Remember those pleasant times
when back then we used to believe the moon was following us
aside from all the other cars in the road
maybe the moon wanted to make sure we get home safely?
or maybe it wanted to tell us a secret up close
since the sun cannot keep a secret at all?
as we gazed upon its shining glory through the car window
questions of "why?" started to appear in my head
but it is when we only got home
my questions began to fade away like star dust
but now that is in the past when we were both young and naive
now I continue to gaze upon the moon
even though I had already been told by society that the moon isn't a chaser of sorts
bust just stays in one place before the sun comes in to take their shift
but can't a girl not wonder?
if perhaps the moon still watches with care,
tracing paths we no longer dare?
Though logic tells me it stands still,
my heart whispers it follows still
a guardian in silver hue,
casting dreams both old and new.
The world demands we shed such whims,
trade stardust thoughts for grounded hymns,
but I, defiant, hold them tight
these fragments of childhood light.
For in the quiet of the night,
when reason bows to softer skies,
I see the moon through younger eyes
and wonder, endlessly,
“why not?"

Their is a fig tree that is pierced within me
a seed that lays still in my throat
and with every waking hour it grows
creating bittersweet leaves that leave my heart sore
and vines that wrap around my lungs,
suffocating me whenever I ponder.
And yet I am still breathing,
but it still hurts in the process.
I try to call a doctor to my aid,
but they have no antidote for me aside from prayers.
I even went to a botanist for answers,
but they just shake their heads with a sorry look in their eyes.
So I tend to the tree myself,
learning to prune its anguish and nurture its growth.
I whisper to the roots lodged in my chest,
pleading for peace instead of pain.
And slowly, as seasons shift,
the leaves soften, their bitterness fading,
the vines loosen their merciless grip.
What once strangled becomes a sanctuary
a quiet grove within my being.
The fig tree no longer harms me;
it blooms.
Its fruit tastes of resilience,
sweetness born from struggle,
and I learn to savor what I once feared

Born beneath the fleeting sun
our feet capture the grasp of shadows
with only the little humanity we have left
we try to find hope
but we can’t even acquire a fragile hope at best
so for now we can only do a quiet prayer
for a sign of gratitude to ease our minds
the wind doesn’t whisper to our backs with gentle breaths
the stars won’t shine our direction to keep us at the right track
the earth’s soil is cold with rough edges underneath
and we only have tough road that we can climb
but it will try to weigh us down
no easy lines for us to go but rather trails filled with spirals
that lead to nowhere
the night does not grant us rain
but rather long nights to only see nothing in the sky
yet we are determined to stand
hoping to win the righteousness in a time of need
within the darkness a great inferno rises
a beautiful spark that burns when approached
we huddle around and chant songs of liberty
defying the constellations that look down with pity
our scars form maps with no traces of the truth
our hearts beat in the rhythm of drums
so loud that it makes our ears ring
the luck we have is not ours to hold in our palms
it is through the pain we learn to heal
with every step, we fight with our anguish, then strive with guilt
we look upon the people who have mercy on their side
their glided lives with easy tracks
the mixture of envy and jealousy fuels our beating hearts
for we are not the lucky ones
with only our little strength to pull us through
and even though we are not shown with the hands of peace
we build a desire of strength for our own

A fissure forms, unseen, unheard,
Reality bends, reshaped, absurd.
A shadow whispers, its voice unknown,
I walk a path I do not own.
The walls breathes life, the floor turns thin,
A labyrinth of chaos erupted within.
Eyes from each corners, they pierce,
they stare with longing awareness,
Are they real, or just my mind laid bare?
Colors scream to me in agony
they twist, they bleed,
Truth dissolves to what I need.
Voices merged together, then split apart,
A shattered reflection reflects my heart.
Time walks backwards then stops,
then starts again in a clockwork circle ,
A fragile web of fractured parts awaiting to crumble .
I reach for anchors but they remove my grip,
Each grasp returns me to the same.
Yet through the tempest, faint and small,
A voice persists beyond it all.
It whispers softly, though hard to hear,
"You are still here, despite the fear."
The storm subsides, though scars remain,
A fragile peace reclaimed from pain.
Through psychosis, the mind may stray,
But even in pure darkness
light finds itself a pathway