Author: Frain Chakrit

If I Was a Dreamer | Spoken Word That Hits the Heart

And I ask myself

I can still dream, can’t I?

If I was a dreamer,

I would dream of a time traveler

not one who changes wars or deletes history…

but one who simply comes, sits beside you,

talks for five minutes,

smiles once,

and leaves behind a sentence so powerful

it quietly rewrites your entire life.

If I was a dreamer,

I would see AI and humans

walking side by side

not as masters and machines,

not as watchers and watched

but as silent helpers,

never stealing privacy,

never touching destiny without permission.

If I was a dreamer….

I would see Mr. Bean

enter my dental clinic,

panicking… not for himself

but for his teddy.

“Doctor, only one tooth… please.”

And somehow

the world would feel lighter that day.

If I was a dreamer,

I would go back to my college days…

stand in front of my tutor…

and finally say the words

my fear swallowed every day:

“You are beautiful.”

Maybe ask for a coffee.

Not as a fantasy

but as a human being with trembling courage.

But I was quiet then.

My confidence

was still learning how to breathe.

If I was a dreamer…

I would speak to my school crush tonight and say:

Please…

don’t visit my dreams anymore.

Your presence turns sleep into addiction.

I wake up craving

what I can never touch again.

So stay where you belong

safe inside memory.

Don’t shake the nights

I’m trying to heal.

And maybe…

maybe I am a dreamer.

Because even after everything,

I still believe a soft thought

can change a loud world.

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One Night to Prove – A Spoken Word Cinematic Monologue

They said

“You’re selected.”

Two words.

Heavy enough to shake my whole tomorrow.

Ten a.m.

Shooting set.

No rehearsals.

No second chances.

Just…

one night to prove I belong.

I asked,

“From tomorrow…?”

They didn’t hesitate.

Deadlines never do.

Dreams don’t wait either.

I checked my watch

five p.m.

Time looked back at me like,

What are you going to do with the rest of your fear?

Scooty starts.

Evening flies past my face.

Streetlights flicker like nervous thoughts.

Home opens its quiet mouth.

I wash the dust off my skin,

but not the doubt.

The script shakes in my hands.

Not because it’s heavy

because I am.

Words spill.

Fall.

Climb back into my mouth again.

On the bed.

Across the room.

In front of the mirror

I meet a stranger

who looks exactly like me…

and I practice becoming him.

Then one line stops me.

Just one.

It doesn’t feel like dialogue.

It feels like truth wearing quotation marks.

I look into my own eyes and say

“Only magic can turn copper into gold,

and gold into diamond…

but love and affection

they are magic themselves.

They don’t just change things…

they change the world.”

The room goes silent.

Even my fear listens.

Tomorrow is waiting.

Ten a.m. is closer than it sounds.

And tonight

Tonight,

I am not just memorizing lines.

I am memorizing

who I need to become.

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Positive Events – A Spoken Word Poem on Life, Balance & Self-Acceptance

What positive events have taken place in your life over the past year?

Things are alright.

Yeah…

Things are alright.

A lot of positive events happened this year.

First of all

I grew a legendary belly.

Not a normal belly.

A seasonal belly.

A football-in-the-soccer-season belly.

Thank God nobody tried to kick me into success.

No goals were scored with my existence.

These days I don’t walk uphill too confidently…

And I definitely don’t stand too close to cliff edges.

Not because I’m scared of falling

But because

what if I start rolling with confidence?

Strangely…

It became a positive thing.

People don’t bump into me randomly anymore.

They calculate first.

They care.

They think about consequences.

Even a hippopotamus once came to me,

Put a medal on my chest,

And whispered

“My friends are fitter than you.”

I still don’t know if that was an insult

Or a spiritual achievement.

Then I met a mystic.

He told me

“Relax. Don’t worry about the future.”

Then he added very casually…

“The secret path to heaven is first to die.”

He almost enlightened me.

Almost.

One of my feet is still in the material world…

The other is trying to pay rent in the spiritual.

Balancing this boat is not easy.

But I try.

Because I can’t leave spirituality for possessions.

And I can’t abandon possessions

Just to become invisible.

Balance…

That’s the yoga I practice daily.

Another positive thing

I found a place where I can live peacefully

With my dear one.

Yes, I watch emotional drama daily.

Matinee show.

Evening show.

Sometimes midnight reruns.

But it’s real.

Raw.

Unedited.

It feels like I never left the theatre.

Only my role keeps changing

Sometimes actor.

Sometimes audience.

Sometimes only… witness.

I’m learning everything now

Pauses.

Breathing.

Timing.

Chewing techniques.

Speaking without breaking reality.

And then…

The biggest positive shift:

I stopped checking the mirror

For permission.

I stopped asking people

“How do I look?”

Now the confirmation comes from inside.

Wear what is cozy.

Be clean.

Be kind.

And ignore the unnecessary noise of spectators

Who are not even on the stage.

If something is comfortable,

People shouldn’t become detectives.

That’s not rebellion.

That’s rest.

What else?

I can’t say I met an alien last night

Who came in a spaceship

And brought me a Christmas jumper.

But who knows…

Next time it might arrive as Santa.

So if you ever see a strange vehicle in the sky

Please keep it secret.

You might receive sweets.

And maybe…

The last positive thing this year

I got the chance

To share my words

With you.

May your days be filled

With quiet strength,

Soft madness,

And honest kindness.

Thank you.

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Golden Casket: A Brutal Spoken-Word Poem on Power, Wealth, and Death

It’s always the same story.

Everyone hears it.

No one admits it.

You are not alone, my brother.

You raise a skyscraper

with a snap of your fingers

but you never built

a single room of mercy

inside your heart.

You wear authority like armor.

You baptize greed as power.

You name the disease “success.”

Where are you going like this?

Time will outlive your name.

Earth will equalize your weight.

You and I

we meet again

as dust.

You’ll say

“I won’t rot in ordinary wood.

I’ll sleep wrapped in gold,

buried beneath applause.”

Tell me

what soil will accept you?

What fire will recognize your rank?

Brother

I will take your

Mini Cooper.

The mountain does not answer.

The lake does not applaud.

The window only reflects

a man

running out of language.

Take the key.

Your words broke something

I thought was permanent.

I own more cars than memories.

Choose one.

And come back.

You speak the language

my money never learned.

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A Plate of Love

They asked me,

“What would you like to eat today?

What should we serve on your plate?”

And I said,

“A plate of love…

and a tall glass of kindness, please.”

They stared at me

confused,

amused,

like I had spoken a language

they had forgotten existed.

“Sorry, sir…

we don’t serve that kind of dish here.”

So I asked,

“Then what do you serve?”

They handed me a menu

thick pages

full of flavours,

full of noise,

full of everything the world uses

to fill an empty stomach

but never an empty heart.

They said,

“Choose anything you want.”

I closed it softly.

“It’s alright,” I said,

“just a glass of water.”

And suddenly

my request felt heavier

than the whole menu.

Someone in the corner frowned

maybe the manager,

maybe the owner

like simplicity

was suspicious,

like thirst

was a crime.

One of them brought the water

and set it down

with a look that said,

“People like you

waste our time.”

I held the glass

clear, quiet, honest.

And I drank it slowly,

because even water

can feel like a blessing

in a room

where kindness is rare

and love is nowhere

to be found.

I thanked them

for the kindness

they didn’t realise

they had given.

But I couldn’t thank them

for the love

because love…

love was never on the menu.

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Why You Can’t Please Everyone Until You Please Yourself

I have nothing to do with crowds.

They can please themselves.
If one starts throwing stones,
another will follow
except the few
who stand beside you
with metal shields
to guard your skin,
your name,
your peace.

Yeah… but they are people,
from different walks of life.
Some people are frustrated with their own days.
Others just want to play.
And some…
some carry a darkness
they never chose,
but let in
through an open door.

Oh no
some are brainwashed,
trained by some strange schooling
that never teaches unlearning.
No matter how much you hammer the mind,
it won’t be ready to mould.
They’re rooted in their thoughts,
anchored deep.
How do you shake them loose?

Maybe if you hang them upside down,
feet tied to a rope,
they’ll drop a little kindness
out of fear.
Oh is that bungee jumping?
Leave it…

I want that freedom
in my home.
“Then live on a hilltop,” they say.
Oh, I will
of course I will.
But that’s not the main thing.

Because you can’t please a crowd
if you’re not pleased with your own life first.
And once you are,
it becomes your choice
to please someone,
or to simply
be yourself.

Hard choice, huh?

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Breaking Free From Daily Drama: A Simple Reflection on Life

Drama.

Gossips.

Tantrums.

They keep on going,

flowing like a river

that never stays the same.

Every day

a different swirl,

a different shade.

But even a river

loses its force one day.

Even noise

wears itself out.

Still

some people will peep through the smallest hole,

act like a mole,

tie their fragile prestige

to a wobbly pole.

And the same people

oh, the very same ones

will butter you,

flatter you,

sweet-talk you

just to decorate their cover stories.

Stories you never asked for,

never expected.

Because the pen

oh, the pen writes every flavour.

Truth?

It gets spiced,

twisted,

seasoned

just enough for the reader to stay hooked,

locked inside their own

mental cage.

So flip.

Flip the page.

Keep moving.

One page,

then another page.

Baseless dramas.

Pointless gossips.

Everyday tantrums.

Look at the tree.

It never worries

about being chopped down,

or bearing fruits,

or sprouting leaves,

or blooming flowers.

It just stands

rooted,

breathing,

processing whatever comes its way.

Who are we, then?

Go on

you can say drama is normal,

just part of life,

and it’s all right.

But no

I’m not convinced.

Maybe this is my drama,

after all.

And as a character

in this grand theatre,

I guess I need to play my role

not perfectly,

not quietly,

but responsibly.

Responsibly.

Isn’t it?

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A Poem for Anyone Who Felt Out Of Sync With the World

When the world was chanting,

“Baby calm down, calm down,”

I was just trying…

to calm myself.

And when the world was singing

“Baby, baby…”

I was trying to grow up 

the way my parents told me to

Grow up.

But all I needed

was a little water,

a little sunlight,

a little manure…

just enough to bloom.

When the world was dancing

to Gangnam Style,

a friend looked at me and said,

“Bro, you’re too simple.

No style.”

When the world was singing melodies,

I was listening to metal 

letting the drums shake my bones

like some wild spirit

had taken over me.

When the world was praising Titanic,

I was sinking in my exams,

failing 

bitterly.

When the world sped up,

I befriended the tortoise.

When the world said,

“You need to level up,”

I got game over

on the same level,

again,

and again…

my life stuck on a loop

while I sat there

thinking,

slurping ramen soup.

When the world was gossiping about celebrities,

I was sneaking outside my room,

just hoping someone…

anyone…

would greet me

hello.

I was living inside.

Someone was living inside me.

It was me…

or someone else.

I still don’t know.

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Through Storms and Blossoms

there are many bridges to cross

many tracks to cover

but hear me

i would run through storms

tear through thunder

just to be your lover

you can choose to be the garden

or the one who helps it grow

but remember this

your life blossoms

only from the seeds

you choose to sow

be the garden

or the gardener

your bloom

is always

your own

i hope the sky sings for you today

i hope the clouds dance

just to make you smile

i wish the birds

could drop soft flowers

to brighten your quiet hours

may happiness greet you

in everything you do

and may this day

be kind

to you

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Atoms, Love, and the Void: A Poetic Exploration of Who We Really Are

Deep down

I am nothing

just empty,

a hollow tube,

nothing on it,

some atoms,

some molecules.

What am I?

Who am I?

Oh this vicious circle of life

go to school,

college,

university,

find a love,

settle down,

children,

stuff,

stuff,

and more stuff.

Such a linear path.

Why did I learn vectors?

Why always A to B to C?

No

take me to Z.

Yet

nothing happened.

Same job,

same thing.

Are you bored?

No, it’s alright.

I would like to be roasted,

toasted,

but not busted

with this life.

Oh, maybe there’s something

interesting to do?

Maybe you will

enjoy it?

Like what?

How long can temporary things

keep me happy?

No

keep it up with yourself.

I need something else,

but I don’t know what.

Endless pleasure?

No

endless leisure?

No

rise above pleasure

and leisure.

There should be something

something that defines life,

that defines love,

that defines my existence.

There must be something

unexplored,

undiscovered.

Come on,

tell me

what it is.

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