How should I describe this exhaustion? Like a gold mine? Dry of gold, Like a lake? Not a single drop of water, Or a mobile phone, Clinging to the red one percent, Or perhaps, A dying body, Trying to draw a breath, The last breath, Clinging strong at the neck, Without a release.
As I close my eyes, It was dark, Yet, It swirls, It sways, It throbs, Like the tall grass, Dancing in the heaviest storm, And the powerful tornado, While the earth splits, The tall grass stays, Down but not defeated, Still deeply rooted in the soil, Surviving all the violent rush, But for me, I swirl, sway, and throb, Because I was dizzy.
I saw him today, Sitting alone, Trying his best, To spend his jolly time, As time passes, I saw a void, Rooted in his heart, Sprawling and covering him, He still smiles and laughs, He tried to juggle, Manage every expectation, Until the void exploded, Consuming him, Exhausting him, Crushing him, Irrationality claimed him,
How far has this soul traveled? The stretch of great distance, The stillness of passing time, The weather of heavy emotions, The fragility of encounters, And still this soul, struggles, And still, this soul tries, And still this soul, Have to suffer, From all this pain, Slithering throughout the soul’s existence.
Yes, I know. I do write depressive poems. I believe it is simply because that is how I mostly feel all day. Some thoughts can be really intrusive. I rather pen the thoughts down than have to wrestle with them inside my head. It can be tiring and numbing as well.
What is a writer or a poet if they are not true to their feelings?
I recently went to a poetry exhibition called A Wasteland Of Malaysian Poetry. It is an audio exhibition of Malaysian poets across years and generations. They also have poetry reading sessions as well. Do you want to know how I feel when I listened to them? I feel disconnected. When they spoke about falling in love, having bad dates, and being heartbroken. I feel totally disconnected. Don’t get me wrong. Everyone has the right to express how they feel. Nothing wrong with them. More like, there is something wrong with me.
I am a heart that no longer beats, Cold and pale like death, Daydreaming to be the red, Living and beating heart.
I did write about other things and some of them are not depressing. Sometimes. And if anyone gives me a prompt like love or happiness, I can write them down. I might drown myself the whole day listening to old-school love songs. Just to invoke the once-happy memories or the leftover of it I still have. Even so, the thoughts and walking down the feeling might sound superficial to me.
Don’t worry about me. I’m used to this kind of thoughts and feeling. I’m probably used to this somberness. There are times I have so many thoughts yet little words to say. Maybe, it’s better to say nothing at all.