As the moon glows fully
Upon my downfall
It brings a shovel
Digs a grave, and
Puts my burdens
But the moment my eyes
Gleam with light and reason
And I’m alive…
Amen to my troubles!
It had cast a spell
To resurrect distress
And deciphered the code
Unlocking Pandora’s box
Seek the truth
And what’s good
Spelled in reverse
You’re at the airport, your flight is delayed for six more hours, and none of your electronic devices is working. How do you pass the time?
The great apocalypse has come! The great exodus of electronic devices has begun!
Or I’d just forgotten to charge my gadgets.
There’s not much to do in an airport, especially when you are flying alone. Even if had my electronic gadgets, surely I’ll get bored over time with those things on my face for six hours straight.
The easiest option for me would be to sleep through those six hours of idleness and boringness. Or maybe read a book until I get sleepy enough. But there’s this part of me that wants to savor every second of an airport experience. Honestly, I’ve gone to the airport no more than the fingers of my hands, and I just want to fully internalize all that’s going on in an airport — the feel of the waiting-chair, the rush of people passing by, the sultry voice of a female flight announcer, airport smell. Yeah, I know it’s weird.
If ever this happens, I wish I would be lucky enough to have brought a pen and a scrap of paper. Then write a poem, or perhaps, a song. And if somehow, after what seems like decades the clock remains dead, then I would do my last resort —
I’m going to find a man sitting on some corner of the airport, strumming his guitar while singing a tune. I’m gonna pay him extra money to sing me more of his songs; and even more money if he lets me borrow his guitar for a while.
Now that would be the most unforgettable and happiest airport experience for me.
A response to The Daily Post http://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/terminal-time/
Reluctantly, I lift my head from my hands, tearing my gaze away from the floor and look up. Suddenly, I feel cold, incredulous.
This is no ordinary man. Through all my years, he had been stationary, old, still at the corner only to be covered with more dust and grime. His pale yellow color seems damaged through the passage of time, and has begun to fade. He smiles at me while brushing off the scales of his fish.
This is just a dream, this is not real. I keep on telling myself.
With eyes closed, I bite on my lip as hard as I could. The pain stings, and I taste blood.
This is real.
“My dear child, why are you anxious?”, he asks me again. His voice is warm, but the way he speaks — ancient.
I finally open my eyes to stare at his wrinkled face, and let out a sigh of disbelief.
“I see. You still have the eyes of a newborn, and the innocence of a child.”
None of this is real. I’m hallucinating, I must have missed my medicine. I continue to tell myself.
“My, my. Tell me child, why do you so badly want to linger in the realm of the grown-ups?”
“Are you not grateful to still see miracles through a child’s eyes?”
At that, he turned still as stone, the life sucked out of him.
One day, your favorite piece of art — a famous painting or sculpture, the graffiti next door — comes to life. What happens next?
— The Daily Post : Living Art
This prompt reminds me of Ben Stiller’s Night at The Museum, where his character — a night-shift guard at a historical museum, witnessed wax-crafted statues and relics come to life every night.
I did have a hard time thinking about what my favorite piece of art is because, 1.) I’m not such a fan of sculptures and paintings, and 2.) it’s the kind of day that I don’t want to do anything but sleep. To pour my mind with creativity, I decided to go downstairs and refresh, when I came across this thing —
As I took a photo of it, I realized that this statuette has been around for most of my life, from my childhood days until now that I’m a young adult.
That man you see, had been like that for years: Sitting happily with his fish set on his table. Perhaps, he is a fisherman celebrating over a big catch; or just a man who’s happy to finally eat something big and sumptuous for his next meal. These are just wild guesses though.
His true story — that’s what I want to hear, if he were to come to life.
And his smile which looks so true, so genuine, and so intriguing. It makes me want to ask him what his ultimate key to happiness is, so that I too, may always wear a smile like his.
This man, as what I’ve said, has been in every highlight of my life– from back when I was a kid, until now. At a certain point, I believe he knows me more than I know myself.
Perhaps, he’s never a fisherman. Or a hungry man ready to devour his meal.
Maybe, he is my guardian —
And he’s watching me right now.
Even the strings of my guitar break over time.
So it is with life.
The Daily Post http://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/binding-judgment/
Binding Judgement: Does it ever make sense to judge a book by its cover — literally or metaphorically? Tell us about a time you did, and whether that was a good decision or not.
In all honesty, I understand the value that this metaphor implies. But I just don’t think this rule always applies. There are some exceptions.
Especially nowadays that crimes are getting more rampant, I can’t help but judge people by how they look.
I don’t mean the quality of their appearance or something like “Hey, he’s ugly, he must be a terrorist. Let’s get out of here or we’ll die.” That is just illogical.
By saying how they look, I mean the way people act, speak, or bring themselves…
I’m just being cautious and vigilant.
I’m just concerned of my own safety, that’s all. I mean, aren’t we all concerned about our safety? It just doesn’t feel right anymore to talk casually or do any kind of unnecessary interaction with random strangers.
Teachers should stop telling their students, “You should never judge a book by its cover, you understand kids?“ because that is bullshit. These kids might end up talking to strangers. The next thing you’ll know? Their internal organs being sold at a black market. You get my point?
You know what, this quote should be revised —
“It’s fine to judge a book by its cover — as long as you judge it, not with your eyes, but with your mind.”
Well, I do hope this makes more sense than the old quote.