But the feeling of being alive and living.

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What is it, if not living in the past?
Reliving all the songs,
Of youth,
Screaming the emotionally broken,

Reminiscing the moments,
That will never return,
Seeking the distant warmth,
Of years passed,

Probably, it’s not about the past at all,
But the feeling of being alive and living.

To live and to will.

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In most days,
I cried,
I laughed,
I tried,
To keep on going,
And staying alive,

I just want to survive,
For things on my table,
Something for today,
A little bit for tomorrow,

I just want clarity,
For my mind and soul,
Far from the elements,
That eating me inside out,

I just want to heal,
To live and to will.

About trying to live another day.

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If you do wonder about the reason,
Of me not writing, love related poem,
Or even about the painful break up,
Is simply because those are distant things,

I’ve forgotten about love or being love,
I’ve forgotten about how my heart breaks,

I only remember how to survive,
About trying to live another day.

And I want to heal.

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I wish I could say,
The things that I need to,
So I can stay away,
From the harms that dragging me down,

Explain to me,
Why some nights are killing me,
From all the struggles,
And all this pain,

I do want to laugh,
To feel the lightness,
Laughing my life away,
Without the stare from the darkness,

Let me feel the breeze,
And the warmth of love,
I still want to believe,
And I want to heal.

Luka berbarah menghasut minda.

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Ditarik nafas, dihembus lepas,
Mengharungi setiap saat, semakin lemas,
Bukan tenggelam dalam air,
Tapi kering haus udara,

Menyelam dalam perasaan hati,
Makin keruh lopak tak kenal diri,
Apalah rasa bila ada di tempat tinggi,
Kemudian jatuh berdarah kaki,

Mungkin, aku hanya ketawa,
Untuk lupakan rasa sakit sahaja,
Tapi yang lebih pedih dari itu,
Luka yang ada di dalam dada.

Dan bertambah lagi pedih,
Luka berbarah menghasut minda.

Struggling to be standing and living.

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If everything was taken away from me,
Please let this blessing to write remain in me,
As much as I want to speak it out,
I rather to write and whisper it in,

In every second spent,
To every hours fought,
Struggling and wrestling,
For the right words to be breathing,

And as this physical body,
Struggling to be standing and living.