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DoodleScribbles

Scribblings and scrawls of a hopeless romantic soul

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prose poetry

i try to bury the pain and blink

i try to bury the pain and blink.
with eyes moving from tab after tab, ears focused on the mechanical tapping of keyboards, i try to forget their names.

The first tab led me to 9gag. A GIF of a “normal night” in an english pub flashed before my eyes. Drunken men fighting each other, brawling for fun. It was supposed to make me laugh— but it didn’t. The images of bodies thrown on burning houses played at the back of my mind. Blood flows to the river banks as the women of Rohingya shout in pain.

blink.

I clicked the second tab that led me to Bored Panda. A list of surprisingly simultaneous historical events that will change the way you think of history caught my eye. I couldn’t get past after the odds of Prisoners Arriving At Auschwitz Just Days After Mcdonald’s Was Founded were mentioned. I felt my stomach flipped at the thought of death camp. My mind traveled back to Syria. What are the odds of living for the displaced refugees? Then to indonesia, will they be handed their rights?

blink.

On a desparate attempt to shun the looming gloom in my head, I tried the last tab. The literature page, my second virtual haven next to my blog. The poetry section listed Edgar Allan Poe’s A Dream Within a Dream on the top. His words pierced me with added force and I plunged into the depths of helplessness head first. Is this life just one big false awakening? Are the endless murders and tortures just part of a nightmare?

i try to bury the pain and blink.
closing the tabs, unplugging the chords, i stared at the black screen
hoping to forget their names.


I wrote this a month ago, on one afternoon I immersed myself in the world news. I did not publish it because I was disheartend with what was happening. Still is. But back then the pain was too raw for me to share it in this blog. The cynic and existentialist in me has taken over my head, asking questions that could not be answered. Or perhaps I just do not accept.

Justice, basic rights, peace.

Will the refugees ever get a chance to live with these? Or are we only good at sulking back to our chairs?

We are all stars

Each day, we wake up consciously or unconsciously wondering which version of us this concrete world will accept. We tiptoe our way on the streets. We watch what we say or do— or not do. Perhaps this is why many prefer the silence of solitude, the earthy smell of mountains, the lapping of waves. Mankind think too much, trying to turn life into one big stage. Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t. But one thing is for sure, we are not in for an audition. We are all stars.

Here’s to beating our Monday blues. ☕️

Can I Tell You A Secret?

Can I tell you a secret?

I know. I knew it all along.

This isn’t just about the silence or the cold void that sits between us. I knew it the moment I saw you happy. On how your days brighten up effortlessly. I knew it because I was once the reason for them too. But those days are now long gone and I am left with a scissor to cut the string.

So, please, wait a little as I gather my guts. Or better yet, just tell me and leave so I won’t have to do so. For I have been too good at being left behind but never at leaving.


In response to dVerse’s OLN hosted by Grace.

Do you ever write poems and choose to keep them in your notes because you thought they’re unfinished? I have heaps in mine. Looking at them now, I feel nostalgic. Some still stings while others brings out a laugh. This one’s from last year. A prose I wrote as I was playing Sam Smith’s Too Good At Goodbyes on the piano.

Head over here to join the fun!

Octaves

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I always get in trouble with octaves. My fingers are not designed to stretch out far enough and I end up with pain at every single attempt. The tune they make is clumsy either and I stumble on each cascading key. I remember, once, my tutor told me to slow down and to not make haste. To stop trying too hard to reach the keys because only time, he said, can tell when I’m ready. My fingers will learn the rhythm like  a heartbeat and if they still can’t stretch, I must not give up.  The piano has 88 keys and a hundred more possibilities.

I had to laugh. I thought we were only talking about octaves.


It’s a rainy holiday season here in PH and the bed weather pulled the keyboard and I closer these days. I still find it a challenge though to play with octaves. Haha. Them little hands. So here goes something. 🙂

Amidst All Chaos

Amidst all chaos, you will find her standing at the intersection. Staring blankly at the come and go’s, the to and fro’s. A girl who became too tired to take a step and to observe the traffic lights for she had followed them a hundred times before. Only to be left a fool.

Stop. Ready. Go.

When you find her, you will see all the signal lights in her eyes. You will hear about the stops she took just because the world said she can’t. And that she mustn’t. On how her voice faded into silence because she listened to the whining siren of the people instead to the beat of her heart.

You will hear about the times she spent waiting for the light to signal ready. On how she whispered to herself with fists clenched, “Yes, you can.” On how long she waited for a hint that love is ready for her and that she is ready for love. But it never came.

You will hear about the crash. On how she braved to cross the highway despite her trembling knees but no matter how cautious she was, some people just came speeding through with a blaring light. And she was left to do the only thing she can— she faced the blow head on.

Amidst all chaos, you will find her standing with a bag full of messy past. Staring blankly at the come and go’s, the to and fro’s. A girl who longs to break the rules and, for once, set her own course. When you find her, you will have the choice to leave. But amidst all her chaos, she waits for someone who will have the guts stay.

Stop. Ready. Go.
MS


From one hopeless hopeful romantic to another, hope you enjoy it. See you at the intersection! 😉

 

Breathe, Then Move Along

On some days you will find yourself on the edge of a cliff. Your hands will be holding on to nothing but the rough and sharp boulders that will only leave you with callouses and wounds. Your knees will tremble at the thought of falling. Of failing. And that every single cell in your body will be in a crazy delirium.

On these days, I want you to take a deep breath. To feel the warmth of the sun. To let the wind tease your hair. Listen to the silence and hear the beat of your heart. It’s probably beating too fast but it will slow down if you give it a little time. Breathe.

And then move along. If you must walk or run or crawl on fours, do it. You will be scared. You will be scarred. But isn’t that how we grow? Let the callouses be your pride and the wounds be your drive. Be the trembling mess standing bravely at the edge of life.

‘Neath the gloomy sky
Leaves sway to the wind’s rhythm—
Blow your fears away
MS


Waking up on the right side of the bed, here’s a little haibun to kiss away our Monday blues. Have a great week everyone! 😀

She is a bad liar, that girl.

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She is a bad liar, that girl. She can seamlessly hide behind words and metaphors but her eyes will always betray her. Beneath the layers of finery, if you look closely, you can see the pale glimmer of blues she has bottled inside. Wounds from years of baring her soul open only to zip it back up because she’s either too much or not enough. Scars from falling in and out of love too deeply. Stains, flaws, imperfections all trying to claw out of her skin.

She’s a bad liar, that girl. But if you stare long enough, she won’t look away. If you listen a little closer, she will tell you her story. No lies this time. Will you stay?
MS


In response to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie’s Photo Challenge #191 hosted by Nekneeraj.

Head over here to join the fun!

Bulong ng Hangin

It has been a while since I’ve written a Tagalog Poem (or any poem for that matter). It was my recent hiatus that rekindled my love of writing poems in our local dialect and I couldn’t be any happier. Perhaps it was being one with nature that brought my muse home? 

Hope everyone’s having a lovely day! See English translation below. 🙂

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Bulong ng Hangin

Hiling ko na ibulong sayo ng hangin
Ang mga sekretong pilit kong kinikimkim
Na sana sabihin nito sa iyo na hindi ka nag-iisa—
Na ako man ay takot din.

Takot na baka magkamali,
Takot na baka ito ay mali.

Takot na masakatan na namang muli.

Ngunit para saan pa ang mga pusong daig pa ang ingay ng mga tambol
Kung hindi naman nito kayang mangahas?
Anong pang halaga ng pagtibok ng puso?

Kaya, heto ako, humihiling sa hangin na ibulong sayo ang daing:
Katulad ng paghagod ng mga alon sa baybayin,
Katulad ng paghalik ng palubog araw sa karagatan,
Katulad ng pagyakap ng dalim sa kalangitan,
Matuto tayong magpadala sa tadhana
Na wala ang mga takot ng nakaraan.

English Translation: Whispers of the Wind

I wish the wind whispers you the secrets
I’ve been trying to keep.
I hope it tells you that you are not alone—
That I, too, am afraid

Afraid to make another mistake,
Afraid that this is a mistake

Afraid to get wounded all over again.

But for what are the hearts that beat louder than drums
If they can’t be brave?
What’s the point of having hearts that beat?

So, here I am, wishing for the wind to whisper my plea:
Just as the waves stroke the shore,
Just as the setting sun kisses the sea,
Just as the darkness embraces night,
Let us give in to destiny
Without having the fears of the past.


Linking this one to dVerse’s Open Link Night. 🙂

Head over here to join the fun!

dverse

The Lies Of A Fool

Bukowski

The Lies Of A Fool

Four days. It’s the fourth day since you left yet the flowers are still in full bloom. They bask under the sunrays with the colors of whites, greens, and purples. A madman would drink opium down to the last drop after a heartbreak and abdicate the lust for life. But not me. I only needed lies. Lies, you see, lessen the pangs of sadness. I will live with lies if it means climbing the stars with you. I will trick myself with a vague truth if only to get back to you. Back to where we started. A neolithic era of planting love with polished stones. And if, one day, you suddenly reappear, I will thank lies for being my nepenthe. The flowers will never perish and so will this fool.

© 2017 Maria. All Rights Reserved.


In response to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie’s Wordle #164 hosted by Yves and Sunday Writing Prompt: Fine Dining Kitchen Tricks hosted by Pat of Scribbler’s Dipstick.

I managed to jump into blogosphere (after another hiatus) for a quick peak but when I saw Pat’s storyboard, I couldn’t help but write. Argh! Who could resist Bukowski?! ❤
Anyway here’s my take combining the two prompts. Though I’m not sure this has something to do with fine dining kitchen tricks. Hehe. Will be reading your posts in jiff!

Head over here to join the fun:

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