meekia

In search of beautiful moments.

I close my eyes.

I visualize.

I look up at the clouds my cameraman is filming. I look at the trees and fruits and organic vegetables under the gentle rays of the morning sun. I look at the funny faces of the 12-year-old thespians in the video camera's LCD.



Sometimes, it magically appears, when I stop talking;

when I shout "action!"

when I remember

when I forget

Sometimes it dances for me, twirls and swishes by,

when you smile.
when you laugh
when you giggle

Alchemy.

Fleeting.

I look at the view before me --- A bit of the esplanade, a chunk of The Fullerton, some small boats sailing by, a broad limn of amber in the evening sky.

I look at her.

I look at them.

I look at us.

I look at the boats.

Idly by.

I imagine.

Idly by...

Earl Hines is at the piano. His cigarette dangles.

I click on the URL.

I type on the keyboard.

I flip through the magazines.

I do push-ups. I wear my jeans. I do pull-ups.

I look out of my room's window.

I walk. I run. I swim. I stare at the black and white keys on my piano.

I read.

I discover.

I do not know what to show you.

But Luci Hale does

She shared something on her blog on the 21st of January 2006.

It was winter, 2005, when the words appeared in her head, and the magazine she works for.

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Love circles.
An unseen orbit swiveling.
The theory I hold on to.
That summer.
Out in the sea and on the raft we gathered.
The infinite haze of light blue above us exhaled with recognition.
The sky knew it well.
Mysteries of fate buried within.

Naked as infants we were in a stolen moment.
The beauty of imagined eternity.
To the end of untouchable destiny.
I could almost distinguish.
The edge of the sea.
I floated.
The bubble of exquisite joy.
Blossoming ecstasy inside my body.

And when I turned I recognized all of you.
We cradled for the glory of light.
Our fragile skin yearned for a close-up of delicacy.
An explicit nature of all bubbles.
Tiny as the existence of a flute-like murmur.
I attempted to sing.
No voice came out.
The moment of truth.
Suffocated under the bell jar.
The anticipated explosion we had to bear.

Silence itself spoke.
We never dared to declare.
The reason.
The outcome.
When our hands joined together.
Amid affections.
Something happened.

(CREAM Winter Edition 2005 Issue 03)

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posted by audaciousjoy @ 9:04 PM