If Rome
was built in a day,
Anything is possible.

If the Earth
was created
in 6 days,
then nothing is impossible.

If I can
build my mind
my thought
my opinion
in a split second
it’s a possibility that

it’s just me.

But things take longer
than usual.

Feels impossible,
no?

Nobody knows
the end of the world
Whether in a million years
or tomorrow.

Nobody knows
the day they die
whether a few more decades
or a few more hours

Nobody knows
the true value
of time.

Nobody knows
but rather
everybody is confused

Is there a God out there?
It makes sense to say
yes
But there's reason
to say
no.

Who knows?

Nobody knows
if the Earth is round
or flat
in fact
There's much controversy
surrounding that.

Nobody knows
whether we vanish
into the oblivion
that is
non-existence,
or whether there really is
an afterlife.

Angels
or Aliens?
Demons
or illnesses?

There is a plague
called "possibility"
that infects
the minds of
everybody
who waits and thinks
and hopes
for the truth

But what is
"Truth"?

Is it real,
or just another mere

possibility?

When Death's angel
knocks at the door
and the time
befall

All we could do
is grieve
and weep.

Behold
at last,
the time has come
someone
just has to
leave.

And when it comes
behold one
fall

Nothing to do
but grieve
and weep.

When the night
befall
and darkness reigns
the hour,
grief strikes the heart
closest to the fallen.

All we could do
is sit and watch them
mesmerised, frightened
paralysed with terror,
fearing Death and its dark angel
as we sympathise with the grieving.

Death awaits us all;
It is a sure reminder,
the millions of souls
captured and stolen,
the lives it murdered,
the bodies left behind...

Never to be forgotten.

What to do
but sit in silence
nothing more than

to grieve and weep.

I see
the fear in my father’s eyes
as he beheld the world fall,
as he screams through
the wall,
and starts to lose it all.

I see
the fear in his eyes
when he gives me
an hour’s worth
of lecture
as he tries to
tell me to do
better.

His pain
he does not keep;
he has kept his hurt in
for far too long
already.

He sees
the world around me
crumble
as buildings topple
over one another
and he sees
my position
under the rubble.

He weeps
as he predicts the day
I die
by sword or by stone.
He unleashes his wrath of
frustrations
he’s been through

“Don’t die, son.
Keep staying alive.
Keep breathing,
keep moving,
keep working
to survive.”

I see
the fear in my father’s eyes
as he beheld the world fall
He does not want me
to lose it all
He does not want me
to lose.

“Survive, son.”
It’s okay, Pa.
Don’t worry.

I’ll live.

“It just feels like yesterday”,
you say.
Everything is just yesterday.

For the days have gone behind us,
the months disappear into thin air,
the years turn to dust as they all
fade into the night.

But as the sun arises
We see that a new day has dawned.
And yet, everything has changed in
the blink of an eye;
short yet long,
mysterious the time.

Such is yesterday.

Big brother
He wanders on his own
In the jungle
No one to call his own

But he has a heart full of love to give
"Is there anyone for me to love?"
He wonders
So he sets out on an adventure

He climbed hills and
marched through valleys
Gentle as he can be
He picks up the little squirrels
fallen from the tree

He stops for a while
and lets birds rest on his back
from all their flying and tweeting.

He looks out for the cubs
and stands guard for their protection
And graces with his presence
those in need of affection

And still this grizzly bear
moves forward on his own
Eats alone, sleeps alone.
Sometimes he's lonely.

But he looks up to see the Sun
smiling down on him
and gives him warmth and
a bright shine on his
glorious brown coat

And though a hunter's spear
may strike through his heart
already broken
these words of love pours out
onto the ground
for nobody to call his own
and yet still to love

"Brother bear cares"

This is a poem about
how I can no longer
write poems
like I used to.

The colours are all
drained.
The pen is left
with no ink.
The paper, empty
blank.

What's the meaning of life?
To breathe, to love,
to write?
Why is there this emptiness;
why the lack?

When will my inspiration
come back

to me?

More often than not,
I have no idea

what the hell am I doing.

My heart yearns, it thirsts
hungers
pangs
longing to see the reality
not our reality
but
Truth

My heart, it hurts
it breaks
it longs for
you,
I,
people
People in need, hungry, broken, lacking
longing for
love, joy, peace, patience, kindness,
faithfulness
longing for
control
over
chaos

My eyes
they burst into tears
pour out a liquid offering
on the altar of deep cries
My body given in to relentless toil
a sacrifice on the altar of selflessness
My soul burst into flames
a passion reignited
to seek
to love
to know.


My God,
lest I forget
that with all these things I have and give
that the One thing I only need is You.
For apart from You,
It is all for naught.

If love is what saves a life
I will love you ever so passionately
hug your bones so tight
It squeezes the hell out of you
the hell you're suffering from
madness, loneliness, sub-existence,
feelings of worthlessness, feelings of lovelessness
I will tell you how much I love you
To make sure you know you are loved
Envelope your mind in light
Set life into the course of your veins
flowing through you
Fill you with gifts of joy and peace,
clothe you in goodness and mercy
when you fall, I will use all the strength in these arms to lift you up
my shoulders to prop your head while you rest and weep,
my ears to pay attention to the echo of your heart beat through your words and expressions
my eyes to look after you and out for you, to watch over you, to adore and admire you
I will spend my time with you
be present, be there for you
just to see you smile
just to see you live
just to see you grow
just to see you alive and beautiful
If love is what saves a life, no,
if love is what gives life
then let me fight
for your right
to live.

Feelings
are just mere feelings ,
and words
are just words.

What do they mean;
What significance do they bear?

I like how
the paper
has its purpose,
but of which only
lead and ink
can fulfill.

A piece of paper
is just another blank slate,
waiting for a miracle,
waiting for life to leak
into the lines of its veins.

Just waiting for
words,
ideas,
doodles and sketches
poems, puns
works of art
Just waiting
for the meaning to its existence.

But little do we know
that the paper
is its purpose;
to create something
out of nothing;
to give life
to the lifeless.

Paper,
is everything like
opportunities given
to us,
and most of all
how we make of it.
_______

I like how
we have a purpose
but of which only
will and work
can fulfill.

And I am,
like any other I will be
just another blank slate
waiting for a miracle,
waiting for life
to flow in my veins.

Just waiting for
words,
meaning;
a purpose.

But little do I know
that I am my own purpose
to make something
out of nothing,
to give meaning to something
meaningless.

Yet, my life
is everything like
wasted opportunity,
bad ideas
on crumpled papers,
torn, shred
and thrown away.

I do not know who
I really am.

Whether I am just
another notebook
to jot important things down,
assignments, homework
or just some
stupid doodles and
useless words
on stanza.

I don’t even know
where I stand now.

I am just
another piece of paper
a purpose, unknown
of which
hopes and dreams
won’t fulfill.

When I receive flowers from someone
it makes me feel...
strange

I've never received flowers before.

Only ever reserved for special occasions,
Weddings, vacations...
Funerals

In life or death
flowers
symbolise a certain affection for life
and cherishes a life that has perished

In a sense,
We are all flowers in a vast garden
Hidden among grass
Only seen by those closest to us
And reserved for special occasions.

If I were to receive a flower from you,
give then yourself to me,
and may we each other feel only
love.

freedom or chaos
two sides of the coin
held by watcher, heaven’s son
looking on earth’s face
falling for her daughter
fallen from God’s face,
disgraced by his brethren
a year and eight, too late
is this love for earth and daughter
blessing or curse, he ponders
as he revels in dust and dirt, was it worth it?
as the earth pushes him from womb, gently rejecting
ejecting into waters, rebaptised
now caught in limbo state
awaiting