Paragraph to paragraph
Reading away from myself.
Drifting from what is needed
Swallowed into a useless realm.
"Mind, get me through the day, will you?
I promise to entertain your earthly bliss."
Yet the more I resist,
A thought surfaces—
How foolish of me
To not think time a luxury!
So, I pick up my pen,
Bury my nose into the depths of the books
Find my little dream resting on its pages—
Waiting to be read, to be true.

set me adrift
here and beyond
wait--
inevitable epilogue

the story is told
and silence, shared.
the night dissolves
dreams, aware.

twinkling galaxies,
damp pillows.
empty--
bed and soul.

you once told me your sign.
i quickly searched
if ours were aligned.
everytime it did, i sigh
and everytime it didn't,
i made ways for it to be.

maybe that's what held us—
the only thing that held us.
my eagerness to keep you
but you always slip away.

in the end,
you're a just a comet that
passed me by.

As the cold wind drifts me to sleep,
the fog hushes my mind.
The leaves, convincing;
all will be alright.

it clings
like a woman's perfume.

a faint scent
that lurks
the steepest alleys.

a puff of smoke
across every corner
of a lonely room.

a pollen carried
by chattering birds
that grew a garden.

how mysterious
words are.

a bomb without the pin.
a knife ready to ****.

heavy lids, batting lashes—
flipping pages through my book
while the moon is my lampshade,
i shall read it you.

lately i've been thinking
how the flow of life
changes direction
because of that one decision

what could've happened
if i...
took that step;

answered that call;

opened that door;

what could've happened
would've happened
if i trusted myself more.

now i'm dwelling
on trapped possibilities
writing poems about
what could've beens.

Letters danced on its own
when I write about you
but
you waltzed
with somebody else
who didn't know how to.

this isn't a poem about dreams
who remained asleep.
this isn't the cries of two souls
buried with their love.

this isn't a story of the brave
who never faced fear.
this isn't the unsent letter
behind the last drawer.
this is a poem about the
what could've been's
if we just risked.

yet no one dared to write.

once you get a grasp of
how drowning and
peaceful the dawn is,  
it's hard to let go.

you'll anticipate every waking hour
trying to catch a glimpse of sunlight
to tell you it's bed time.

once you've tasted the silence,
you'll crave for it everyday
and realize how it tells much more.

midnight 'til morning
waiting for a reply.
to hear that faint ring--
oh, what a lullaby.

i saw the empty streets earlier-
the ones i took going to school.
i saw how the vendors hustle
even the public drivers too.

i read the minds—busier than ever
wondering ******* the time.
the unfortunate ones who didn't mind
the dangers of the streets— they know they can't hide.

now you, who didn't need to be a bee,
who's buzz isn't necessary,
how dare you say the streets are safe?
it is because you're in the hive?

if only all of us can go inside.
if only all of us can stay alive.