Tag: essay

Posted on in Poetries

Track Unknown

It took me 23 years to realise that the secret to happiness is to never get too attached to the same songs. Some will say that the genre affects how you view the world but if i were to be honest, i’d say, the lyrics are the most powerful instrument because they are actually memories in disguise. I’d say you can visit them every once in a while, maybe even pretend them as the stations where your train stops at, you know, the ones where you never actually set your foot off off the platform, you just enjoy the process despite the hustle and bustle of morning perfumed bodies of the people you will never see again. But that’s that.

I’d say songs are rocks to the introverts. I am an introvert. I know. I know that even when the air is still and when there is no oxygen left on this spherical tank, lyrics live, flying, soaring, like Troy Bolton to Gabriella Montez – whole damn movie, now you remember it as a 4-minutes song, no I don’t want that. Memories are just excuses to sad people – I don’t need rocks, I need grounds to run, i need adventures.

I’d say this is ironic because the idea of having an adventure is beautiful, but listening to new songs can be scary, because what if you like it? What if you like what comes with it? What if you have to let it go?

I’d say this is ironic –

Mostly because, while I’m writing this, I didn’t realise that the song “Grace Kelly” is playing

on repeat

–9.57 pm, I hope the next soul will be a safe haven for all the songs I tried not to keep by adlinkhairil

Posted on in Poetries

The Perfect Day

I have the perfect date saved up in my mind.

On your birthday, I’ll drive you to the beach at 6 am. I know you’re gonna be late, picking your outfit because you wanna look great, so I’ll tell you I’d be there at 5 just to get you prepared.

We’ll have breakfast before the sun rises,

I’ll have my breakfast before the sun rises,

We’ll have breakfast even when it’s lunch.

You’ll want to draw me just like you always do,

The sand is yours. The sky is yours. The ocean is yours. I am yours, every inch of my skin is yours, draw your masterpieces, let me wear your tattoos till the last colour of sharpie disappear from the saltwater.

I have a pen and a book,

I know you will want to look poetic,

So I would describe you in a poem,

The eye colour of love

is you.

-The Perfect Day by adlinkhairil

Posted on in Poetries

Antidote

You have always been a fighter on a field, with silent voices louder than a scream. I think it is amazing that you carry your mind like a gun -loaded with facts, because when you pull the trigger, your opponent question why they don’t bleed. Your shining lights dim the ugly parts I used to see in me, now I am just like a moth drawn to a flame, except, I won’t die out of breath from flapping my wings till the morning. You taught me patience; you showed me good gracious attracts good people, I must have done it right because God brings you closer to your; my most valuable possession: your name that I keep in my prayers, all seven years of it – no less.

I fell in love with you because,

You used big scientific words that mostly end with “-ine”, and

you spent your life learning how to heal people through love and through medicine.

You know the antidote to people’s bruises and, by odd chance, I hope… someday,

your antidote would be me.

-Antidote by adlinkhairil

Posted on in Poetries

Home

I grew up in a house with a huge garden,

On a street called “jalan dua”,

There is a pond in the backyard hosting hundreds of animals, from little people to bird stones, I used to wonder why my grandmother put frogs’ eggs in her rose juice, those unborn tadpoles turned out to be just basils, thank God.

My cousins and I were playing with our neighbour, she had her hair curly like noodles sometimes they covered her eyes when she runs, I remembered how gorgeous it looked. We were wearing capes down to our feet made up of tied towels around our necks, acting boyish not knowing that girls can be superheroes too. But girls don’t run around naked like we used to.

In this house, we were made to dream – there were no fixed number of walls that could trap our imaginations, the sky wasn’t just the sky, the wind were Terabithia calling our names. Each walls that cracked turned an ordinary room into Narnia, it made us wonder if grandfather built them that way to hide a secret room. When we weren’t superheroes, we became detectives.

We became doctors.

We became dancers.

We became nomads playing hide and seek.

The sofa used to be a bigger space, it could fit eight of us and we’d still have enough room to wiggle freely, now the world seemed so small it feels like we’re always meeting the people whose closed with the people we’re closed with. I do missed the phase when quoting cliches seemed like a cool thing to do, like writing this; “roses are red, violets are blue”.

Cliche is… finally reaching your dreams.

Finally

Having the courage to step out of your comfort zone. Finally

making a rhyme poetry.

Finally

coming home.

After a lifetime of becoming scientists, experiencing bad memories, categorising them as red litmus paper turning blue.

God…

I pray I won’t ever be coming home to a headline in a crumpled up newspaper that reads, ‘Vacant room in the attic for rent – Bangi’

–Home by adlinkhairil

Posted on in Poetries, Storm

Storm

I am a silent pick dancing on your guitar strings

You thought I calm your storm because

I breathe music

I sang songs in the middle of the rain

So you could sleep better

You thought I liked to be owned

Like this metaphorically guitar pick you keep in your pocket

You thought I am your peace;

I remind you of the sea

But I don’t live in a washed out jeans

I am the police siren

Chasing bad guys in movies before the plot twist kicked in and reveal that I am the bad guy

Lure your kinds to drown in the water

Till the salt absorbs in your skin

And you look like a balloon waiting to explode

Because when I scream

No

It means,

No.

I think you should know that.

–Storm by adlinkhairil