Of Bleeding Hearts & Blood Shed. 

“later that night

i held an atlas in my lap

ran my fingers across the whole world

and whispered

where does it hurt?
it answered 

everywhere

everywhere

everywhere.”


News terrify me these days. The papers , the bulletin , social media headlines – everything. Many time have I found myself sat in the shower , cold water running all over me while my mind turned into broken cassettes depicting all the wounds Mother Earth has to bear. Each of them is bleeding, never stand a chance to turn into scars . 
The people in the street during Bastille’s Day, people shot in Orlando, the ones who bleed in Istanbul – each and every last of them is our family . We may not be connected by our blood’s DNA , but we belong to the same race of homo sapient, same being emerged from two colliding universe , from love.  For that reason, we are all one of the same.
But I never made it to know them. Even worst for their family, it carves out a deep, black hole out of their heart ., leaving them torn of having to mourn their loved ones who crossed the bridge too early. 
And it could be the people I already built  camaraderie with . It could be my loved ones, the ones I coauthored my our journey home , with. My heart trembles even with a mere thought of it.
It could be me. As morbid as it sounds , I’d rather it be me, instead of random other 7.25 billions people in this world. Isn’t it there in many story books and epic tales , where one person is all it takes to change the world ? I wish it was that easy .But  It isn’t.  This battle belong to the people who incurred so much turmoil and painful masses inside and they’d go out , with no faith, little hope and dying heart , barren from love to hurt another being.
This isn’t an influenza or ebola. Not cancer or cholera.  This is civil war, where a war thorn human being kills one another. This is an epidemic ingested from hate , and we have something greater than that : a vaccine stronger than ammo, louder than atrocities.  
Love.  We have love, this one kind of magic we carry within our alchemist heart. This , darlings , is the panacea to all the diseases in this world . And then we have faith, green flames soaring across the sky when the city lights went out while nation flags descends their poles. 

But we aren’t broken yet. We are still standing , and love is still the loudest echo in this space. We are going to rise , from our ashes , amidst the chaos like phoenix does. Maybe the legend of  King Arthur is a myth, but our humanity isn’t. In those little pieces of hope, I have faith , and sown my love in.
You want peace  : create love.


My heart goes out to all of you, the people of the world .💗 

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Alpha heart

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Alpha heart
moon child
you are the cold pink
river of joy running through
the pulsing veins of mankind
now swollen with rage and forcing emotions

you are the wild untamed
running in the thick of time
in blooming white
dresses
sparkly blood coloured shoes
now stained with a mixture of
dirts and pellets of cold rains

a muse
traveling through abandoned
chapters like
unchartered amongst dying stars

now keep your
fierce scars intact
like how your flesh are pinned
onto bones
and humanity was nailed
in a mother’s womb
and red alarming siren
shake you awake
from the muted hues of a
dying daylight

Be the ice in
the precipice of chaos
evoking through
Pandemonium

Vinyl Heart

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Sometimes I am
a killjoy
a walking misnomer curled
into a cobblestone weight of
nothingness slammed into
inertia against the flaked painted
wall
of flesh and bones
& heart is an honest opus
numbed in my inability to pronounce
singular voices or color
fierce enough to match this forcing
emotions

my thoughts has no
archive
& they belong to no streets
I tell you
they sought shelter from my
divided mind fractured into the
dimmed city light
& dark damp abyss during
odd hours
even when eyes eventually became
the anchor to my soul
too weightless
too lack of real juxtaposition
lost in an estate of time

I can’t write like t h i s
(you know?)
I can’t remember yesterday
last month
yesteryear
his voice shuddering down my spine 
brother’s agony
sister’s joy
mother’s sea glass heart
filled with an ocean of tears
and my inability to break
the precipice cost me muted screams
frothed beneath the surface of
wounds refusing to turn
into raised tissues
like 3 am siren making my
ear bleed when you can’t dig your
nails in it

because somehow
they are lost in the thick of
of my vinyl heart
flooring nothing but smoke
and silence within

I Am Not..

I am not my
broken heart
twisted bone nailed
onto walls
flesh framed into the wombs
of humanity

not your
wishes
his Sheherezad
my fractured dreams pinned
to the spine of Icarus’s wings

not an ophelia
shooting for impossible dreams
or a careless daughter
Of a careful mother
or Persephone’s tears

not a jewel on
a woman’s collarbone
ribbons on her slender waits
the muted hues on the breast
of dying dawn 

I am not a
waking elegy
a misnomer
a saint
killjoy in her field of
daffodils
blue jay and daisies
cinnamon in the fruitcake
she hates 

I am not
yours
his
hers
mine
theirs

not even am I
plural
singular
a noun
or a verb
(probably a grammatical error
in a priestesses ode to
God )

I am not the color of
my skins never felt
the weight of snowflakes
the accent of the languages I spoke
but no one comprehends
not the opus of my voice
or the ethos of my heart

because when even pronouncing
matching color to
my forcing emotions demands finesse
of art
I am simply but a syllable away from
home
some days it’s just a dream
or a piece of truth soaked confession
I never wrote
but from dusk till dawn
in a city of dust
I am just “me”
lost in the thick estate of
time keeper

Dear Eloquence

Dear eloquence
(because you taught me
how to give myself voice
after I took it raw from the
back of  my
throat and later realise I couldn’t put it
back into places like I have
imagined)

to breath underwater
when your ankles are cemented
to the ocean demands
lioness’ heart with a dam full of
courage for vulnerability

like— exposing your withering
thoughts by etching the disfigured
holograph of your war thorn
soul onto papers
Even when you can no longer
think during  odd hours

or like when you are making
love to red inquisitions  griping
at your arms
as it courses down your
pink skin  (now bloodshed)
unanswered

or loving the ghosts
like
two and a half lovers
who claimed themselves bold enough
to claim your love  
  but they can’t because they had to live
with half a heart arrested in a
sea glass jar of
either lust or the
fear or falling
when I would have wrote them letters
signed ‘sincerely not yours’

comet ;
killjoy ;
blue jay;
love –
you are a
moon child with a
heart restlessly giving birth
to tides that takes two
to tame

but when world is unforgiving
and your self built prison walls
grow to dark
or damp
and cold
remember

even a thousand ‘layers masks ‘ shall
never conceal eloquence
or ‘equanimity ‘ you bear unknowingly
that I can only wish of acquiring
and no
I am not fooled
because even when you are divided
you are whole
and exquisite behind the
nonchalant smiles

for someone who can’t
afford a journey to his
heart
he lose the sight of your
shore
of your strength
and bravery that speaks in foreign
language

but that doesn’t mean
you should too

Voice (Be Heard) – A Poem

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Why are you
a goldenplate
at odd hours
serving nothing
but silence when
your voice is a 3 a.m
siren
a dam full of ravaging
water slammed into inertia
against the concrete wall

Why are you so
insisted of tying a noose
around your slender neck
holding back your wild heart
and keeping it at bay
by the delta of your soul
voiceless and unseen

Dear feeble hearts
and loud minds
    Be heard , love

For
        the truth isn’t your foe
when fallacy is.
Trish Destiny H.

Sincerely, Not Yours.

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Credit to Photographer (Unknown)

Dear Mother,
I once lived within your
collection of bones and flesh
stacked neatly  together
our souls became intertwined
                  woven dreams like tapestry
run all over the stateless stream
of our warm blood
of the first land I ever
lived
       the cadence of your heart
the gush of your blood
  I remember you
humming comfort into my
ears
as my fingers bruised
with paper cuts

I love you
Sincerely, Not Yours

Dear father,
I killed you with the
bare of my own hands
with your heart still beating still
standing in the doorway
eyes turning gray
and beads of
sweats on your chest
— anger
you died
before time
an absence in your presence
leave me breathless

This is your daughter
shrieking voiceless
under her damaged skins

I am ruined
I know
but I loved you
  still
   
Sincerely, not yours

Dear Sister
I am a misnomer
a walking eulogy of imperfections
of inquisitive tongues and
your favourite color
I am the fear flogged
with your tears
an imperfection clothed in
all gold that glitters and
you call yourself dead
but maybe I am too

Remember the days when
we ran free with our
tender hearts turning into
a singular masterpiece
under the sun
when
our braided tresses are
discolored

That I love you like
the sun has been
my first kiss

Meet me there

Sincerely Not Yours

Dear Brother
Do I know you
or do you know me
when I see you within myself
your silhouette roaming in my sleep
when
she’s your keeper
and I am not

You ain’t a stranger
I know and I hope I am
not too

But
I missed your laughters and
the way you twisted this world
with your disfigured fingers
stained with glycerin

I missed you
please come back

Sincerely, Not Yours

Dear Lover ,
We are just children
of light
lost in the thick of the woods
walking our way home

Please ,
Hush and let me be your fortress
as we ache for the ravens
in the still born of a dawn

I remember you told me
You wanted me under
your quilts
tearing the stitches sewn at
the hem of my heart
open while I am
still learning how to breath
with half a heart arrested
in a jar of tears

Because
you made
me loved the way you prodded
my scars
flicked it over as if they
are trivial memories
stained with absinthe trying
to make a comeback one
after another
in the warp of time

Our love live in the
breeze
in a field full of poppies
and wild lilacs
on the benches drenched
with the acidity of  the rain

I know.

I love you,
Your beautiful mind ranting
Your crippling bones aching
for poignant beauty and pain

But that doesn’t make you mine
for
I am not your God .

Sincerely, Not Yours.

Your Heart Cracks (And It’s Perfectly Fine )

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The heart was made to be broken

-Oscar Wilde

There are reasons why your heart cracks, and why your honestly has cringed voicelessly down your throat.

There are reasons why your blood stained lips gaped wide open, moaning and screaming for the aching pain that lives within your bones as salty tears course down your cheeks.

There are reasons why the shrapnels from your past unforgotten make their comeback and with blades in their hands they cut into your flesh. And why certain wounds have never turned into prominent raised tissues like scars.

Why your heart is bitter even your lover has call it sweet.

Why your tears taste like oxygenated salt water, when you felt so dead inside.

Why your green veins pulsing steady according to the sacred cadence of your heartbeats.

Why the intervals of your heartbeats laid a monster who feeds upon hurtful moments and darkness.

Why lust overtook your mind when your soul is seeking refuge in a palace of love.

We can’t be ascertained if the wounds will leave eventually in this lifetime at least or if they will proceed and continue to plague out bones, out battered souls and torn up being to the core. Or if the cracks will come to a closure someday.

But sometimes, those reasons might just live anonymously within you. Because it could just be those simply are a gesture of your heart seeking for amplified love, from yourself. And maybe you should be broken, cracked and damage beyond repair so that you can make a comeback into this celestial moment, with a different arrangement of those pieces that makes you , yours.

Life will break you. Nobody can protect you from that, and living alone won’t either, for solitude will also break you with its yearning. You have to love. You have to feel. It is the reason you are here on earth. You are here to risk your heart. You are here to be swallowed up. And when it happens that you are broken, or betrayed, or left, or hurt, or death brushes near, let yourself sit by an apple tree and listen to the apples falling all around you in heaps, wasting their sweetness. Tell yourself you tasted as many as you could. -Louise Erdrich (The Painted Drum)

Many Love and Light