APRIL - MAY COMPILATION (13 / 05 / 26)

•  Stalker.
• Turn The Page.
• Mutual Vows.
• Thoughts on You.
• Moody (Blues).
•  Isa, my Ariel.
• Let's Talk About You.
• To my (Future) Mother-in-Law
• May 13 
• May 16
• The Picture
• Handsome? 

 

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.

Isa, My Ariel

She sang to me an unknown melody

That cast my withering heart into sweet trance;

I’ve never heard of a voice such as hers

And I’m not speaking blinded by romance.

I have dreamt of sirens and mermaids before,

Their voices still echoing within my feeble mind,

Many have portrayed them as fine as they could

But they always left something to be refined.

Hers was different, as if she were one herself,

The colors of her voice painted within me landscapes

That I could only dream of, left in me a sweet taste

As luring as a strix’s song, or the sighting of an elf.

Prolonged exposure to it led me astray,
Dragging my senses from reason’s light;
Each note invigorated my fragile body
Blurring the boundaries of my inner sight.

No anchor I had to bind me home,
For I had long surrendered to her sea;
Longing developed from my decaying vessel
Whilst lost in what her songs made of me.

Thus I surrendered to such revitalizing sound,
As I remapped the road for us both to tread;
For in this muse, my peace I somehow found,
And the power to rise from among the lost and dead.

Let’s Talk About You

To put you into words is no easy task, I reckon, my muse…
You are a work of art, and that, to you, may be no news,
Yet I always find myself lost in the haze of your essence,
Trying to capture snapshots of you before their evanescence.

For, like the weather, you’re always changing, progressing;
You’re a storm of ideas, states of being—a one-time blessing.
The justice your heart harbors and your ideals are honorable,
To the point you taught me ways of life I deemed imponderable.

My extremism fell weak to the purity of your views on conflict,
And though I oppose the deviants, I understood I shan’t convict,
With my ideals of Order, those I deem adversaries of harmony,
For it is stubbornness—the very thing that breaks into disharmony.

I’ve observed, equally, that you’re an intellectual, a deep thinker;
Your knowledge and many skills go beyond your life as a singer.
Each time you share a fact or understand my puns, I’m amazed,
Speechless, too, by that wit of yours that I find should be praised.

You do have your flaws, but you try and overcome them always,
For that’s part of being human as well—nobody is born being wise.
Yet wise you are in recognizing these as the key to growth—
And that’s something I also must do for the sake of us both.

The hand life has dealt to you never stopped you;
Even at the edge, holding onto them was the clue
That your heart needed to withstand and overcome
All which could’ve left it severely drained and numb.

At times, I suspect you may be a fairy in disguise,
Or a Virgoan Goddess hardly trying to deceive my eyes,
For your kindness and brightness know no bounds,
And your beauty seems to be crafted with velvet clouds.

And so brings an interesting point to the front:
When you send pictures, you never disappoint.
Though the more I look, I find not your wings,
For, my angel, you rule effortlessly above all things.

Yet, Isa, after all these stanzas I try to weave,

Perhaps it’s in the quiet moments I believe

That what you are is more than I can write—

A woman, not a puzzle—and that alone feels right.

To My (Future) Mother-in-law

To you, ma’am, I write on this fine day,

Cherishing you with just a few words;

As a stranger, I still take time to pray,

That blessings come on holy ivory birds

To the ears of Someone who knows you well,

And heals your soul by the ringing of a bell.

Happy Mother’s Day to you, I say out loud,

May you rejoice and enjoy what's left of it,

And of your daughter’s raising be real proud,

For she’s as admirable and full of grit

As you, hardworking woman, have always been.

She looks up to you with a wide, warm grin,

So pretty and genuine it brightens the night

Of those who hopelessly chase for the starlight.

May 13

To the Love of my Life,

A month ago we met, and our lives changed forever;

We loved with confidence, so glad to meet the One.

After years of longing for the day we got together,

Reuniting our hearts at last, to never abandon.

I couldn't be more grateful, so I wrote you this piece

To thank you for your efforts in this early first stage

Of the story we're writing towards a future of peace,

Worth looking back to when we finally come of age.

Till the end of time, Isa, I'll love you and you alone;

My loyalty and affections won't ever wither, dare I say,

In the same way yours will not while being my own.

Know well, the same way, that for your safety I pray.

Noble princess of faraway lands, who's brave and fair,

Bless this world with your dazzling smile once more;

Let it rejoice in your chuckle as it echoes through the air

Of the lands you live in, up to the sapphire-blue shores.

And maybe then the sun will rise to behold your beauty,

Just as I do when I share to the Moon my thoughts on you,

Who, truth be told, is aware that I made it my royal duty

To cheer you up, as I know best, when your days are blue.

From across the sea, writes to you,

Nick, your loyal bard.

 

May 16

Thus came the first monthsary of a thousand,

A day to reflect on how far we have gotten yet,

Since finding the love that we once envisioned

Within love's unpredictable game of roulette.

Happy monthsary to you, Isa, my muse and wife,

Owner of my heart and soul—my words and art;

The One I've awaited to have next to me for life

And from whose noble side I will never depart.

Doubt me not, for even if you're busy, I'll be here,

In your worst days—I'll stay—and also in your best,

For our story surpasses the genius of Shakespeare,

And the likes of Austen's work in a fair contest.

In a month alone, we loved oh so deeply

That the passage of time seemed to blur,

Staying genuine to the best of our ability,

Facing off Distance's unavoidable saboteur.

We overthought, maybe, but we learned as well,

Listened and solved our every issue, understood, too,

That we're as different as we're similar, sweetie belle,

Which, after careful evaluation, showed us our love is true.

I'm looking forward to the uncertainty of our future,

Hoping and knowing well that you'll be by my side

As I'll be by yours, as a faithful husband and admirer,

Prioritizing your happiness and safety with loving pride.

The Picture 

As I laid my mortal eyes on this still, graceful picture,

The floodgates of my soul let the tears pour out,

For Helios' sunlight highlighted the best features

Of the divine woman to whom I'm deeply devout.

I saw at first a chestnut-brown cascade of silky hair,

Falling onto an oval face and down to her warm chest;

Its color contrasted nicely with the fair, unblemished skin

Of her soft cheeks, which failed not to leave me impressed.

A bit at the top, a divine artist painted her eyebrows,

And below them, honey-brown marbles for eyes,

Which her stylish eyelids kept safe under dark eyelashes,

For they're the windows to a soul not only fierce but wise.

In-between this pair of beauties lies a small, nice nose,

A delicate complement adding shape to this work of art;

Below it, I beheld her pink lips and her cute little dimples,

And the thought of kissing her brought such joy to my heart.

The sight of such divine beauty made me cry, for I know

That even if there were four billion more women out there,

For my own alone I'll have eyes, and only in her I'll find

The kind of beauty before which I'll leave my soul fully bare.

Because her beauty isn't physical only; it goes beyond,

As those eyes tell the tale of a soul that shattered once,

And from whose shell a herald of light rose up, determined

To become the best of itself despite the world's belligerence.

The injustice of the ever-rotting humanity didn't mar her

But instead fueled her desire to do things right for us all;

And she may not be an omnipotent being in reality, but

To me she's a heroine, 'cause naught she does is ever small.

One day my words will be proven to be true; that I know.

But don't get me wrong: she's not a saviour, but a human,

A woman who'll do her best for her family, not the world;

It's not the weight she should carry, or maybe any man.

Truth be told, she'll never be alone, for I'll be there forever,

Supporting and cherishing her like a beloved princess,

Nurturing her inner child, protecting the woman she became;

For even a strong heroine deserves, at times, a genuine caress.

Handsome?

The way you describe me, deeply I despise,
For I am anything but handsome. What is that?
The baby face I bear, my deviated eyes—
Where’s the handsome guy you see at?

My rounded belly—don’t you feel repulsed?
I’d find more comfort in knowing that you do,
Because only then I’d dare to try and trust
That what you’re saying is true.

I spiral each night, wondering why you chose me.
You could’ve had the most beautiful man by your side,
Yet you chose the fatso with neither job nor degree,
A loser, long-distance, who can’t even provide.