A busy, coffee-smelling Sunday morning
With noisy banters while cooking and dining
Natural gatherings with our parents
A time to fix the little cracks and bents

But alas, my father is under the soil
While mother uses her time to toil
And I am left in my own devices
Do try to imagine how everyday is

And oh, please try to remember albeit
I am not a sad child at all, at least not yet
For I always reason, not in deceit,
That my family isn't broken, just incomplete

It's not yet night for her to sink
But she closed herself and sank
Like eyes that are too tired to blink
And gazing upon the muddy river bank,
Suddenly, there were ripples in the water
As she sinks down into the river bed
But there was not a single call from her
As if she let herself be led
By water currents she knew so well

Have you forgotten how to float?
Or are there no souls around to tell,
About silent screams with a sore throat?
Did your roots pull from the mud?
And the current strong enough to break it?
It's a tragedy of the tiny pink bud,
who once sat on the murky water of two feet,
Being swallowed whole into the water
and not once experiencing a genuine woo

Oh, lovely water flower,

....Did you regret it too?

Lonely was the poem she wrote
For the one she calls her downfall

Gentle winds had blown
A wind chime tinkling a song
For ears that can hear

Your eyes
seem to hold
a little bit
of sadness

let's not keep the grudge
on the back of our foes
with words and actions
that could cut like a knife
that has no handle

I may have gone

        a little mad

                after you left.

They say that one is vulnerable
when they are in love

Yet why do I feel like
I'm indestructible
while I'm loving you?

A poem for the ones hurt
Though euphonic it may sound
You'll feel sad and inert
A feeling not so newfound
Where the words weigh you down
With the greatest intensity
Like it means to make you drown
In the bittersweet misery

One crossed the oceans
Yet nothing met him on end
A letdown indeed