mariarum

[mariarum]

My stillness is my guard.

My calmness is my weapon.

My silence is my strength.

My voice is my spear.

My gaze is my striking force.

My patience is my greatest virtue.

I am nothing and no one without it.

I am everything and whole when I know how to wield it.

But what am I in between…

[mariarum]

Not everything needs a sound.

Some emotions just sit with you.

[mariarum]

It’s Time…Today

I composed this melody on my very first day learning the piano.

I wrote this poem one quiet evening, holding a feeling I didn’t want to lose.

The voice is mine. The music is mine.

It’s not perfect — but it’s mine.

If you need something gentle right now, I hope this gives you a little place to rest.

“The calming feeling

The way of life

You sit beside me…”

[mariarum]

I ran through the heat, waited out the storm, and watched the world soften.

The pen failed, but the rain didn’t.

It gave me something I couldn’t have written without it.

A memory. A quiet. A poem.

Now, it’s yours.

(Christopher Street Pier, after the storm — with Kiki beside me and grace in the air.)

I was heading to the Christopher Street Pier in the late afternoon with my dog, Kiki — just in time to catch the golden sunset and, hopefully, get some inspection from my inner self.

The day was heavily hot — almost impossible to breathe.

The air was thick with ghosts: sweat, salt, and silence.

I got off at the train station and firmly walked down the street, entering the West Village. Kiki trotted beside me, excited by the new atmosphere. At the very end of the street, right before my next turn, I saw a person passing by holding a cup of Starbucks brew.

Suddenly, my mouth went dry and my mind rested happily on the thought that there was a coffee shop nearby.

A few blocks down, I looked up. The sky had turned cloudy, the colors shifting slightly to gray and sad.

Right as I opened the door to the café, a few drops of rain fell on my shoulder — but I didn’t stop to notice them. I stepped inside.

There were a few people sitting at tables, but no one at the register. After the burning heat, this place felt like serenity.

Kiki liked the cold air blowing down from the ceiling vents. I approached the barista and placed my order — an iced matcha latte, hoping to cool down.

Strangely, it took longer than usual to prepare. I was a little restless, hoping to catch the good lighting of the slowly passing afternoon.

When I finally got my drink, I walked to the door. I paused to admire it — old, weathered wood with a beautifully aged handle. But the second I stepped outside…

Catastrophic. Pouring. Rain.

I didn’t think twice. I shut the door again and sat by the window on the porch.

Kiki curled beside me, resting from our rushed walk. I watched through the window, thinking maybe this storm might gift me a few inspirational thoughts before I hit the pier.

So I pulled out a few pieces of paper and a pen.

I twisted the pen to bring the ink out.

It didn’t work.

I tried again. And again.

It was dead. The pen had betrayed me.

And just like that, I had nothing to write with.

My mood began to dip into disappointment.

But maybe the rain would do the writing for me.

I imagined holding my papers out into the storm, letting them soak and sing themselves into something soft.

There was no one outside — just a few cars passing.

Heavy drops flooded the pavement, turning the curbs into tiny rivers.

A few minutes passed. A small group ran past the shop without umbrellas, trying to hide from the storm.

Another five minutes.

The rain softened.

Just a few delicate drops now — barely touching the ground.

I told myself not to wait any longer.

We stepped outside and walked toward the pier.

It was so peaceful.

People hadn’t yet figured out the rain was over, and the streets felt emptied — cleansed.

I looked up at the sky. The sun was fighting its way back, demanding to set in full color.

The buildings and trees looked fresh, as if they’d just been given a second chance.

The wind brushed against my face. It felt like grace.

A few blocks later, I finally reached the pier.

If only I could tell you what colors the sky painted the world after the rain —

Pastels I didn’t even know existed.

I sat on a wet bench and petted my dog.

I just wanted to feel present.

Smell the fresh air.

Be there, exactly as I was.

I walked to the end of the pier.

Only a few couples sat beneath the sheds.

I touched the metal barrel and looked down at the river.

I couldn’t have been in a better place.

Right there — the sun gave its final, burning show.

And everything fell into place.

I took out my phone, opened Notes, and started typing the poem that had just been born.

The rain didn’t take it away after all.

It decided to let me carry it.

And now, it’s yours.

[mariarum]

I am falling in love with you just to hate you.

I’m getting to know you only to be disappointed.

You’re all I think about when I’m alone with my thoughts.

You are a perfect picture—framed even more perfectly.

Tonight, you occupy my mind.

Tomorrow morning, you might be forgotten.

There are far more important things reality has brought to me.

But next time, when I’m alive again—along with my hopes and dreams—

you will appear to me once more.

[mariarum]

by Marie

I was alone.

I was stolen from myself.

I was standing there, waiting, thinking of nothing but the presence—

and yet it felt wrong.

The picture was a mistake.

Look at you.

Do you actually like it?

What a strange figure, standing there in solitude—

and no one to pat your shoulder or whisper kind words in your ear.

Yes.

I’m still standing there, standing my ground.

I admire you for challenging me.

Go on, speak your words. I will kindly listen.

You’re a pity thing,

thinking you know it all,

believing in impossible,

hoping for unbelievable.

You’re oblivious in your own little world you have created—

so weak, so fragile.

Blow a whistle and it’s gone,

like autumn leaves escaping the old tree.

You make me mourn

of the great dislike from the picture you’ve shown.

I am a thing among all wonders.

I’m a being among all lifeless.

I’m here, and I’m now.

I don’t belong, but I’m existing.

I have survived, and I’m still living.

I breathe. I feel.

I do and don’t.

But above all—

I know I am.

And I know I’m here.

And your words of tragic purpose

are not enough to put an end.

There is no end—

only here to follow, on and on.

And they debated for a long while,

from when the sun was born

and dark devoured all in it.

Who won, you ask?

Well…

that’s up to you to decide.

Just like your own path of being

you—

and only you.

[mariarum]

Oh, if I die, oh if I die,

I know I’ll leave the world behind—

One of the many in the space.

I’ll miss the count, lose the trace.

Oh, if I die, oh if I die,

I’ll fly so high, I’ll fly off sky.

I’ll land on rock that’ll make me thrive,

Through time and gravity—no chase.

No chase for money and for sake.

No need to be a hunter or a stake.

No need to get the vote or to accept mistake.

But if I die, but if I die,

I will no longer see the sunset

On the horizon of the ocean,

Nor will I see the sunrise

In a dawn grass dew.

I will no longer hear the music of the trees

And the dance of wind around the flowers.

I will no longer touch the sand

And soak in summer rain showers.

But if I die, but if I die,

I won’t give a chance to feel what I’m going through.

So don’t let me die, don’t let me die.

Just let me stay enough to make it.

Don’t let me die, don’t let me die.

Just let me stay a little while to endure it.

’Cause if I die now, I die this moment—

The pretty world will end with me.

And who, if not myself,

Would be able to restore it?

[mariarum]

[mariarum]

My Own Shadow Self

The night was cold. I walked down the road, not realizing that I was being followed.

I was a bit tired and too sleepy to notice anything peculiar.

After ten more blocks down the road, I heard a slight noise coming from nowhere.

I turned to see what it was, but aside from an empty street, nothing seemed out of place.

My energy was dropping fast—and the conscious mind had no desire to pay much attention to what was going on.

Finally, when I crossed the bridge and turned into a narrow, lightly dimmed street, the noise came back—repeatedly—letting me know about itself.

I turned around again, and now I was fully present to acknowledge:

I was not alone.

Someone was definitely following me…

[mariarum]

There’s this feeling—when you share your happiness with someone else in a particular moment. You’re there, fully present, enjoying your life, and suddenly you realize: Wow, how lucky I am to be here right now with this person—sharing our love, sharing our happiness.

But then, you’re not.

You’re just lying in your bed alone, thinking that could’ve been a great life.

Is loneliness your advocate?

Is loneliness your fate?

I used to believe that being alone meant being free.

But now I think being alone might just mean being unhappy.

Happiness is being content in your own world—

but sharing it with someone beside you.

I’ve been alone for quite a while, for quite a long while,

and only now do I truly realize:

happiness isn’t just about you.

Happiness is about sharing you with someone special.

That’s where happiness lives.

[mariarum]

Is there a truth i can find

Is there a word that is pure

Is there a river that is crystalline

Is there a person I can find?

Can you be truthful,

Can you be fair?

I want no longer

Live my life in despair.

The light is burning

I wonder now and always

I see through you.

But not anymore

Set me free, let me go

It’s not so easy, stay or go?

I’ll stay, because you're asking

So fragile, this life so brittle

I can't’ stay with you now

But one thing i promise

I’ll keep on fighting

For the justice

For love, for trust

For truth, for freedom

Until my knuckles bleed ,

Until I am finished.

But I will never really go.

Because I want to stay

in your heart and soul

And be a reminder, a promise

That we are not lost

We are on the path of searching

And will find the way

Just like I did, and all will be

And all will rise, inside of you

The skies, so blue…