Bright Castles (A Poem by Jan Decena)

“I believed that I am ready

but I remembered wishing

for a mirror in front of me

my reflection saying “I am steady”.

I came with a golden armour

but suddenly realising that

it is still flesh and blood

in the end just nothing but an actor.

These bright stars no more

and I am engulfed by this

stifling darkness and depravity

I am no phoenix that will soar. (12)

Just another sorry pile of unborn ashes,

Not knowing how to mend these bruises. (14)

Maybe just another number

in this no land of bright castles

and I am no sleeping beauty but

God Almighty! Let me slumber. (18)

And possibly dream for once.

Just once.(20)

Keep on dreaming that dream that I always had,

Hands curling each other tight and no one was sad,

And I am sorry that there were still no bright castles,

But there were our laughs, the waves, sand-covered sandals. (24)

It seemed like a promising destiny

when we touch our faces and just

look through our eyes, our torn souls,

falling deep into this hopeless fantasy. (28)

Then, I remember (29)

How can you possibly be there

when I am just nothing but a number

in the crowd of the same people

even if I lay myself out cold and bare.

How can someone like me catch you

when I am just another pumpkin

no white carriage and glass slippers

a bird with no wings and you just flew.

Bright castles, I can never build

never ever even if I sold my soul to

the laughing Grim Ripper on my door

I am an empty wish never to be filled. (41)

Look at these lines to dismember! (42)

How so futile that is so laughable

giggling loud at my own despair

at trying to ignore that one voice

telling me I am never capable. (46)

Maybe I will just let them trample

I am an unscripted Ophelia in this

looping Hamlet that no one will see

Look how this theatre crumble! (50)

And maybe now, I ought to remember. (51)

It is time to accept that there is no cry for salvation,

Open up my mouldy gangrene heart at my own corrosion,

Let me smile my empty smile as I see no finishing touch,

I am a poem cut off but that’s fine, there’s nothing to clutch. (55)

Blow away into the wind, my desolate phoenix ashes,

Because I will never know how to mend these bruises. (57)

And eventually I will fade for once.

Just once. ” (59)

I have no idea how I got into this rather melancholic poem – probably a sad song or two.

I just realised that I have a great tendency to write longer-than-necessary poems, in which many of my fellow creative writers back when I am in University did tell me to shorten it. Thus, I might come back to this poem and release an edited version.

For now, though, I hope that you guys have enjoyed reading it!


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