Sunrise and sunset,
will be our momentarily
place of refuge or
even our Safe Haven.

                                            One sun, different time;
                                             contradicting fates,
                                             connecting and
                                             vomiting through gravity.

Sunrise and sunset,
pleasing to the eyes
of everyone who will witness,
but painful to those who waited –

                                               One sun, different places;
                                                trying to collide
                                                to the extent of collision.
                                                Failed­ to become, resulted to catastrophe.

Sunrise and sunset,
– with hope that it will be the last
time they will see it alone.
High valleys to the east; eagle eyes
to the west.

Stirring minds
(22 Sunrises and 22 Sunsets)
awaiting to be thought of.

Discombobulating eerie day  
left me asking on some matter.  
Like how the unreachable sky is so gray  
even if the day is really a flatter.  
  
Far-stretched lines I drew  
in a fine piece of silky flat.  
I smell the essence of tingling blue  
creeping on the edges where I sat.  
  
Far-flung hopes he seek  
with different approach and time.  
Ended well in a mountain peak  
gushing he came to be, he waited to climb.  
  
Discombobulating ambiance  
in the room somehow disturbs.  
Prepares the writer into dalliance  
so he forgotten all the verbs.

Blinkers on, balance it on your
head and never lose it. You still
got some unhinged and bonkers
stuff to deal after of all those  
steep and unsure hallway journey.
                   You are a
Rational thinker, we long
and you prosper. We seek  
and you like to be found; in  
the middle of baffling
reasoning, we discover you, again and
again. Seems you are anew. Ready for
the dawn and dusk of another toil that needs
a thinker like you
                    are in the middle of  
White halls with brittle walls
that we keep on shattering in
every blink of fidelity we have;  
On the things that must be—
Broken and cracked for the light to enter.

It’s tragic enough,
to not know how
mad you have become now.
In that deep, deranged pit.

Believed the lies that your voices
told, clouded the mind with their truths
and convinced you were allies.
In that deep, dusky abandoned hole.

You are trapped then, and trapped now
with only wavering promises and sickly vow that
the voices said, they will come not long enough.
In that deep, filthy quiet trench.

I waited for the voices to come for us,
find us I yell until I cannot find the gas
that this lungs need. We waited, so soon.
In that deep, lonely cave.

We are alone, I am alone for myself
with conjuring deceit we fend for oneself.
ashes, only ashes could reborn another.
In that deep, agonizing nightmare of show.

Followed by the screams that I never
thought would come in this place ever.
they will sing their hymns of remnants.
In that deep, unreachable plain hollow.

Remind me. Always
remind me of how important
someone’s words to someone. You
are that representation. A symbol,
a token and a sign that everyone should
remember that things still matter  
in this existing solid matter. You
stand there with a paper and mic, palpitating
heart you said. I nod. Agreed. Then you proceed.
Standing there you look like a glass (transparent –
damp glass) you stand there with gazing eyes through,
trying, trying, along the minutes you keep on trying
and you pierced this target when you let go. Let go
of the obscured yet revealing phrases. Promised words
that we’ll go places.  

Remind me. Always,
you remind me of strings. Not the
brittle ones but the thick and sturdy
strings that hold shattered and forgotten
pieces of every puzzle you tried to place (together).
A glue and a gun you tried once again. Pulled off the
trigger and uncapped every cover, you tried. I don’t.
I don’t know if you succeeded, but you pierced. Every  
being and feeling of one’s existence. You should know.
You have my heart. You may slip the idea of it- but
in the end, you still have it.

butterflies made me
blissful with the beating of
my excitement
for the reason they
keep me on the verge
of anything that
could have been.


a butterfly ran,
rather flew away
with all the pollen
that a bee should have;
instead it took it
all away.


you, still fantasizing
for that single butterfly to come back.
but it will, only be back
when the pollens
are ready to be taken
for granted.