How powerful, memories are.

Memory dissolves the walls
around you, so strongly built
sturdy and firm but when
memory hits, it's like
the walls were never there
in the first place

and you are back where
and when

at a time where your present
has shielded you, has
protected you, has
forgotten, regressed you
from

and that's when you feel
every ripple on your
skin like tiny waves
of pricking happening
all at the same time

and it shakes you
shakes you from the present
away from here

back there
there where you felt flying
and the present where you crashed.

©jln.

And he was standing there
still for a moment
with two hands
in front of him
placed on top of
a brown counter
marked by the incessant
drops of coffee
spilling every minute
for eight rigorous
hours.

And he was standing there
Thinking and knowing
what to do next
the moment the bell rings
his body will stir
and move and walk
and come back.
Walk and come back.

And then the bell rang.

I was right on all counts
except for one small thing:

He turned to me and smiled
the kind of smile that
I didn't know would last
my heart for years.

And years and years.

©jln.

Waiting
like the lamp post
for the morning
and the sun
so he can rest
turn his lights off
and love the day
silently
quietly
passionately.

Mornings give him
darkness but
illuminates
the rest of his life
with unbelievable
light so powerful
it makes everything
beautiful

so beautiful
he forgets his purpose
to be a light
in the dark.

He doesn't want
the moon to come
and the stars to shine.

Just the sun, all day
all night.

©jln.

You may not be fully sure
when you say
"I love you."

You may not be fully sure
when you say
"I hate you."

But you know
the one thing
you can say
that you can be fully
absolutely sure of
the moment you say it?

"I miss you."

©jln.

Saying and telling
words out loud
out loud, out loud
disrupts not only
the soundwaves around
my face

but it also
breaks down the
walls around my heart
lined cracks by
lined cracks by
lined cracks

until they all fall down

and I have nothing left
but a bunch
of gibberish jumble
of letters
no one can ever put
together
nor
understand.

©jln.

And if nothing else works,
you can always
close your eyes
block slowly
each and every
sense. Try and freeze
every nerve from feeling
anything
outside your skin.

Detach from your body
to make you feel more alive.

©jln.

Walking.
One foot, then the
other.
Right.
Left.
Right.
Left.

And with each
foot you step
on a memory.

It splashes
flattens
squashes.

It's just a
mess on the
pavement.

Figures and
moments distorted.

A different story
is now being told.

Not when

you squint,
you squint real hard

and that's when
truth can be briefly glanced.

©jln.

You know how
they say that you
can feel it
when someone looks at
you?

There is that
energy stirring
between you and
him.

It's a line
nobody can see
and
everybody just
walks by

but they will not
break it - the line
they won't
the couldn't.

It's only
you and me
me and you
that can
break that line
kill that energy.

I don't see the line.
But I can feel it --
on my skin.

I look back
and the energy
bounces off our
spectacles

creating blue red
yellow orange
loud explosive
vibrating stirring
fireworks

so beautiful

nobody can hear
nobody can see
nobody can feel.

I can though.
Can you?
Let me know if you do.

©jln.

And if anything,
I'll let you know.
I'll leave a message.

Don't you worry.
I know that
"I'm fine"
is
the world's biggest
understatement.

The question,
if I may ask,
is

would you respond
if I call?

knowing the words
that would spill out
of my mouth
would be the very
words you
dread
to hear?

I'll just be here
waiting for your answer.

And we'll take it
from there.

From there,
we'll take it.

©jln.

Drive.
Let's drive away
from here
here where everyone
needs... wants
directions to
get to somewhere.

Let's drive away.
We don't need
directions baby --

we just need this
steering wheel

and the world
before us.

We can stop, sure,
smell some flowers
pick some fruits.

Let's drive away
and not go back.

At least, not until
somebody calls
and tell us we will
get fired
if we don't get
back to work.

©jln.

Being voiceless
is the same
as being
loveless.

No one can hear
your words
you try to talk
and but the words
just float
bounce on the
walls and
back to you.

You want to
sing a song
a melody to
express and
ease the intense
bursting
feelings inside.

Even a whisper
you desire.

Nothing.

All you have
are words unspoken
written in
jumbled letters
that don't really
make sense

except to you

and to you only.


©jln.

The moment I
write these words
and the blinking line
produces a letter
and moves down in a row

on a white space
enclosed by a box --

know that these
words and letter
dashes and commas
periods

they are all
a product of my
chaotic and bursting
mind

trying to breathe in
inspiration
and breathe out
expression.

©jln.

In that place, you
become a person with
no name

just a person with
a body

with a smile, so
inviting, magnetic,
hypnotizing
stripping
you of thoughts
about spilled milk
and spilled tears

of nights so long
of dark sodden corners

of mornings so cold
and trash cans
toppled over
and of anything
that can hold you
back.

of shaking, of quivering
under the rain

of sweating, of fear

of wondering about the difference
between living alone
and dying alone

of that yearn to matter.

Tonight, it's just
you and your
body and your
smile.

And everybody else's
bodies and smiles.

Force,
tension, and
charge.

All of it,
but nothing of thinking

in that place.

©jln.

I wonder if it
will ever go away?

It's still so
alive, it stirs
every once in a while.

But I know it's still there.

I'm scared of it. Please
take it away.

Please go away.

Even if that means, it
takes my heart

away with it.

©jln.

Rushing
running
racing

every second
every step
matters --

all for what?

To catch a bus
to get somewhere
you think you're
supposed to be.

To catch a bus
like it was the
last

when, really, there's
another bus coming
another bus that can
take you somewhere
you think you're
supposed to be.

You just wait.
Just wait, be
patient. No need
to rush.

It will come.

Again.

©jln.

I am sitting beside
Truth. He's okay.
He's not completely
scary as what people
say.

He's just staring
with an open
hand. Waiting for
someone to
reach out and
hold his hand.

I feel Truth
sitting, breathing
beside me. He's alive.
He's real.
I tell you, he's real.
And he's trembling

from loneliness.

I guess, when people
try to run away
from you, it gets
lonely sometimes.

And all he wants,
is for someone
to hold his hand.

©jln.

"Mommy, please let me
press the numbers for you!

I want to press
the numbers for you!"

"No honey, we're not using
the card today. I'm paying
by paper money today.

Why don't you
hand the lady the paper money?"

"Okay Mommy."

"Ugh, I can't reach over Mommy help!
Can you please carry me?"

"I can't honey. Mommy's leg is
hurting."

"Where's Daddy? Can you ask
him to carry me Mommy?"

"Honey, let me just give
the paper money to
the young lady."

"Where's Daddy?"

"Here you go honey,
here's your new Barbie!"

"Yeeeeeeeeee! Barbie!"

I wish Daddy was here
so I can show him my new Barbie!

Mommy, where is he?


©jln.

Waves of forest green
over white floating
seemingly
carried by pointed
heels
with a smile
as a crown
that makes them
sparkle and glow
like princesses.

And she comes in
walks wearing
a beautiful kind of happiness


the promise of forever
waiting for her
at the end.

©jln.

There is something freeing in solitude. You don't
have to worry about that sauce on your upper
lip. Or that piece of meat stuck in your teeth.

Put your feet up - as long as they don't smell and
hit another person's head. Eat slow
and savour every salt and every pepper.

To not wipe your greasy hands right away so
you can hold or touch another's. You don't
have to smell good and most importantly,

you can take your own sweet
precious glorious time
to pee.

©jln.

I
cannot be
what I
used to be.

Because
what I
used to be

was
a me
with you

and
you
left.

So
now I
am (and
would just
have to be)

me
with
me.

©jln.

Pages
of blank
white paper
folded halfway
horizontally
stapled on
the spine

to make
it look like

a makeshift book

about

stories and dreams
squiggly lines
comic bubbles
smiley faces
sun and moon
sticks and stones
hula-hoops
irregular hearts
of people
holding hands
stick figures
pointy ears
circular eyes
birds shaped
as shifted
number threes

every thing
held together

by staple wires
and
a child's dreams.

©jln.

I missed
a day
of writing in metre.

of figuring
out how
to write these thoughts.

That time
I was supposed
to be writing in metre

I was
clutching
my heart

being stabbed
by an invisible
sharp pen

its ink
pouring pain
all over my veins

freezing
numbing
my hands from moving

arresting my
mind from
thinking

of nothing
nothing but
dying.

©jln.

Tonight,
music with
no words
say more
than the
longest
song
ever
written.

The beauty
of music
with no words

is that

from listening

just
listening

and
no words
interfering

comes
understanding.

©jln.

That moment
when
someone
catches
your eye.

The previously
non-existent
space between
you two
solidifies.

One.
Two.
Three.
Four.

And in
four seconds
you're alive

and what's
more important
is that
somebody else
acknowledged
your
existence.

Five.

Time's up.

Back to the
faceless crowd.

©jln.

I wonder sometimes
why they start
stories with
"Once upon a time..."

Do magical stories
only happen
once?

Upon a time?

If magic
If love
If tragedy
If lessons
If friendship
If love
only happen

once upon a time...

Then,
don't bother
telling me
a story.

©jln.