When Patrick was on a journey
On his way to America
He was leading to a town named Cork
When he met with a girl
The girl has black hair and dark face
She used to live in a pyramid
Her family comes from Egypt
And her name was Marie.
im writing this down bcoz i myt wanna sing this song to my baby one day.eventho mcm xde ape2 nilai2 murni,i thot it makes a good nursery rhyme.
October 7th 2007,
Cardiff UK
Scene 1
A man in black uniform was walking through a park, (which suspiciously looks like
Bute Park ) when two men ran-flew in and did a funny-smart-quick pokes at the man making him fell down, unmoving.
Scene 2
There’s an older man with a worried expression on, grey hair with lines etched on his face to complete the worried-dad look. And beside him, the reason of his facial lines: a woman, very young, perhaps in her twenties. She was wearing a hefty-grumpy-“im-not-a-girl” look, with arms crossed. She has rebel in her sharp dark eyes and dark shoulder length hair. I have no idea who they are.
Man: It could have easily been you! It’s just like Dou Shien to do something like that! Mysterious murders with no leads to follow!
Woman: Why can’t u trust me for a bit? Am I not preserving
ur nang n namoos by even being here? By even joining when its cause clashes my very belief?
Man: U r only preserving my nang n namoos, if your heart is in it. Is your heart in it?
———————————blip——————————————–
Comments: this one was silly rly. Had a good laugh out of it. (It’s freaky rly, to be waking up and laughing at
ur own dream. So ppl. Thank urself
ur not my roommie.) first off, scene 1 looked like something out of naruto. Scene 2, has some Arabic words from a book I read. N seriously, Dou Shien? Wahaha. Seriously, sleeping is almost like watching the movie sumtimes.
Somewhere in July, Malaysia.
I was in my house. Strangely so, a house made of mud, wood and dried grass. There were shouts from below, a procession of people with torches in their hands. Houses, like mine, burning from afar. I don’t know why. And there he was, beside me, my husband. I don’t know him, can’t recognise his face, yet I know he was my husband. We were looking out from the window below. And then he looked at me with fear in his eyes. There was a fleeting worry, but just so for a second. Fear overtook that very eyes, and he shook his head. “I can’t follow”, he muttered slowly. I felt a rush of sadness, but also felt expectancy. I was expecting that answer. So I made my way downstairs. Out of my house. Someone grabbed my hands, pushed me in a little group of scared-looking people, surrounded by the angry crowd. Despite the uncomforting expressions they wore, somehow, being here comforted me more than I was with my husband back then. We were marched to someone’s garden in front of a house. I saw a man, he was one of them. Yet he didn’t look angry, he looked at us pityingly. “There’s still a chance. Say you’re not a follower”. I said “There’s still a chance for you too. Follow.” And he laughed, the kind of laughter that stole whatever kindness I saw previously. “And what do I get? THIS? Do you get to laugh like I do now?” and I knew my case was lost. They put us in a row. Kneeling, looking down. I turned my back on them, I’d rather not see for I’m afraid I’ll lose the will, the courage I had for this decision. I heard faint sobs, cries. And I heard the clicks of something metallic. “So who’s first?”, someone was saying. A thought came fleeting through my mind. What does it feel like? Death? And then I felt something cold against the nape of my neck. And a ‘snatched’ feeling, the kind u feel when
ur in Solero Shot in Genting Highland. Darkness. And I woke up, crying not because I was scared, but for longing for it not to be a dream.
Comments: It felt real, this one. Like I’m in someone else’s body, witnessing someone else’s real experience.
Hi again to all of you.
As some of my friends who actually read my blog before would have known, I used to have a blog. But due to some …erm… unfortunate events, I didnt anymore. Well not that i blog all too often anyways for it to be missed, ahaha. (as they say, the creative process should be left to its own pace - which is an excuse for lazy writers actually). Nways, I’d always wanted a dream diary bcoz I’m always doing dat - dreaming. no, no not the wonderful Martin Luther King Jr kinda dream "I dream of a nation where my children will be judged…blabla", i mean the sleep-then-dream kinda dream. Well Moon used to be my dream diary, used to wake up n say, "Moon..dgrlah mimpi saya…" and now that I no longer have a roommate (haha,yes i miss u Moon), this blog will be! yay! (mcmla rajin sgt). So basically my point is, the system of my blog will be…urmmm…no system!it will b completely random. sometimes it’ll b random thoughts, sumtimes it’ll be some dreams i had, a debate??hoho or ape2 jelah. I might really be talking to myself ni sebenarnye, but well just in case. bye~
