childhood, given that those were the years that I suffered with a lot of injuries I inflicted on myself: I broke my elbow; I had my ruptured appendix removed. But I know for a fact that I was acting like how I’m supposed to be: child-like. I ran through the rural streets and climbed over sacks of cement thinking that I could reach the space and conquer Jupiter and some random spider web by the electrical lines. I am so free from conscious thought. I was a child.

Now, I am in my third year at college. I see my aunt’s kids the same age as I was in my free spirit. But they grew to not be like one. They speak to me like they want to grow faster. “When I’m bigger” they say. And I guess that’s how the times have changed people. And it has taken a toll on the dream of a happy childhood: From a silly toddler who does not know when to stop running, to a kid pressured to grow as fast as how the city moves all day. Banging their horns, each small step turning into large leaps, going left and right, whatever space they can occupy. As long as they can move faster to the stop sign.

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Barely Even There

I know there was once this young boy who serves wholeheartedly for his purpose. Staying true and firm to all his ideals and beliefs. He was the delight of the sunrise and the dreamer of the night. But suddenly this boy became little of a man. The horizons became a lot smaller and the view started to shift from reaching to the stars to gathering of all the dust. He seems to have lost his purpose. Now he’s barely even there. Somewhere between those distant galaxies, he’s rotting away by his own culture of bacterium.

He was his own identity. He was the innocence of the divide.

But who is he nowadays? Is he as far-reaching as before, or was he the speck of glimmer the comet used up?

I bet he already felt the gravity of the truth. And I hope he doesn’t stop from trying to get there: To the vast majority of the cosmos.

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A Dreamer is Awaken

 

I woke up
     slimy and still
     I had sight
     then heard
     then felt
     and cried

I was the little child
     from my mother’s womb
     that breathe
     then cried
     then went still

I’m their little angel
     A tomorrows dreamer
     that ventures
     then conquers
     then accomplishes to his glorious days

Welcome
     my conqueror
     my dreamer
     my angel

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The Little Drummer Boy

So three years ago I was trying to make a first: a short story. But I’m not too confident to share. I just don’t feel like someone will see it as a “pleasing work” for their standards. So I will just post it here:

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Parapampum- pum, parapampum- pum, rapampum- pum. There goes my sound. “I am living the dream” as what people should say. I play my life freely through my drums, sharing my music everyday. Or maybe not, for homelessness is even worse than living in slum. “What’s your name?” one passenger asks. But I silently hand a single envelope on each of their laps. I should show my talent first. Then sing my song, with the beat of my drum. The rhythm keeps the ride alive, but people find it irritating. But I don’t care, atleast I forget about life in a few seconds with a single tap.