a boxer
boxes men
in a ring

a tv
wires a man
to a sit

a toddler
with loud barks
jumps the dog

It's not the moon that comes at night,
Nor the stars that shine up far
That makes me fear to be like them
So far away, so far away

It's not the darkness that I fear
Nor the silence that I hear
When I do see them up above,
So far away, so far away

But it's the fear to be up there
So high above, all by myself
So far away, so far away

Don't get me wrong:

I'm not afraid to be alone
I'm not afraid to only be just with myself

But I do fear loneliness.

To write, write, write...
That's all my soul was born to do,
As if my soul was the pen
That I, myself, hold with my hand.

Bright, bright, stars,
that visit the sky with lights,
without you, my nights,
would be nothing but dark

And full, full, moon,
that comes every once,
without you, I'd be soon,
a lonely lagoon

I was a flower planted on the ground.
Some days, the wind came to greet me,
Until I looked like a merry go round.
My petals started to fall one by one,
just detaching from me onto the grass.

         Mean while, underneath the ground,
         my roots gripped tighter to the soil
         as if they were looking for oil
         Like men do when in search for petroleum
         They dug deep, deeper down

This flower remained tall

Would you be THE one
My star, so bright, so far
Up high, above the sky,
Just shining through the dark
For me to see at night?

Would you be the one,
The guide I yearned to have
The one that lights the path
towards Jesus Christ?

Jan 2016.

be creative, they say
make sure your words are beautiful, they say,
poetry, it's about beauty, they say
it has to make you feel something, they say,

but hey!

poetry is thoughts.

that's it.

it happens ever so often,
I stop writing for a day
and it feels like it has been a month
that I haven't written at all,

so when I try to write again,

nothing creative seems to come out of me.

I become an introvert,
an introvert who introspects
about life and death,
who likes to think about thoughts
and the rarity of those thoughts
who would love to know about isaac netwon
and the way,
he communicated with God

ah... religion.

I never truly knew about religion
every man seem the same

I was naive,
I'm naive

I ve been told you are genuine
but
hey

i write about what I comes to mind
to heart
to soul

and that's that

okay.

I felt the breeze greet me, tenderly,
like arms that hug, sturdily,
tightly puling closer towards a chest,
with heart, beating,
pump,
pump,
like a wind that leaves one refresh.

Sing me to sleep, my darling dear.
Wrap me in your arms
Let me hear the beating of your heart
Kiss my forehead
And in you, let me rest.

To write a story in free verse
is to let the prose in you go berserk
or to let the feelings that wish to come out of you, go
As if these feelings are the one you love

Just like people say

If you love someone let them go,
If they comeback they were yours
If not they never were

I wish I were a bird to fly
To soar above the sky
And let my worries be,
Just be, one with the wind.

But I am not a bird
I do not have wings
Nor can I be,
Just be, one with the wind.

My heart beats less and less for you.
It feels as if it'll soon stop
pumping love to you.

You said, "your love is the blood
that circulates through my veins
It is your love that warms me up
And returns life to me."

"You are my heart."

And turns out,
that this heart of yours,
has a heart of its own,
And that this heart of mine,
beats less
And less
each
day

the day feels heavy on my boots,
one step, lifted leg, mud, grass tall,
a puddle,

My mom thinks I am depressed.
She thinks I'm sad beyond measure.
But I don't think I am.
Yet, sometimes, I think, I might as well be.

After all, since the moment I was born
I'm like the ground
feeling people's steps and weight on my shoulders
( even when they don't walk directly on me.)

I mean, I'm just like the ground
that can't do anything to lift people's worries out of them
They take care of me but I remain floored,
fixed to the idea that I am just me...

a ground
that don't have feet to walk  a  life of its own.

a ground
that don't have hands to build a world to live peacefully.

but then, I think, "No, I'm not a ground.
I'm a human with feet and hand.
I'm a human with a heart and mind.
I'm a human capable of creating a beautiful life"

But then I remember again that I'm depressed,
And I can't stop thinking that I am like the ground:
depressing as I feel people's steps and weight on my shoulders
( even when they don't walk directly on me),
drowning in this depression as I let people's problems rain on me

And I began to depress a lot more...

Until I realize that this depression, has made me gain depth.

the thoughts are not a box of chocolates to be eaten
the thoughts are like drops of water that one after another
accumulate to form rivers

These rivers run amuck with no particular course...

But at times, the thoughts go in search of an ocean

for the biggest of body of water,
they yearn to be one with the ocean

I feel like I am missing something...

Is it you?
or is it poetry?


The strange ache in my chest is coming back again,
and I cannot explain it
but it aches, it burns, as if I had drank alcohol
but ******,
I haven't drink, not even a drop.

I just want to curl up into a ball, turn off the lights of my room, and sleep it off.
I want to hybernate the entire month of December,
I don't want to go out, I want to stay in, I just want to stay in.


There's so much ache, I do not like alcohol.
It intensifies the ache, and I just want to sleep it off.
I want to hold my pillow, I want to sit in one corner, curl up into a ball. I want to go to and fro, to and fro, leaning front and back,
front and back, as if I was listening to waves, going
to and fro, to and fro, calm, tranquil, retreating backwards,
ebbing back into the sun...


But life doesn't let me sleep. It continues awakening me.
It continues calling me. And I just want to sleep the ache,
I want to dream that I live in peace, but my dreams are vast, too vast that even when life calls me, its voice echoes, twice, thrice,
"wake up"


I open my eyes, there's the light...
Life doens't want me to sleep in darkness, it wants me to awake... to open my eyes, to no longer be blinded by it's brightness...

I dreamt I was a bench
where people sat to see:
the sun afar the road
the trees that grew so tall
the sprinkles turning on
the grasses going green
and overall,
dear nature moving them
as I remained unmoved
just standing there
with all their weight
rested only on me.

Someday, I'll be like a volcano
underneath the sea-
immersed in depth
awaiting to erupt with wisdom
And create an island
where people can step on and rest

Like rain that clouds cry
we came to fall from the sky
to be a multitude of drops
that form a tiny little pond

but then as time went by
and as we stood there calm
there came a force
that with a jump
scattered us, splish - splash,
some drops in here,
some drops in there,

just for us to form
two tiny little ponds.

But then as time went by
and as the heat of the day
began to increment
we started to evaporate

to once again be
like rain that clouds cry
to be a multitude of drops
that form a tiny little pond

to then as time goes by
become scattered by a force
to form many tiny little ponds

that then as the heat of the day
begins to increment
we start to evaporate

to once again be
like rain that clouds cry....

If I ever feel the earth tremble,
It would be because love came
to move my world for me

It would feel as if the gates of heaven opened
As the earth quakes and shakes
And as people stop their madness
To see the brightest of the lights meet their eyes

Imagine all gathered up in circles, hand in hand,
Like a human chain, standing around heavens gates.
All prepared to meet the judgement day
Together, supporting each other, helping one another,
Not letting a single one end up in Hell.

You are too young and too much of an amateur
to be looking for clues where there are none.

instead, my dear,
just do what you have been doing all along
write what you feel, feel what you write,
and let your imagination run wild

in due time,
you'll come to know
where creativity
is born

Okay, I won't say what my eyes saw
I won't say what my ears heard
But I would say what my heart felt
And I would speak what my soul feels today
---

A road, again, walked on and on
This road leads to a world
Where thoughts stream seamlessly
Towards the radiance of the sun

And I walk, step by step,
Often distracted by the signs,
I encounter as I walk

But many times, I keep on going on
without caring about
the signs I encountered,
I ignored them through
And I just see ahead upon the road
The scenery itself that I leave behind
And i keep walk onwards

This road is endless
It seems it has no end

But I walk and walk on it
I walk it with my words
Sometimes I feel breathless
And take a break
Upon the sidewalk,
Until I start to walk again
Towards a journey I cannot explain

But my souls feels like an explorer
Like I have discovered the greatest lands
Where pastures abound, greens everywhere!
Waterfalls falling, rivers flowing,
Eagles flying up up above in the sky
So much beauty,
That I can only feel but not write.

Do you find the light too bright?
Even though, it's midnight?
Can you see how brigh it shines?
Up above in the starry sky?

I have seen the road to Mars
As I sat upon a car
I could see how far away
those stars led the way

There are planets like some trees
that grow, and grow, so green!
And that make the universe
look youthful and serene.

There are other planets too
that become like a bomb
that tick and tock
like time often does

As if time was
trapped inside a clock
- just tick and tock --
Hammering with rhythm
Non-stop.
To break the lock
To free Himself,
with no apparent luck.

But every tick
And every tock
It can be heard by People
Who stick
their ears
to the clock
Just following the rhythm
Not knowing how free
Their time
Without making it explode!

God is not the sun,
He is the ocean
where all the rivers try to get to

and each of us
is a drop
that when combined with other drops
create a body of water

yet I heard someone
once say
"you are an ocean in one drop"

So I supposed,
one drop can hold the ocean
and one ocean can hold many many drops

it's been a while since I wrote like I usually do
without paying attention to meter or rhymes
but rather by just jotting my thoughts down
as if I were drawing
scribbling lines, dots, shapes, multiple
doodles that resemble snakes
that bite, coil, and rattle
as they slither through paper from pen

To then attack

as if the paper was the ground where I stood,
calmly gazing onto the sky of my imagination,
getting lost within the lines of thoughts,
as if the lines were the clouds moving, and moving,
just moving nothing but me to write
a windy passage of time
that blows
and blows away
the doodles
of snakes
into
a piece
of art

I came to be nothing but a shell
swayed by ocean waves
to and fro, to and fro,
landing on a shore, close to palms, and the sun

Dec 1, 2015

the songs we sing
are nothing but notes;
just knots in our chests,
melodies in our throats,
that ache to be heard
that yearn to unknot themselves
from our vocal chords
from the symphonies
of our thoughts.


Nov 30, 2015 8:34 pm

Tonight, I don't see the moon outside my window,
there's not weeping tree covered with snow,
there aren't any clouds above the sky looking like pillows,
yet I can't help but dream about some weeping willows,
those trees, that I would like to see outside my window,
as I embrace, laid on bed, my own pillow,
as I laid on bed, embracing sorrow,
wishing to see a weeping willow outside my window
covered with snow, covered, looking like a pillow
to embraced, to hug, to feel the coldness of my sorrow,

awake me from dreaming of a weeping willow.

I can't let my thoughts wandered,
my mind is a temple in ruins,
there's debris and weak foundations,
thus, if by chance,
I let them wandered,
my mind and I, could collapse

and in the process,
**** those thoughts along with me.

I'm doing what I was doing
When I stopped doing what I was doing
So doing what I was doing
Will help me do what I stopped doing

And subsequently,
I will be doing what I should have not stop doing

That is, write poetry.

I have no written my thoughts
I used to carry with myself a phone
And though, I still carry with myself a phone
I have not written my thoughts

I became busily scared
to type then share
what goes on in my head.

I used to type what came through me
With no worries, with no stress,
I only typed as my mind became blank
Then images popped and form Just like that
They appeared before my eyes
Then my heart became a brain
And the brain became my heart
My fingers suddenly listen to my soul
And I found myself typing words,
The connection of soul, heart, and mind
Something I cannot explain
But I was typing what I felt
When my mind became blank
As my heart became my brain
And as my brain became the heart
That pumped the words
to be written by my fingers
Onto my phone

And that's just what I used to write
And I became busily scared

poetry
You pull out of me Wisdom
As if I were a wisdom tooth.
And you?
the dentist who pulls me out
to become
Who I'm truly meant to be

Not another cavity in the mouth of earth that causes pain

I want to stop this madness
I wish to know the truth

Why do I feel the urge to know about us?

Why are humans such a mystery?

Is there anyone who truly understands what we are?

Why do I feel tired? Why do I feel exhausted?
I wish I knew the questions to answer my questions
I wish I knew why I feel so tired.

I just wish I knew....

I dreamt of you in white
Wearing a dress like the sun
bright
Distilling sunshine rays
Throughout the day
But at night

I dreamt of you
Like I always done
But I forgot about your face
I forgot about our conversations
And I meant to remember them

But I just can't

The dreams in which you are
Are memories I lived before
And some days it feel
As if my present days are memories
Like Dejavu
That I have lived before

I smiled and awake
Shaking my head
No

No

This is the only life I have

I have not lived before

It's a just a mess, a mess, my mom complains.
why can't you have it organize, cleaned?
I tried. I tried. I cleaned it. I organized it.
But it's always the same.
All I have it's clean clothes. No ***** clothes.
I left them in a chair. I tried to put them away.
I tried. I tried.
But It's so hard to find time to organized my mess.
I just accumulate them. I piled them up.
one by one, one after the other,
I'm sorry, I cannot find time to organized myself.

I'm such a mess.

I, watched grown men and women, live alone.
Their families forgot them, left them in the streets
as if they were trash. No wonder,
their heart grew weary in loneliness

Mom talked to them. Gave them food
whenever she could. The old men and women
came to visit, smiled, and looked happy.
Though, when they were lonely, their heart was cold
but in company, it grew fonder

All it took for the old men and women
was a sign of care from someone else, to live life
With love and gratitude.

1._

Title: Invisible


I watched the metro from across a bench.
A man with tattered clothes, smiled to me.
A woman with messy hair, smiled to me.
A kid sitting in the metro, smiled to me.
I stood up. I went inside a building.
A woman in the restroom, smiled to me.
they smiled to me.
To me
to me...

I thought you were the benches at church
where people knelt for support.
I thought you were the incense in the air,
that filled the entire church.
I seriously thought that was your smell.
and that if I closed my eyes,

you will be there,

I thought, I thought

I only thought...

but how silly, ah, I don't need to close

my eyes

to know you are there.

In a room, a girl read the bible
eagerly, so eagerly to learn the truth

curtains opened up
the sun shone through
the night fell

the girl continued reading, reading
non stop
non stop

until the truth was found not in the verses
not in the prose

but in her soul.

What  are you doing my lord?
Sometimes, I simply don't understand....
Have I deviated from my path?
Have I forgotten why I came into this world?

But every now and then
When I listen to the silence in my head
I hear the throbbing of my heart amidst my chest
And my senses perceive what I meant to do

Breathe.

I breathe the essence of the day,
I breathe the thoughts that come into my head
I breathe anything
So long as it doesn't suffocate me

And here I'm my lord
Grasping for air, I have come to a stop
I'm no longer sure
If this is the path that I must walk
To get to you

I don't know
My brain is not working
It said,
"the answers are within yourself"

But God,

I repeat, my brain is not working.

I believe our intellect is the key to goodness.
But God, how do we upgrade our intellect?

Is it possible God, that we are all connected to you - through our faith, that is like an umbilical cord,
And in order to grow, at some point, this umbilical cord must be cut?

Is it possible God, that we are on earth
Just to form ourselves? That we are some fetus developing in a womb of Mother Earth? And that when we are born, we are no longer connected to you, through this faith, someone cut the umbilical cord for us?

And while in her womb, Mother Earth nurture us with her love and takes care of ourselves? But we stretch inside of her as we develop, grow up, and hurt her in the process instead?

It's all part of growing up, right?

But is it possible God, that our connection to you - our faith, is only a means to feed ourselves when we are unable to do it on our own? Just like the Fetus that feeds from the mother, and still feeds by the mother upon growing up until he can do it himself?

Or God, is it possible that when we are finally born, we will be in heaven, we'll die on Earth, but our faith will still remain with us through our navel, our connection with you will have been sealed the moment our umbilical cord would have been cut?

Is it possible God, that our intellect is the one that will allow us to be born into heaven instead of just being a miscarriage that poisons our Mother Earth?

I lost it. It came to be like a pen,
filled with ink, ready to imprint,
on paper, the ideas, the thoughts,
that now, I have lost.

And now, that I think about it,
it wasn't but a pen on my hand,
It was but the ability
to get lost in this pen,
to wander in thoughts,
to never find that I got lost
and while I got lost
that I would also lose part of my mind.

Yes, I lost the sense of what it is true,
I lost the sense of what it is the essence of life,
I lost the purpose of what is to live
I lost it

I thought that by writing, I would find
what I yearned to find,
And I wrote and I found what I thought
I wanted to find,


but ultimately,

I found nothing.

I only found out,
that life goes on...
and that life
kept going without me.

I wanted to be,
just to be...

and I was.

But I was
not what I wanted to be;
a little bee,
buzz and buzz,
flying,
in search of a flower,
with the nectar,
with the saccharine sweetness
of a kiss,
that'll help me make honey,
sweet honey,
out of this life,

I live.

But instead,
I was the flower,
with colorful petals,
in a garden full with trees,
that blossom in happiness
and eventually,
was found
by a bee

Oh come forth, speak to me my Lord,
I need to hear your words,
For them to guide me to you world.
I need to hear your voice,
For me to follow you, my lord.

I'm just a woman dressed in shame.
Undress me, lord.
See my nakedness with innocence,
And cloth me, lord.
Enwrap me in your mantle of love.

If you are going to do anything
Do it without regrets
Don't think about it twice
But if you do, then don't do anything.

What if in our brains lays the answers to our every question?
And poetry... is the method that we can use to Find them?

Let's say our brain is a big maze in which our answers are scattered throughout.
And the only way to get them, it's to find the path that leads to them.

Let's say that every activity that each of us does, creates a new path within the maze...
Then poetry is the activity that could open and create different paths in our brains that could trigger the finding of new answers.


April 30. Ramblings.

Sweet nothing, there's nobody,
Just a hollow vague and vast void
An eternal wound opening up
Bleeding out pain,
And not leaving a time to form a scar
Right here, in this chest

Sweet nothing, that's how my eyes look,
Like staring into oblivion,
lost, gazing into a wall, a concrete block,
That blocks the streets where people pass by,
Brick by brick, building up dreams,
Blocking out reality,
Forming a facade of fantasies,
where light is visible only by climbing these dreams,
And I lost the strenght,
I feel tired, gazing into a wall,
like staring into oblivion, forgetting how it feels to see,
beyind this wall