The Man by the Roadside

It is another one of those cloudy days, and I am out for a walk again. I walk on aimlessly, having no destination in mind, until my path diverges into two roads. I struggle with indecision. Take the left one. No, take the right one. Neither is familiar, so I eventually settle for the road leading to the right.

The sound of leaves crackling under my feet is the only sound that breaks the silence of my surroundings. The breeze caresses my cheeks as I close my eyes to breathe in the scent of the nearby forest.

“Boy.”

Startled, I look around. A man is squatting by the roadside, watching me. He has been so quiet that I did not notice him until now.

“Yes, you. Where are you from?”

“I’m from the College. Well, that’s where I am now. My hometown is far away, though.”

“Where are you going?”

I do not know how to answer this question. I am tempted to take it at face value, but something stirs within me. His eyes search me. Something tells me he is asking for more than just my physical destination. I hesitate.

“I don’t know, really.”

“Where do you want to go, then?”

“I’m…not sure.”

The man smiles. “Then why are you here?”

I am starting to get indignant. Why is he asking me all these questions, and why am I compelled to answer them honestly? He is nothing but a stranger to me. Yet this mysterious stranger captures my attention. I throw him a vague answer to see if he can follow my train of thought.

“Maybe it’s because I don’t have a choice.”

“Really? But you chose the path leading to the right today, didn’t you? You chose to talk to me, even though you could have just ignored me. Your choices will dictate where you go. What you will become. Who you will be and what you will do. Don’t look back at the end only to regret having your life dictated by others.”

I am silenced. Slowly, I turn around and walk back up the path, his words still ringing in my ears.

This time, I stride purposefully.

Man

Bold.
Firm.
Stolid.
Strong.
Decisive.
Fearless.
Ruthless.



Heartless?

Less than I

I wrote my apology
On this yellow piece of crumpled up paper
But I keep it in my pocket
Unable to decide what to do
Indecision grips my heart
And my mouth holds fast

I admit I am corrupted
Mind, body
Spirit and soul
Swallowed completely
Swallowed whole

I'm sorry
But I'm not who you think I am
I'm lesser than he

I've heard of that special spark
That ignites one's soul
Inflaming the spirit
Permeating the mind
And galvanizing the body

That special spark which gives all the chance to be the best versions of themselves

Maybe I once had it
But maybe don't anymore
I've been going through the motions
An empty husk with a fake smile

With my tiny hands
I fumble to patch the holes in my heart
The blood leaks
Is this it; is this the start
I am draining

Like a candle in the wind
Like foam on the stormy waves
Should I hold on to dear life?

I've lost the Spirit
I've turned away
The was-once cooling oil
Now burns me
Like coals being heaped on my head

I lie on the dusty ground
A corpse; dry and rotten
Within me
Worms that never die
And fire that never burns out

But if you really believe
In that spark
You aver about
Is who we really need

Then
I'll try.

How to Apologize to Your Girlfriend

"You're late," she said quietly.

I nodded guiltily. I knew tardiness was one of the few things she couldn't stand. I racked my mind for excuses, but I didn't have any. I'd overslept, thanks to my "trusty" alarm clock. I wasn't a morning person. Maybe I should have gone to bed earlier, not watched that movie with my friends, not help out the new kids who'd arrived last night, not surfed the net for...

I kicked myself. No excuses. This wasn't the first time, either.

"Can I make it up to you somehow?" Silly question, really. I thought it would show her how sorry I was, but the moment it left my mouth I realized that I was only asking because I didn't know how to apologize. And asking the girl you'd wronged for advice on how to correct a wrong was insensitive and unintelligent, to say the least. I winced inwardly.

"Try to," she replied. Then she turned and walked away.

I watched her retreating back, trying to make sense of her words. My lack of sleep did not aid my inner disorientation. "I love you," I shouted after her, but she didn't acknowledge it. I saw her make the tiniest shake of her head, but she kept on walking.

Nice way of showing her that you do, an inner voice said wryly. I kicked myself again. Of course she wouldn't appreciate a declaration of love right now. My poor choices of words weren't helping. I needed an EQ boost.

I sat down and wracked my brains. How could I possibly make up for being late again? It's not like I hadn't done it before, and in all probability I'd do it again. A simple "I'm sorry, I won't do it again" note wouldn't suffice, and would most likely be dishonest, too. How do you apologize for a character failing?

I snapped my fingers. Flowers. Six red roses. The universal "I messed up but I still love you" indicator. I hurried over to the florist, but they were closed. I pounded on the door in the hope that somebody, anybody, would aid me in my desperation. The woman inside glanced at me, rolled her eyes, and pointed to a sign above that said, "FLOWERS = INSINCERE APOLOGY. GO AWAY." I slumped to the ground in defeat. The woman was right. She didn't like flowers anyway.

The it hit me. Chocolate. She loved chocolate. Yes, the creamy dark kind... Breaking into a run, I dashed into a nearby grocery store and picked out the largest box of chocolates I could find. But as I approached the counter, the cashier gave me a once-over, sighed, and said, "Honey, if that's an apology, forget it. She deserves better." My mouth dropped open. Was I really that obvious?

"Bb..but...but..."

"Trust me, honey." She yanked the box out of my arms.

Dejected, I walked out into the street. I was out of ideas. I wanted nothing more than to go to her and envelope her in a big bear-hug, but I doubted that there was such a thing as a "physical apology" in the female vocabulary. A foot massage, then? A back rub? Maybe. I didn't know.

Then I remembered. She'd told me of her friend who baked a cake for his girlfriend in apology. She hadn't sounded too approving of the idea at the time, but maybe...

The blare of a horn broke my reverie, and I jumped back onto the sidewalk just in time to look up and see the bus driver shaking his fist at me. JUST DO IT, the bus' Nike logo shouted at me as it zoomed by. I wondered if it was a sign.

...

Two hours and an exploded oven later, I knew it wasn't. I was no baker. Covered in flour, I collapsed onto my bed and squeezed my eyes shut. "Never give a nerd a cookbook," I muttered to myself.

My eyes snapped open. I was a nerd. Nerds don't give up, they Google. I hurried over to my computer.

"HOW TO APOLOGIZE TO YOUR GIRLFRIEND by Rosecrans Baldwin" jumped out at me. Perfect, I thought.

"Feel free to use any tactic that seems relevant:

• Say you’ll meet her for dinner at the new, raved about and very expensive restaurant, but don’t show up. That way, she can meet someone new. Phone the maître d’ an hour later and pay for their meal.
• Have her favorite pet stuffed, smiling, with “love is forever” tattooed on its stomach.
• Lose a leg; who’s sorry now?
• Be hungry for her again: After a two-week fast, say you got skinny to show her how awful she’d look if she weren’t so fat.
• Invent her a superhero identity featuring you as the reliable, naïve sidekick in tights. Exploit all entendres—bat caves, lassos of truth, etc.
• Recalibrate her sister’s and mother’s bathroom scales to be ten pounds heavier.
• Give her a dozen roses. Better than that, give her a single rose and a Mercedes. Better than that, fill the Mercedes with shoes. Better than that, dump yourself after she’s driven away.
• Let her use the bathroom pass more often than the other kids.
• Break up with your other girlfriends.
• Pat Benatar said, “Love is a battlefield.” Love is not a battlefield; Iraq is a battlefield, where two thousand American soldiers have died. Isn’t she glad you guys don’t live in Iraq?
• Detail her car.
• Practice apologizing on hookers. If she finds out, explain you wanted to be really sorry.
• Sign her up for a Match.com account.
• Send her on a beach vacation to Australia. On her trip home, arrange for her plane to crash on a remote island in the South Pacific. Stalk her with monsters, handsome men with five o’clock shadows, and a shark with a weird logo on its flank. Two weeks later, arrange for her to find a new iPod in the sand loaded with a home movie of your apology.
• Legally change your name—to your pet name.
• Does your girlfriend like opera? So does Ewan McGregor. Inscribe his cell phone number (07761554841) down the side of a nine-inch rubber.
• Take the day off, go to Six Flags, and buy her all the souvenirs she would have wanted. Make sure you get a photo of yourself being sick after too many roller coasters.
• Tip her 20 bucks."

Bewildered, it took me 2 minutes to realise that the writer was being sarcastic. I read the article again. "Lose a leg; who's sorry now?" I cringed in sociopathic ecstasy.

It looked like the trusted Net wasn't going to be any help. None of the guys knew any better, and the gals sure weren't telling. I wasn't crazy yet, but I sure was was getting desperate.

"Take her away. I'm sorry sir, but your wife is as crazy as a jaybird."

"I'm going to send you to the booby-hatch!"

I groaned.


***


At precisely 9 pm, her doorbell rang. She opened the door, and without a word I handed her the package I'd brought.

"What's this?" she asked.

"A gun, so you can shoot me," I quipped.

Giving me her "that's-so-lame" look, she ripped open the package. Inside were a few sheafs of paper. She read the title and the first few lines:

How to Apologize to Your Girlfriend

"You're late," she said quietly.

I nodded guiltily. I knew tardiness was one of the few things she couldn't stand....


She looked up and gave me a quizzical look. I tried to look guilty but failed. I grinned.

"Want to join me for supper tonight?"

She rolled her eyes. "Guys," she muttered. Then she smiled, and everything was alright.

Desiderata

Go placidly amid the noise and the haste,
and remember what peace there may be in silence.

As far as possible, without surrender,
be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly;
and listen to others,
even to the dull and the ignorant;
they too have their story.

Avoid loud and aggressive persons;
they are vexatious to the spirit.

If you compare yourself with others,
you may become vain or bitter,
for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.
Keep interested in your own career, however humble;
it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.

Exercise caution in your business affairs,
for the world is full of trickery.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;
many persons strive for high ideals,
and everywhere life is full of heroism.
Be yourself. Especially do not feign affection.
Neither be cynical about love,
for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment,
it is as perennial as the grass.

Take kindly the counsel of the years,
gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.
But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.
Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.

Beyond a wholesome discipline,
be gentle with yourself.
You are a child of the universe
no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you,
no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

Therefore be at peace with God,
whatever you conceive Him to be.
And whatever your labors and aspirations,
in the noisy confusion of life,
keep peace in your soul.

With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,
it is still a beautiful world.
Be cheerful. Strive to be happy.

~Max Ehrmann, 1927~

Delivery

Her eyes ranged over the lands. Power mad people scrambling over each other, trying to be the top killer.

"Avatars," she summoned.

"Mistress?"

"Milady."

"At your service."

She drew a deep breath.

"Deliver the Night."

As silently as the Avatars appeared, they left except one.

"You dislike performing service unto me?" she asked him.

"No," came the reply from the man with the dark expression. His constant scowling, unexpectable behaviour - and powers - earned him the name Darkhorse, replacing his old name.

"Then?" asked the Lady, querying Darkhorse's reason for delaying.

"This holocaust will only gain us our own," came the answer.

Sixor was taken aback by that statement but was able to maintain a calm demeanour.

"Let a Goddess deal with matters related to the Mother Temple and her residents," she replied.

Darkhorse vanished.

Teacher's Day

Teacher

You have put in me

The thirst for knowledge

Teacher

You have birthed in me

The curiosity to learn

Teacher

You have instilled in me

The drive to advance

Teacher

You have taught me

The courage to dream

But above all

Teacher

You have given me

The will to succeed

Teacher

You were with me

Every step of the way

As I learnt to be

The person I am today

Teacher

You held my hand

Led me through

Your sacrifices I understand

So I thank you

Happy Teacher's Day.

***

Lol this is my first commission. I shall not reveal who requested for this poem.