top of page
Writer's pictureThe Communicator

Ink-stained Muse



Consciously, I longed for it,

Now that I'm given the chance,

I'll take it.


In a one-way alley,

I wandered. 

Hues of black and white

Mixed in the air.

Chunks of clouds

Blocked my vision, 

Of the things around the passageway.

Doubtful, I started to run,

Towards the end that I can't see yet.

To add to the gloom,

The sky got darker,

But I kept going,

I ran as fast as I could,

But the whispers of the thunder stunned me.


"That's not good enough."

I trembled.


"You can't go anywhere with that."

I was numbed.


I looked back,

It was endless.

I glanced ahead,

It was endless, too.


The thunder continuously spoke,

"That's not professional work."


I tried not to falter.

"Silly you. That's just a hobby."


I tried to take a step.

As the lightning striked,

I saw a glimpse of color—

Different from the colors I used to see.

The thunder turned to echoes.

I pushed the clouds aside.

Fascinated by the colors—

ranging from cyan to magenta to yellow,

I continuously walked onward—

Carefully remembering the details,

Making something out of it.

Then, I did not hear the thunder anymore.


As I walk along, 

Trailing the path,

Filled with solace,

I did not notice that I'm almost there.

Far ahead,

A glimmer caught my eye—

Sparkling, dashing in elegance.

Words were engraved upfront.

As the gates opened,

It never locked.


A warm smile greeted me,

With a bunch of papers and pens in his hand,

Reaching out to me. 

For the first time since I chose this path,

I felt that I belonged.



Article: Jamaica Elcano

Illustration: Timothy Andrei Milambiling

Comments


bottom of page