Always, it's the silent one.

No place and no time can one pose, to match the beauty of a white white rose. It does not seek to be beautiful, but to make others beautiful by making defects in itself, and in doing so, shows its quality, the very highest. A torn petal, or a thorn too sharp, a bud that doesn't bloom. The red rose is much more favoured, it's almost always perfect and so, more popular. Oh, open your eyes to reality, won't you? The perfect is selfish, and the defected is pure. It's so much more than pure, it's selfless. There's a puddle of black ink dirtying the floor. The white rose on the plant above falls down onto the puddle. Slowly, it seeps up the ink, till there's nothing left, but a black rose, now being trodden on by people who admire the pretty mosaic.

On the Coach

These brown blinds are strange,
From long to short they range.
Framing white windows, they
Both protect and obscure, may.

Light catches on them and plays.
Many patterns they form, these rays.
I see this world in many lights,
Even during the long cold nights.

When the sun is up and about,
The shades give one other a clout.
Bunching together, so I can see,
Through a rainbow symphony.

I turn sharply to my right side,
The seat's empty, like after-tide.
I see you in the distance, doing
Something you'd now be denying.

Music plays, their words ripple
Lightly, but they make me topple.
They are the words you thought,
The words you, not I, now forgot.

It's on the Coach, it seems, that
Everything happens: a little chat,
And maybe some pretence too.
Yes, always, pretence, that's true.

A year, to the date, and I fear,
We will forget all of yesteryear.
It's like I'm clutching at a dream
I wake up from, now just a stream

Of the real thing. A little glitch
Which I forget before I can stitch
The whole picture together as one,
Too late it's gone, now watch it run.

On and on till it's out of sight
And I can't follow, left or right?
The blinds are coming down again
They help to shield from the rain.

The rain that is squeezed right out
From the white clouds under, a bout
Of wet weather. When they open,
All is well, light once again seeps in.

These blinds of mine, shall I decide
To take them down so I can see a side
I've never been able to with them
Let down, I'll see more than it's hem.

Maybe then I'll understand why
They do what they do, I can try
To understand what goes on when
Blinds are let down, closing the den.

I'll be able to see the whole coach,
All the people and their approach
To dealing with troublesome blinds
Both involuntary and spoilt kinds.

It's a moving coach, it won't stop
To let us adjust blinds that hop
Up and down, so I'll have to learn
To hold them up till we make a turn.

We will slow down then, and I can
Ask you for advise on how to man
These blinds, till then my time I'll bide
And hope I'll see you in the seat beside.

Hey, Goodbye.

Dear pal, goodbye.
You are gone forever.
Gently still I sigh,
Stop you, can I never?

First an ephemeral glimpse,
Then that sudden smile.
You were like one who limps,
Slowly yet but mile on mile.

All this while I kept my peace,
Knowing that anything I said
Would destroy all of your ease
And that happy life you lead.

Maybe that was my mistake,
Maybe you were wronged.
I am afraid I cannot take
Back, how much I had longed.

There is nothing I've left to say
But Goodbye, may your wisdom
See you on your perilous way
To your very own Kingdom.

Alone or surrounded,
I cannot now know.
It's time you wielded
A hand by which you glow.

And may that glow see you through
A life about which I have no clue.

Tired.

Friday was a full-day off.

I had to stay in school till eleven to sort out cricket stuff. I've yet to arrange the trainings for the holidays. And we need to train till we drop for the carnival on the 17th of June. And we need to prepare for the friendly against SAJC on the 14th. I really hope we can beat them. And come within the top three during the carnival.

After meeting Mr Harris and Mrs Chan, i left school to join Shakura, Dhevy and Eileen at Whatever. That's a tiny chain of shops near outram mrt that include a restaurant, bookstore and yoga class among others. I reached there just before 12noon and we stayed there till about 1.30pm, eating and looking through the horoscope books. Those were quite interesting. =)

I had to meet Prems (this spelling on purpose) at Pasir Ris at 3. Sha Dhevy and Eileen had to go home and pack. So i decided to get off at yishun mrt and have a look around eastpoint. I went straight for the sports shop and spent most of my time there. Nike bags are really nice. So are adidas shoes. At about 2.45, i left the place and took the mrt to pasir ris, and i met Prems and Sim on the same train! We got off at pasir ris and met Serena there as well =) Then we found out we were 'fashionably early' and that the chalet wasnt even booked yet. haha. so we were lounging about White Sands, where we ran into the chalet organisers. And we helped them buy stuff to eat. We were really early, and people started arriving only much later.

I found out some stuff, some interesting and some horrid.

1. The track person, Nigel, looks malay, learns chinese and has a tamil surname. haha.
2. Never never never tell others secret nicknames you have for some people. It can lead to A LOT of trouble.
3. Some people just don't know how to be tactful and mindful of what they say.
4. News, especially rumours(usually false) spread really really fast.
5. ICS isn't exactly slack. It can be quite fun. And happening.

Simran Prema and I left after some time. Friday was an eventful day. And Sim, your pants weren't in the least 'science-y', so its ok bout the fabric paint =)

Have a wonderful, safe trip, everyone! Happy Holidays!

Prevalence of P

This one's from Nandita (thanks!). She gave the letter 'P', and i've got to make a list of 10 things that start with this letter and say what they mean to me.

Here goes.

In no particular order.

1. Paper

There's something magical about a sheet of paper. For the empty variety, I always feel a sense of excitement, thinking of what this piece of paper is going to hold. Maybe a letter to a friend. Maybe biology notes. Maybe even an interesting conversation with a friend when we're supposed to be listening to a lecture/talk. A piece of paper can hold so much. For the written-on variety, it's a record of anything from my handwriting in Primary 3 to a note from a treasured friend. Paper is marvellous.

2. Pictures

Beautiful ones. A picture can be an eye. Or a group of friends. Or a soccer game. Or a sleeping baby. Pictures are to capture innocence. And they are extra special when they're old.

3. Poetry

Poetry can makle you laugh, reflect or sadden. Whatever type of poetry it is, it reaches beyond words and expression. Lovely.

4. Paths

It's those little by-lanes that i read about so much but have never seen, at least, never in real life, that seem the most interesting. Imagine the thrill of entering a natural path no one has entered before! Or a worn, overgrown path not trodden on for ages! Venturing into adventure, and maybe danger, is very exciting.

5. Purity

It's good to stay pure. Though i'm afraid no one can. Except little children. When you're pure, you're incapable of doing harm to anyone intentionally. But maybe it's a bit too idealistic.

6. Pepper

Just the right amounts of everything to make life good, including the troublesome pepper. Sneeze your way to victory.

7. Patches (thanks dw!)

Pathwork quilts: extremely different pieces of ragged cloth come together to form something timeless and diverse. I have different personalities, though they probably aren't visible. They aren't as seamless as i'd like them to be though, they get a bit too confusing at times.

8. Pine

Pine needles make the most lovely rustling noise. Not that i've heard them. I just imagine they'll be melodious. =) It's good to have an active imagination when you're stuck in a place quite void of pines.

9. Passages

Narrow passages. With no return? Perhaps. A life of no regret? Probably. Passages indicate progression and for some unexplainable reason, pain. And adventure of course. They may not be the most wonderful of things, just something a different part of me likes.

10. Pioneers

The very sound of the word gives me the shivers. Of excitement. To be a pioneer is the most interesting profession I could have. It's a pity countries have all already been discovered. Maybe I shall be an explorer of the Bermuda Triangle. It's a pity that people who claim to be pioneers supposedly aren't very nice. For further details, ask Pearlyn.

Be just one more

I want you to be.

Someone's first miracle.
Be someone's second sun.
Guide someone like a third eye.
Create someone a fourth life stage.
Help someone as much as a fifth limb.
Feel for someone, sharp as a sixth sense.
Give someone the happiness of seven runs.
Live for someone, beautiful as an eighth wonder.
Show someone the path to go, like a ninth direction.
Bear pain and hardship for someone, for ten long months.
Inspire someone to adventure, like a mystery eleventh planet.
Stand strong a support to someone, like a twelth player on the field.
And finally, give someone hope and goodwill, like a thirteenth constellation.

I want for you, as much as I want for me.

The Survivor

Different it is and unique too
But this story can't be true.
It is a story after all,
Maneouvered at my beck and call.

Yet when Winter uses icy fingers
To lull things to sleep it lingers.
Proudly raising high its head,
A sole soldier among the dead.

Abstract Apologies

How i wish i didn't have to see the pain and fatigue in your eyes. All of you. And especially you. I don't know why you bring misery upon yourself. It's like you're clinging to a small strain of hope, that frays and frays, till it snaps, and then you fall. And you look imploringly, and I don't know how to help you. Perhaps, i should have just remained aloof and distant from the start? But no. I would never have been able to gain your friendship. And your friendship is worth loads, even if it did last very short. Pick yourself up, my friend. And i'm sorry about my helplessness. I would explain it to you, but would you listen? And i'm scared of scarring you further. I used to talk to you quite often. And now, it's scarcely a smile. I would take the effort, but you are hurt too much to try anymore. Someday i'll tell you everything, and hopefully, you'll listen. And believe. Like you used to.