She longed for you in lonely nights
Of pouring rains and flickering lights.

She looked for you from steepy heights to sloping grounds,
on rolling tides and sandy bars.

She loved you since and loves you still.

She has coped  with the thought, you're not her's to keep and hold.

Now that your literary fire is ablaze,
it is your turn to use it
to change the world.
Make it a warm cozy home
with doors spread wide
like a mother's arms
that welcome a kid
who had a bad day from school
or an exhausted husband from work.

Use that fire to make
your own signatured
sumptuous literary menus
that will ease hunger for hope,
to fuel a day ahead,
or light a dark path
to lead a bright one.

Now, pour all the grains of your mind,
cook it with all your life's experiences,
add a heart to taste,
and a sprinkle of soul to finish. Taadaah!
You have the most exquisite literary piece in the world to feed the entire universe.

XO

We drew the line.
My path extended to you, yours to mine
Was it I who drew it first?
If it were you, was it reverie
Or deja vu?

One day, in another moment or place,
Comes a time we are free.
Our paths will meet.
You will come to me
As I to you.
Hearts don't really forget.

If relationship were like baking
We are flour
Just like how it is sifted
Lumps and bits  are recognized in the
Middle of sifting or the end
Our only difference is that
We are both
Ball of lumps in the beginning
Scratching, rubbing, bumping
Against each other
Trying to figure out
How to get through
The same sieve,
To see how much impurities
Of ourselves we need to get rid
And how much of us
From scratch we can save.

Forget about the
tarnished pages, tingy blues,
tattered memories, ties severed, a love that died long ago.

Papers stained of sweaty inks, tear scented poetry,
someone lives
between the lines-
you.

Rain kissed skin, summer's over
Brushed off last teardrop on my face
Air tousled hair, cool change.

I thank God for
The curles and curves
I see.
A bend of rainbow
In the sky
After a heavy rain
Paints a curve
On one chubby little cheeks
A smile that makes a day.

Some days, someone stays late
Not to write
But to sort things out-
A messy house
A healthy meal
And a tiny fellow to rear.

In early dawn someone wakes
Not to read, nor gather thoughts
To write a piece of poem
But strength for all the chores-
From toasting breads
And scrambling eggs,
To determining some life choices
And more.

Sometimes she gets drunk
Not with words nor with wine
But of thinking
Where time has gone
For quite a while
A dead poet has lived within her
For so long.

The stars need the night to shine
How perfect the velvet midnight under the dazzling stars is
How pleasant it is when we notice not only those that shine.

The rain needs sun
To be allowed an embrace to its mother nature
Only when they are together
The children of the earth endure.

Plants cannot bear fruits with only roots alone
It is when all its other parts share the work together
From Earth's gentle bossoms
life  blooms.

And we are the kind of halos that cannot soar alone
For each of us is an angel with only one wing
And we can only fly
By pair or more  if we embrace one another.


Inspire by the words of Luciano De Crescenzo

"We are each of us angels with only one wing, and we can only fly by embracing one another.”

To feel jealous
about something
you shouldn't be,

Is like tugging a
knot against
nobody

And trying to tie
it on your neck
so tightly.

an ocean cried
of crimson tides
and dried her shore
as her sun waived
goodbye.

A vanishing scene,
flickers in dark
she must remember,
she must write.
Endearing strokes
of black and blue
papers stained with
thoughts of you.

Once there was a girl
Who never left the house,
So once her heart finds
its way home,
She'll be able to
welcome her on her arms
once more.

One day, heart will come
when she arrives,
She will tell her about what it's like to be out there.

She'll tell the story about how she met someone during the cold rainy days,
How nice he was to shelter her and made her cozy

And how he left because he thought she was too cold
And that he needed other things to give her a ***** feeling

And she'll confess about the moments she longed for his return and how the hope she once had flickered.

She will talk about
how she took all the courage
to go out that comfort
and how she was able to
pack all her strength to
head her way home.

And that she's glad to be home though not on time but never too late.

While the sun was idle
It rested beneath the inky cumulus
As thunder clad the still morn
A tiny ant with a bread crumb load
Perhaps on its way home
Stopped for a rest on the tip
Of my marmalade coated toast
Then off he went
As wind tousled leaves made a clapping sound
As if, the long wait is over
I held up my coffee
And breathed in,

I smelled rain.

It's okay to cry alone
For some reasons why
It's okay to smile
You don't need to tell why
It's okay to miss someone
Because to miss someone
Doesn't happen once
It happens over and over
It's okay if it happens again.

"Loss" is a thing with stingers
That stings the soul
And wails the tunes in silence-
And never goes away-
At all.

"Time" is its best companion
For some other time,
the aches are much much more
To make you bend and curl.
And there are times,
life's appetite is dull and slouchy
But most likely
you'll get up and carry on...

How cruel October
has been to us.
Gray skies,
rainy days,
tear soaked eyes,
even mom had to pass.

Maybe I'll write a pretty poem one day,
One that makes the readers
Remember the tortured poets
That lies in some forgotten corners
Laced with delicate cob webs

Maybe I'll write a pretty poem one day,
One that  whispers warm embraces
to some hearts frozen somewhere
Chilling.

There are moments
so beautiful
that before it begin
it has to end.
Like our love
a firework lit
it started to die,
as it started to live.

An empty cage stand on the lawn,
Wet, rusty and old.
Longing for his bird,
Yearning for her lonely songs.
Without her, he's no longer his purpose.

Perhaps his heart wasn't really made of steel.
Perhaps being selfless is better
Than being himself.
Perhaps she is somewhere
Singing.

In a well written story of mine,
a chapter you stole,
the best of all.
And if someday you'll hear a half familiar name,
not mentioned with yours,
I hope you'll remember your words, your oath.

She hums a few nursery rhymes
Tiny tender  stomps
Swinging forward, swaying sideward
In her womb randomly, gracefully.

Little feet listen as her heart
Drum rolls the beat.
In tranquil nights, sudden kicks
Danced her to sleep.

Once there was a girl so broken, so courageous,
she collected her broken pieces while on a blind fold however  not knowing when will all the shards will stick back together,
She gifted herself a permanent hug so she'll never have to pick it up once more in case she falls again...

I sometimes miss this girl
who enjoys sitting in cafès
with her emptied cup.
She who finds grace
in the presence of waiting
And believes in happy ending.

I sometimes miss this girl
who's so good at self consolation.
She who patronises self rule
more than any other,
Someone who's still whole.

Now cafès reminds me
not with coffee fragrant promises
But of bitter tanged memories
While sitting becomes restless waits
I have come to miss the girl
I was before you-

I still long of me a little.

May we teach our children
the love for the unloved things-
the bee and its sting, the out casts,
an ugly duckling.

Children who sense rainbow needs rain
and find muddy puddles fun
as much as they ran
under the warm summer sun.

And when they're grown,
may they see kindness
has no color, shape, nor size
To listen to unheard utters-
a bird's forgotten musings,
the wind's coldest sigh,
a breaking heart.

May they keep pacing with the slow
to reach a place where
all beautiful things glow.

And when they learn to
love the unloved things,
May they be fonder
Of all gentle things
And be the ones.

Fish swims, the moon shines
At my distorted reflection on rippling pond
Somehow lightened my darkened trudge.

When you said
you wanted us an end,
my heart raced,
skipped a beat,
died a bit.

I was torn-
a little,
in two,
in pieces.

To trust someone
is something frail
you give others.

They break it with ease,
You're left alone to fix.

If there is one thing
that I hated,
It would be waiting.
Though I know
It could take endless,
I find myself
dwelling in consolation
of taking a step,
then a leap
of faith.

While the world thinks she's back on track,
She spends her mornings behind curtains drawn,
Noons at the cafe where they used to go,
Sleepless nights finding out where to start.

She drew her pen and spelled her thoughts.
Empty words, clingy clichés,  broken oaths were new metaphors.
Sentences gushed one after the other like devastating waves of a stormy weather.
Tired eyes brimming, her heart ebbing with hope.

i dont know why
i'm always lied to.
when you came,
with pure intentions you said
and said the same when you left
because you needed to be honest.

Perhaps because there
is a tale to tell
about thoughts I chased.
One after another,
and after one that's crushed,
lost and gone
to wind.

Perhaps to breathe,
to laugh, and to cry

Or perhaps to be found.

Cheer up now, being too little in the eyes of people is nothing compared to what your thumb can do,
Always remember that you can make a moon disappear at the back of your thumb in just a wink of an eye.

So when you feel that you're of less importance, that's nothing to be really scared of.
There  are few things little things that we don't often see its worth but cause unimaginable destruction, Just like how a tiny dew drop
and a distant sun ray from the sun can burn a whole forest.

When you came to me,
You swept me of my feet
like what hurricanes do,
the one that keeps you afloat
with all that mixtures
of excitements, feelings
and kept you falling.

Eventually, you were a maelstrom,
out of nowhere you stormed in to take away a home
I mended and kept at bay
inside my chest cages.
Yes, you are the form
of every bits that takes away,

Yes you were,
when you left.