APRIL COMPILATION (23 / 04 / 26)

•  Stalker.
• Turn The Page.
• Mutual Vows.
• Thoughts on You.
• Vows.
•  

 

Stalker

Nobody would’ve thought it would come to this.
Chris was a calm man, soft-spoken and respectful,
The goody-two-shoes who would help the elder,
The kind mothers would compare their lazy sons to.

And he wasn’t a kid, not anymore. He was a man,
A disturbed man with an obsession he kept to himself.
He liked to stalk people; it didn’t matter who, he just did.
He wanted to know what their individual lives were about.

He saw people as stories to be read, intimate books of sorts,
So he geared himself up with a notebook and pen always.
Whenever he’d come out into the streets, he’d follow them—
The walking books, as he described them—up to their homes.

They didn’t notice him; nobody ever did. Like a chameleon,
He was able to blend with the environment, disappear.
His clothing was distinctive, passing off as vintage,
But his demeanor and voice adapted persistently.

If his victim were to turn around, he’d know.
He could read people like he read those psychology books.
He’d study them from a distance, get closer day by day.
One day he’d be streets afar, another just steps behind.

The newspaper knew the places he visited; they named them,
And he was happy. Each page became a landmark to him,
Each one a story to type out by crazed journalists and officers.
The surveillance cameras not even once saw him nearby.

A handful of people reported seeing deceased people
Walking on the streets they walked on to work weekly,
But they seemed lively, a bit off, almost as if latex-skinned.

These rumors came off as delusions born from social paranoia.

These amused Chris greatly, as he played his game free of guilt.

When the day came to an end, he’d hang his coat, gloves, and masks,

And translate his notes onto his Royal typewriter all midnight.
He slept all day long; he was a predator—the night was his to enjoy.

Daytime was time to sleep, to do chores, commute to work.
He was a well-paid freelancer journalist for a shady newspaper;
Whatever news he could bring would be well rewarded,
A condition that mixed well with his morbid hobby.

The lack of excitement in his life led him to develop it.
And They learned about it, so he got interviewed one day.
Chris was looking for a job; They for an asset that would
Do their own, generate news, distract people—and he was perfect.

Chris’s motivation was no other than the search for joy.
Nothing made his heart thump harder than their despair,

Their screaming, their warm blood on his pale skin.
For sanitary reasons, he’d clean himself up after finishing.

He spent months as the best employee, picture on the wall and all.
One day, after an entire midnight session of this and that,
His front door came down with a thud, men in blue storming in,
The expression on their faces worth framing for a poster.

As they reached the studio of the old and worn apartment,
The putrid smell of the place made their stomachs churn.
The men in blue retraced their steps at the sight of
Refrigerating displays full of preserved human heads.

Such a collection of trophies decorated the walls, but
Before them, the sight was worse: there lay a corpse
On a metal table, beheaded, cut into bite-sized pieces.
A meticulous work done so well that it was scary.

The men in blue were soon welcomed by an insomniac Chris,
Who, as soon as he stepped in, dropped a homemade bomb
Which wiped out the life of every single one of the officers.
By the time firefighters arrived at the ruins of the madhouse,

Chris was nowhere to be found, neither were his trophies,
Let alone the officers; for in a matter of hours, they came.
The long-nosed men in black cleaned up the scene swiftly.
Legend had it he was a myth, a made-up incident…

But truth is Chris was a project, a pawn for his kind,
Brother of someone, or pupil of a worldwide menace.
He was one of Them, and They erased his trace.
Chris was there, we know—but They deny it.

Months after, They’d return with a new monster in town,

Their “Chris” would resume their work from where it left off.

It didn’t really matter where or how many were deployed;

The cycle would repeat till the sun rose no more.

 

Turn the Page

The forest of life set before us a myriad of trials;
The gods beheld our efforts, cheered us on,
As we traveled across miles and miles,
Unaware of where or what we’d come upon.

You wrote your path amidst the treacherous road;
I poetized a story to guide me out of the darkness.
We survived by using the gifts we were bestowed,
Till one day our hearts met Cupid’s arrow’s sharpness.

We bled for the wrong people, shed tears as well,
Pleased with our art an audience that wasn’t ready,
And hardly escaped the jaws of what could be hell.
For us to succeed, we had to move on, ever steady.

Soon enough, we’d meet at a cabin by the lake;
Our weary hearts and souls aligning their frequency,
And it felt so good, as if we were dreaming awake.
Time there flew by as years, despite our bond’s recency.

There the writer fell for the singer he deemed his muse,
And the singer for him, as she sang him soothing melodies;
Our love story was celebrated up in heaven as good news,
And our tattered hearts found, at last, the best of remedies.

Your talent amazed the world, your grace dazzled them;
My words could reshape us a brighter and better reality.
Our bond would be blessed, and nobody could condemn
The couple of souls who chose to share their mortality.

On April 16, we turned the page for good
Allowing the inky pen of fate to write once more
A tale of true love, from Yggdrasil’s thick wood,
Into the journals of our spiritual primary core.

Thus from that day onward, I’ve sworn to remain faithful,
Cherishing you in the good and bad in equal measure,
Celebrating your victories, comforting you when it’s painful,
And ensuring you’re often showered in ambrosiac pleasure.

Till the end of all days, Isa, I’m yours as you’re mine,

As confidants, lovers, companions, and beyond;

For we can nurture this to outlast all else by design,

And enjoy the fruits that will grow from our bond.

Mutual Vows

I married at last the woman of my dreams,

Though papers are yet to be recognized by the law;

So God alone knows, for it was in His schemes,

That one day we would find each other in awe.

As deemed by Fate, we fell for each other deeply,

For we've aligned effortlessly like pieces of a puzzle;

We loved each other passionately, yet not steeply,

For we know that we may drown if we were to guzzle.

Love, like water, may be sweet but can also be poisonous;

Moderate glasses of it keep the body and mind in shape,

But excess may lead to intoxication—isn't it kinda ominous?

Once you fall into its jaws, your heart can't really escape.

With the right person, however, it's not as horrifying.

Yes, love is scary, but it can be the spark of progress,

And I've not come here with the intent of glorifying,

But rather clarifying that true love can undo distress.

Isa and I have been compatible from the very beginning,

And our love has only been growing ever since that day,

Feeling as if, in the game of life, we are finally winning...

Our differences made us connect more rather than dismay.

The word "friend" then met "boy" and "girl" in nearly no time,

And was soon replaced by the words "husband" and "wife";

And though it may not rhyme, it was quite sublime

To realize that, from day one, we chose each other for life.

I owe her the ring, the white dress, and the whole ceremony,

But until that day comes, I’ll do my best to work toward it;

Yet it feels splendid to be united in pledged matrimony

To the woman I love, to whom I’ve chosen to commit.

Thoughts on You

Your dazzling laugh got my heart racing,  

It was sweet, melodic, youthful, addictive;  

That call—a memory I'm still embracing,  

Treasuring, given our lives are restrictive...

You indulged my wish, we shared a moment,  

And have felt so much joy that we could melt.  

At this point we shouldn't even fear abandonment,  

For we will survive life's ride with a fastened seatbelt.

Our love won't easily slip and fall into the abyss,  

It'll survive and outlast the trials of this distance,  

So that one day our elder selves can reminisce  

The road that bore us the fruits of our persistence.

Till the end of days you'll be mine, my princess,  

As I am yours in body, mind, spirit, and heart.  

And blessed be our vows of marital faithfulness  

That were woven in our fates from the very start.

Ah, but I'm divagating once more, as I always do,  

When my main intention was to write you an ode,  

An ode about what makes me fall in love with you  

And how only you could decode my heart's code.

Being that the case, I add, that it was your warmth,  

Your approach to love, ever caring and ever giving,  

For it's just like the love I've been giving henceforth—  

One that's designed to be nurturing and caregiving.

Even those unique complexities that make you, you,  

I find them attractive; you have no flaws in my eyes.  

You're the only woman I'll ever try this hard to pursue,  

For I feel pursued too, and a love like that never dies.

The love that withers by the power of father Chronos  

Is the kind that settles when people have each other,  

When they stop because they won, and contrary to us,  

Begin to feel the need to leave and try chasing another.

Not everybody is lucky to have their hearts stuffed,  

And that we know well, Isa, for we've been there both,  

Chasing stories that left us empty and our eyes puffed,  

But again, it was that what led us to one another—growth.

And once more I declare, I love you, and I forever will.  

The tides of life can try to sink our ship down below.  

Unsuccessful, for communication is our best skill,  

And the winds in our sails will never cease to blow.

Moody (Blues)

Yes, there's gonna be days you'll be moody,

And those days are gonna be tough for both.

No, I won't leave, nor will I dare react angrily;

I won't get tired, my love—that was my oath.

You will lash out at me over some things;

The pain will override you, and I'll understand.

There's nothing unnatural about mood swings—

I'll step up by you, naturally, as your husband.

Feel no guilt for being human—cheer up.

Soon the sun will rise, and you'll return;

Then our closeness continues to develop,

And the pain we shared will help us learn.

True love withstands the strength of the tide;

Patience helps it heal and recover virtuously.

Affection keeps safe the treasure that's inside,

And consistency tangibilizes what's felt virtually.

We made the bricks that hold our home together—

No wolf nor weather will manage to blow it away.

It's heavy in foundation, yet as light as a feather,

And it fuels us to do our very best every single day.