Coffee on my brain, bitter on my tongue.
Maybe this will numb.
I know that’s worse in the long run
but I guess I’m a short distance runner.

Flowers bloom under my skin,
their lives akin
to a spark in a vacuum.

Blood is always redder than I remember.

Coffee on my brain, bitter on my tongue.
Staying up is better than coming undone.

I checked my time
It was around nine in the night
I look up at the sky
You should ask me why
Something seems strange
It is not a mirage
The Stars are shining full
The Moon is quarter full
The Sky looks beautiful
This does not happen everyday
It is on the eighth of May
Around nine in the night
And things are looking moderately bright


I stood up from my seat
Just to wonder around
Green grass beneath my feet
This shows good soil abound
I sighted the fireflies flaunting their light
I heard the toads croaking with their might
I saw some flies flying away with fright
I noticed the gentle breeze of the night
I felt alive
This sensation does not happen everyday
It was on the eighth of May
Around nine in the night
And things were looking moderately bright


Something again occur
Nature was showing her Jamboree
When I saw it I concur
I could't help but to agree
A meteorite stylishly slowly decidedly descend
Contemporaneously with an aeroplane cruising westward
Its sound as if it's a firework
It's flashlight merging with the satellites and the starlight
Sizzling the sky with spree of synchronized light
This illumination does not happen everyday
It is on the eighth of May
Around nine in the night
And things are looking moderately bright


Here I am still wondering about
Free I am real round about
This World is not always a beautiful place
Round the years? Round the months? Round the days?
Across all the continents through the Asia
What makes today so special?
I believe the Heavens are smiling on me
Even Earth agrees to it
Cruel creatures couldn't conflict
Nurtured Nature nicely nods to it
All these are on the eighth of May
Around nine in the night
And my star is realistically ready to shine it's light

A resplendent moon
Bequeaths an enchanting night
The silken dark skies
Glimmer and gleam
When the stars flicker
And a beautiful silence
Feels velvety soft against my skin
A  humming breeze
Soaked with a scent of vibrant night blooms
Kisses my cheeks tenderly
And gently persuades me
To fall in bed and dream
As the silvery sound of nocturnal Symphony
Drifting through the open window
tries to lull me into a deep sleep
Washing the dusty remnants of a long day
From by body aching for just a few hours
Of  peaceful repose
Before a blazing sun
Blights this soporific ambiance
But the heavy gusts of thoughts
Raging inside the walls of my mind
Vehemently oppose and assault
Even a transient rule of silence
And the view
Of the imminent day becomes smaller and smaller
Through the vision
Of my swollen eyes

On the tip of my toes
And as far as the horizon goes
I reached over the line to keep stable

But I tipped the stool
And like a fool, dragged the sky
like a black cloth off a table

and prior passing the salt
as a result, of my fault
sprinkled the stars before your eye

I spilled the milk too soon
And poured out the moon
Across what now looked like a night sky

And there I was falling
When light came that morning
Only then left to have confessed

I am the prodigy of apology
And for this I am sorry
falling to sleep at breakfast

Softly and gently, I swim him along
the frail whirlpool of a lie,
He visits like a lamp in the froth of cold
forward towards but shy

I remember to keep my palm onto the cold night's sheet
and tell him how his would fit in,
how every moment of my cold nights would burn
into the arms of his unconscious sin

I canst remember thy face though,
o love, was the dust of snow much.?

Swaying like a leaf in the wind of my poem
skimming on the foam of an immortal stream,
with his perfect structured fingers touching his evening cup,
he flutters like a laugh from the lips of a weeping dream.

A dream.
A DREAM.
O my.! Was this illusory?

Years of long closed eyelids imagining their perfect fit
The word exists the definition doesn't,
Dejection over fancies is dejecting
Perfection is straight where you find true love.

in the heat of a thunderous twilight storm
like a child swallowed by fear i
clung onto my stuffed toys
i asked them if everything would be okay
if the sun will come out tomorrow morning
and the rest of the mornings after
even if the storm continues to brew in darker places than the night
and the rain pours but not from the sky
my little fingers held big fears but
i have to grow up
so i wont have to rely on my toys
and so i can properly grip those fears of mine

Antares placidly fades
from the deep and high blanket,
He absconds from being one
of the many faces in the crowd.
He will be the brightest one,
But not on this sky, langga.
Not this one.

Dark and deep blanket embraces
flush-tainted, vast spread;
the transition is both breath-taking
and dangerous.
Inevitable change has come to him
but he's not afraid.
If anything, he's excited.

Your overwhelming orange smile
rises from the east.
Whooping, screaming,
greeting delight and passion;
waking up what's sleeping within
and fueling my dim ignition of hope.