I have temperament, I have flaws and nothing great to show.
No power, no guide
Just a figment and shadow, part of mortal life.
I will not leave behind any legacy,
Like thousand lost soul, soon to be forgotten turn into ashes and dust.
I choose my own prerogative;
To live
To love
To laugh.
Not a caged bird mourning for freedom
Nor a mannequin to please your soaring eyes.
I am the lust of my own desire.
I am the muse of my own story.
I am ordinary, I am imperfect.

March is here it reminds me of
the colorful flowers owned by grandma
Tendered with care
Hark the chirping birds sing, music fill the air.
Season of spring and fling
Busy street, void of any danger
Met a stranger, shared a seat.
Still in touch,
small talks nothing to say much.

The journey and excitement
Of bygone days spend with a lover
They say,
Twenty was the time to explore.
Turning points and joints,
Each episodes connected through dots
Lesson and reason it taught.
March is here and all the nostalgic memories still evoke.


Will we ever be young again?

Sweet revolution on your tongue
Loosing the urge to run.
Escape and savor the moment of bliss
Dwelling in peace.
Insanity awaits flooding into our soul;
Futile to resist
As we embrace and fingers trace
The goosebumps on my skin
Like a blind man reads braille.
Carpe Diem!

She enjoys her state of liberty like the moon enjoys when it shines at night.
Just like the wise owl, she observes and listens.
The voice that remains shut
The eyes that saw blood and tears;
And the heart; a storehouse of suppressed emotion ragging in pain
Bottling up for decade.
When Shiuli blooms as Autumn arrives, she finds her solace in hidden words, etched on her skin.
The embodiment of imperfections stitched together that makes her a human.