Once again it’s just me and my demons
Wandering the universe in an unending venture.
A few steps in the cosmos,
a few leaps between planets
I came to realise
that you were my compass.
You lead me to places
that made me better,
shown me the way
to be the best I can be.
And for that my dear,
I am eternally grateful.

I failed to understand
why saints —and lovers
behave as they do,
so rash and illogical,
maybe until the point that
it’s no longer rational.
Until someone
made my heart
come alive.

Embracing this devilish persona
quite suited me.
It wasn't because I was evil
merely unorthodox,
Seeing, knowing, understanding
things a person like me shouldn't.
Living by the dark triad
having power, riches and anonymity.

I was once omnipotent
having the world bending over my will.
I was once omnipresent
always there whenever someone dear needed.
I was once omniscient
always knowing how to help and what to do.

All of that was thrown away...
I tried to do good by your means...

and I liked it.
bit by bit you drew me to the light
learning to do things in the way you said was right

As I keep on going through this journey,
I just remembered that I was once..

your guardian devil.

We have our solo acts
the chaos of our own,
but in our song
I accompany you with
a chaos of my own.
Perfectly intertwined,
playing each note carefully.
Conjuring music and magic
conveying the tragedy of living.

“Don’t lose yourself” ,
they said
but what exactly
do you lose?
Nothing.
You simply go through and learn
from an experience
and change.
It may be a heartbreak
that taught you not to trust,
or to seal your world away
to escape pain.
Let me tell you this;
You are not a finite thing.
You have the capacity
to do an infinity of great things
to impart what you have
your gifts and talents
and even pieces of you
to those who need it the most
be it the young artist by the park
or the old musician in the sidewalk
or the devil himself.
It’s no longer about the odds
that something will go wrong,
It’s about how much you’ll learn
from something that does

Sometimes it takes me ages and solitude,
sometimes it takes reason and logic
for me to heal my unseen wounds.

Wounds that brings pain and confusion,
irrationality and ignorance
Wounds that raise red flags and emphasise flaws
are the wounds needed for growth.

The loss of loved ones,
always inflict me of such wounds.
Their absence wasn’t the source of my healing, they simply forced me to go through it so I could grow.
But that doesn’t mean that they’re presence stunted my growth,
They were there when I needed them most,
they loved me when I was healing from my other wounds.
Now the memory of their love is enough to heal myself of the wound of their absence.
They may be gone, but
I’ll still make them proud,
I’ll still love them
And maybe in time, I’ll see them again

on this small speck of dust
suspended in the gravity of celestial bodies
our beliefs,
our imagined self-importance,
our delusion that that we have a privileged position in the universe,
are questioned
by ourselves
in search
of absolute truth

She kissed me.
She kissed the devil.
Only a beautiful soul like hers’ would kiss the ******.
And as I press my lips
hard against hers,
tasting her desire,
her pain,
her love,
her confusion.
At once
I’m in two places,
two worlds,
two lives

The devil on main street
had his flower-shop in the corner.
He sold roses,
red ones,
white ones,
and even black ones.
He soon fell in love
with one of his buyers,
a lovely brunette
with stardust eyes.
In one point of time
She fell in love too.
They acted like couples
and did well with the shop.
Months goes by
she fell out of love,
the florist feels despair
the roses wilted soon after.
The white roses became red
with the devils blood,
The red ones became black
with his soul.
He left for hell,
xeriscaping gardens
for the young girl’s view.
a garden of everlasting roses
a garden of dreams
a garden of love
emerged from the darkest corners of hell
for the young girl
taught the devil love.

i still fly
with tired wings

But what happens then if a poet broke?
Words lose meaning,
Pages end up burning,
Once so beautiful rhythms are now deafening.

I wish to hear you sing again

I wish there was a rhythm
to describe the way you shine
in the midst of the engulfing darkness

I wish to hear the sound of your presence
a talented melody,
with a hidden harmony of fear.

I wish I had the comforting musicality of your voice
so that I could convey the arpeggio
that I hear in every breath you take
a shaky reminder that you’re with me

I wish that I could play the piano
in the same way you coloured my world so beautifully-
melancholy and repetition
In every stroke and every measure,
In a language that you introduced me to,
In sad smiles and tired hands.

Poems and photographs are so much alike.
When I realised that a poem was
a mere record of what I felt,
an emotion captured so well,
much like how a photograph captured the moment.

I got addicted to the sound of your voice,
little did I know that I’ve be subconsciously recording our little talks.
Little talks that I listen to late at night,
it lulls me to sleep
and comforts me in my darkest hours.
As I play the records like vinyl,
I am able to sleep peacefully
as though you’re still with me.
For your voice is too soft and calming,
it brings me peace amidst the chaos that swallows me whole.