Can you hear the music?

The music, oh that glorious music, was playing.

It wasn’t playing to entertain, but rather,

                to touch the soul.

You see, some may listen to music and say “that’s great”.

On the other hand, I look at it and say “it gives me life”.

Music has a way of bringing out the best in our emotions.

It makes us think, makes us laugh, makes us reflect.

But most importantly, it touches us.

Touches the very base of our soul, the fiber in which we are molded out of.

It transcends art, and like a phoenix, arises.

Arises to become something more.

From the sweeping notes to the comforting melodies,

to the ascending arpeggios to the exquisite arias,

music sweeps you off your feet.

Like that beautiful couple passionately in love, dancing the night away, this is what music becomes.

It isn’t merely content on simply just playing.

It caresses you, with all the love it can possibly deliver.

It wraps its loving arms around you with tender, ardent warmth.

It touches you. Touches the soul.

                                It’s part of our existence.

A walk through silence

He was walking. Walking along the path that solitude created.

Walking down that quiet hallway, his footsteps ringing.

However, only his ears heard the ringing.

There was nobody around, to compliment him on his hallowed journey.

Nobody was around to admire the scenery with him.

Nobody. Nobody at all. He was all alone.

It was surreal. He was the lone survivor of a building,

a building that was abandoned; it was like a dream, a dream gone horribly wrong.

But it wasn’t abandoned, contrary to what his mind told him.

It was like a survival movie-could he hold out?

Could he hold out in the reckless state of solitude and quarantine?

He hoped, he really hoped, that the next day would bring about contact,

       that precious human interaction,

that he so desperately craved. Like a starved man, he wanted, no, needed that company.

He would have to wait and hope

But for now,

Now,

He kept on walking. Tolling away in semi-despair.

Down on those eerily quiet paths.

Where people should roam.

Non-writing thought

So, lately I've been thinking of writing more about my travels, along the vein of 501 Places and those type of travel blogs. The grand question here is if anybody would want to see them posted here or if I should create an entirely new blog/web page for that. In an ideal world, I hope to try and start my own travel blog in the futile attempt to have it gain renown, so I'm going to be trying to do something grander if all possible. And to end this little post, if anybody that so as to happen to be reading this, would you mind giving me feedback here? It'd be highly appreciated for sure.

Study Abroad, a poem

Oh the places you can go, the places you dream of.

Possibilities abound!

You have the choice-to go somewhere exotic or somewhere comfortable.

Do you want to be speaking English or to learn other exotic languages?

It’s your call, and you can’t go wrong.

From North America to South America, Europe, Asia, Africa, or Australia,

alluring cultures await your imminent arrival.

All of these places are splendid,

And no matter what, we’ll have a great time.

From all of the pictures we’ll take of the exquisite sights we’ll be seeing,

To the new friends, in new locales, we’ll soon be meeting,

We will be rewarded with the rich memories.

But just remember,

                We’re more than students. We are ambassadors as well.

Ambassadors to our schools and countries, serving as the flagbearers.

Flagbearers at the Olympics of culture, language, and humanity.

More importantly though, cultural ambassadors.

For we represent our respective countries when in others.

                We need to uphold the standards thrust upon our shoulders.

We help other places learn what it’s like back home, and learn ourselves.

By learning, we are able to enjoy life and its tangy spices.

And that is why we students board the planes to Silk Roads of awareness.

Wishful Thinking

This was once again co-written with a friend, again via text. Hope you enjoy it, in all of its zaniness.

A butterfly's wings are not made of butter.
Like a dragonfly isn't really a dragon.
But wouldn't it be such a curious sight,
to see a buttered fly and a fire breathing insect,
buttering dragonfly-fired toast! If only we could see this in supermarkets!
And our latest celebrities would merely have wings!
And we could fly to where we want to,
on wings of fire and fat.
And we will enjoy this immensely,
As we race through the burnt Autumn skies!

That Lonely Feeling (co-written with a friend)

Sometimes I start to panic about the promises I’ve made

And I try to do the best I can

To make up for my mistakes.

Mistakes of the long forgotten past.

And when I ask her,

I ask her, I ask her about those moments

When I lied or cheated,

How she felt.

When I was scared away. When I was wandering those lonely roads.

Thinking I was alone. In that lonely stretch of earth.

Do you hear my late night cries? Do you know that I miss you?

I wonder if you care for me anymore.

Time has a way of erasing love from each other.

An unloved land

It was there. Sticking out like a sore thumb. An oasis of barrenness in a field of life.

In a short distance, there was a contrast.

On one side, there were buildings. Buildings that housed life and color.

On the other side, there was a vast and mighty ocean.

                That stretched out and eventually morphed into a grand deity.

Reminiscent of the Great War, there was a no man’s land. Barren. Empty.

The sand was there, where no sides dared to cross.

No one told them that they couldn’t claim the land-it was an unofficial rule that they wouldn’t.

The middle was like where civilization halted, where the blue waters refused to touch.

No claims were made in the name of H₂O, nothing.

It was like a fairy tale was real; this arrangement was abrupt and unexpected.

The city was pushing to the vestige of its limits, yet

it didn’t want this territory. Nobody did.

There were no signs saying “Halt. Do not step on this land.”

Though one expected a park ranger to step out and tell you to punish the first person

who was brazen enough to set a toe on this infamous plot of land.

Would there be anyone who’d eventually dare do it?

To step foot on that hallowed, yet bare, land?