Category: BLOG POST 5 (Page 2 of 2)

Four balloons, the center of attraction, so bright and colorful,

The ground, making a grid type design, people walking all over,

The sign, a man is behind it, what is he doing?

We can’t see his face, nor his back, yet he seem so concentrated. 

Three men, on the left, each on their cell phones, with bags by their feet

The tree, so green and lively, adds nature to the scene,

In a suburban area, who would have suspected something so natural?

The two people in the back, patiently waiting for a bus to arrive,

It looks like there bus is right around the corner.

The brown car and the yellow taxi, each going opposite ways.

A bank, people go inside to get money, funny that the sign is also green

A bench, a man sitting on it, looking at his phone,

Two more cars, creating a right angle, at a corner.

The building in the back, so massive yet so minor in the picture,

The windows make an orderly grid, similar to the square floor,

Two newspaper stands, red and yellow, quite a bright element next to a taxi,

The balloons once again, what do they mean? Maybe,

Happy Birthday!

Picture Link: https://www.instagram.com/p/B4EBzkwhlca/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link

I feel a surge of patriotism enveloping my very essence. A strange feeling indeed!
For I am not from here. I am from an island within the Philippines!
For I am not from here. The cold is news to me!
For I am not from here. Trees grow back every season!
I should not feel any nationalism. But here I am, proud to be in America!

A flag alone shimmering amidst the dark gray.
A flag in the wind shining red and blue and white.
A flag high atop a pole overseeing the green.

The savory American spirit resides in us all.
The spirit inhabits the land that we walk, from the bright grass to the dull concrete,
The spirit exists in the buildings that we climb, from the foundation to the ceiling,
The spirit lives in the sky that we see, from the polluted air to the clouds.

Although it shines bright, as radiant as the sun can ever be,
Not everyone is willing to embrace the spirit inside, which twists and turns, looking for a place to hide.
Not many are born here, most come with their own individual sense of culture,
Many are quick to put their solo identity to the front, people in America are not distinctly American.

But uncovered and true, residing in us all, lies an unwavering spirit that we cannot be identified without,
Our American spirit hangs high like a flag atop a pole,
Shimmering proudly and valiantly, a hidden star shining amidst the mist of many American identities.

I watch the sunrise when nights are sleepless, 

But I am not the only one. 

The naive girl who thinks excessively, 

The distracted boy who plays violent videogames endlessly, 

The attentive father who cares for his newborn nightly, 

The artistic boy who awaits the sun curiously, 

The adorable baby who cries endlessly, 

The young couple who talk about everything and nothing excitedly,  

The sick child who squirms in bed restlessly, 

The teenage girls who gossip incessantly, 

The wealthy executive who should not have eaten that sushi willingly, 

The sad boy who neglects getting help stubbornly, 

The diligent student who procrastinates regularly, 

The young immigrant who makes an international call to his family eagerly, 

The caring mother who awaits her teenage son’s arrival anxiously, 

The old man who curses his loud neighbors aggressively, 

The college student who takes a picture for a class tiredly, 

Each watches the sunrise when nights are sleepless. 

The apartments differ and the people differ and the reasons differ, 

Yet the yellow and orange and red and blue reflect off every surface, 

And into the comforting homes behind each window, 

And we are all connected by one thing: 

We all watch the sunrise when nights are sleepless. 

Copyrighted Ahmad Choudhry, follow him at @ahmxdd.c

They say that the dead comes back on Halloween

Blurring the lines between the living and the dead

But if we, the living, be very keen

We would realize that we are no different

One may ask…

What is the difference between the living and the dead?

When the youth, who are supposed to be filled with life, chant:

I feel so dead on the inside

What is the difference between the living and the dead?

When adults sulk when Mondays arrive

And going to work like a zombie horde

Living not only means breathing

Living is not defined by a heartbeat

Living means hope

Living means you live every day like your last day

Living means having a passion, a dream

That’s what makes us living

Drop your phones and drop your worries

Step out of your house and  step out of your comfort zone

Dress up for Halloween to scare away the dead

Give some candy and get some back

Enjoy the sweetness and cackle through the night

Just remember this…

It ain’t the dead that’s been haunting you

Because it was only you all along

Don’t paint yourself like a zombie

Because you are the joker that gets the last laugh

The Long Morn

Hearing the tiny motor sputter to life wakes me from my still-dreaming state

It reminds me of my long morn, my long journey, my long search for fish in their depths,

That I must take

For the ones back home, still sleeping, with their heads in the clouds, oblivious to reality

They don’t know that reality is cold and bleak, but I will never admit.

The still-darkness of the west blends with the calm waters it harbors,

But the sun – peeking out from the folds of the waves, wondering who is disturbing its slumber – reflects off the sea, painting it orange 

It is my road and mine alone

As my boat bobs along, it has no visible company

But bravely follows the blazing trail to my calling.

A feeling of fatigue overcomes me, but a gust of wind rattles me to my core, I shiver to pass the time, 

A feeling of solitude grows in me as my friend, my guide – the sun – climbs higher and disappears behind the boundless clouds,

A feeling of weakness hits me as I lift the anchor to throw it overboard, my sore arms reminded of every time I did for the past 20 years,

A feeling of doubt creeps into me, a familiar one, that I greet every day, as I think of my family that I do it all for.

But alas! A tug on the line! A struggle with the beast! And a catch for me!

Ah what joy a single fish brings!

I haul the stranger onto my boat, 

He not only brings the taste of company, but the celebration of triumph.

My long morn has just begun, but it is looking up.

Grant me the inexpressible beauty of a placid approaching night;

Grant me the silence of the roaring motors of the day; 

Grant me the soothing waves, harmonious and lethargic with the scent of the sea;

Grant me spacious streets and empty streets－grant me the hearing of my own steps;

Grant me an aroma of lavender, roses, and daisies, as I stand in the midst of a park gazing at the bright sparkling night sky;

Grant me peace and quiet from the endless conversations from all sides;

Grant be a break from the fast paced city life (every hour and every second) everyone in a rush;

Grant me time to explore, explore untimed the vast beauties of the city;

Grant me greenery, everywhere and anywhere, all around me; 

Grant me sunrises and sunsets of all colors, but those that don’t indicate start and finish;

Grant me stillness in the moving city, stillness in the neverending honks, lights, and yells;

Grant me a view, a ravishing one, a view not blocked by infinite streets and buildings;

These wishes and requests, all hidden in the overpowering city, the city that hugs you in;

These, though, to complete would be a wonder and smile to my heart;

Though, to say, the city has its beauty too, and I remain with it;

The city, enormous and mysterious, always different and new;

New faces, new creatures, new signs, new scents, new adventures;

The city that has become home, and yet it still is not.

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Musical Fight Against Cancer ? @danny_g.14

A post shared by NYC Decisive Moment (@nycdecisivemoment) on Oct 25, 2019 at 11:35am PDT

I see a man in front of me waiting to use the turnstile, I see his hand reach into his pocket to grab his MetroCard;

I see a metal fence, resembling those which occupy jail cells;

I see a group of musicians, two on guitar and one on the drums, making everyone’s day fill’d with a bit more music and a bit more joy;

I see a fight for a cause, being execut’d in a creative and thoughtful way, I see happy faces, who get to do what they love for a cause they support;

I see a security guard, uniform as dark as the night, standing as still as a tree;

I see a shar’d goal—to get from one destination to another that is out of walking distance;

In the subway that facilitates my everyday commute and the commute of countless others;

In the station that boasts millions of people like me, New Yorkers waiting for yet another delay’d train;

In the heat of the moment, my card is swip’d, just as the lady beside me has her purse swip’d;

In the background, I hear the arrival of my train;

In the busyness of the hour, I must push myself through the crowd and through the closing doors;

In the cramp’d train im stuck in, an odorous individual stands directly by my side;

In the situation, I recognize the uniqueness of New York;

I am under the ground but not underground, as the subway is no secret—it is the battery that keeps New York running.

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Monday Mornings ? ?: Christian Gonzalez

A post shared by NYC Decisive Moment (@nycdecisivemoment) on Oct 25, 2019 at 6:23pm PDT

Going class to class a piece of me breaks 

Going from floor to floor my heart aches

When will this day ever end?

When will I come home again?

Exhaustion pours out from every bone 

Let alone, my shaking legs that yearn for some rest 

I wish I could go back to kindergarten, where nap time was my favorite 

My life wasn’t as complicated, and I wish I had savored it 

I hope I can get some sleep tonight

I cannot take it anymore

Nightly darkest thoughts

spike my soul as they outpour

For now I can’t do much, I have to find a place to lie down.

I want to slay these demons, lay my head down for a rest.

Yes, let me forget about life for now

But this, no the world would never allow.

My eyes scurry from place to place, I can’t help thinking about the comfort of my youth

Need my eyes shut for a few minutes 

But these people have put a limit. 

It’s cyclical, physical, typical and surely despicable.

I call out, I shout into this void.

When will this day ever end?

When will I come home again?

These questions remain unanswered

Cause we all know it, this is our home, this is what we made of it.

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Never Ending Tracks #Brightonbeach :Axel Tolpina

A post shared by NYC Decisive Moment (@nycdecisivemoment) on Oct 25, 2019 at 5:58am PDT

With the coming of dawn, the people slowly fill the platforms,
Looking at the rise of the beaming sun and the gleaming sky,
Looking at my shadow extend south under the rusty roof, looking at the never-ending tracks that carry us on this journey,
Looking beyond and seeing the glistening trains,
The scent of morning dew, the haze on the buildings, the sweet chirps of the winged neighbors,
The rumbling as trains run along the tracks, the screeching as it pulls to a stop, the quick footsteps of passengers exchanging paths,
We share the same space but yet far from being intimate,
What are the chances we cross each other again?
Some are in a rush,
Some are in no hurry and sit back to watch the rushing stops,
Some are sleeping with heads against the poles and walls,
Some are reading in their bubble,
Some are tapping to the beat within their headphones,
Just as any of you, beneath the flickering lights I stand as one of the crowd,
The sun gives way to the silver moon, the beautiful reddish sunset,
Day after day, night after night, the station stays bustling and lively, in the city that never sleeps: New York City.

I see of you – more than me of me.

Who was to know, and when, how you use I?

Who was to know, stick’d in my palm, my tag is you?

Who was to know, my thoughts, equate your actions?

Addictions, time, sleep all lack’d, are my non wanting.

Life, work, family all consum’d of your needs, whilst kill’d mine.

I treasure life of you, but you consume – all treasure’s of me.

Hesitation. Buzz’d! Buzz’d! You scream, and never for I are notify’d.

Always consuming, sometime’s rewarding, always regretting – is me of you.

I and you need energy, but you always energize first, and tether I to the wall.

I carry your sleep in my backpack, but you always steal mine in time.

I carry you like medicine for my soul, and you slip a bomb to my tick of time.

I considered long your end, but on your end you considered me little.

But despite your short coming’d – you is what I love’d.

And despite conflict of I – you are my resolve.

Had angst, desperation, mindless routine, troubled to no avail.

Who was to know how – I have reached this point?

Who was to know how – I can let go?

Who was to know how I can run away when we are running in circles?

Had I let go, perhaps I would have understood that you were – no good.