The colors from the burning stars
Filtered down in the universe,
Mixing in the milky way,
Pampering the human eye with its beauty.

“If there’s a compass
That finds my fate, can I ask
Where is it pointing?”

Bakit pa kaya ako na buhay?
Bakit pa ako nanatili dito sa mundo?
Tingin ng iba sa akin ay walang halaga,
Siya namang katotohanan...
Ang totoo ay wala naman talaga akong kwenta.
Ipinagtataka ko,
Bakit binigyan pa ako ng pangalawang buhay?
Para saan ito?
Minsan naisip ko, na sana dati natuluyan na lang ako.
Ano pa bang silbi ko?
Ang bigyan ng pasanin ang mga magulang ko?
Ang bigyan ng cancer ang lipunang ito?
Ang bigyan ko ng karagdagang problema ang mundo?
Minsan napapatanong ako,
Ano pang silbi ng pangalawang buhay ko
Kung hindi naman ako masaya?
Bakit hindi nalang ako hinayaang mahimlay na lamang?
Paulit-ulit na akong nasaktan at umiyak,
Hindi pa ba sapat para pagbayaran ko lahat?
Paulit-ulit na pinaramdam sa akin na wala akong kwentang nilalang,
Hindi pa ba iyon sapat para magdusa ako ng tuluyan?
Paulit-ulit akong napahiya at siniraan,
Hindi pa ba iyon sapat para magpahinga na?
Kailangan ko pa bang pagdaanan ang ganito kasakit na bagay?
Paulit-ulit nalang ba?
Wala na bang bago?
Hindi na ba magbabago ang kapalaran ko?
Ganito na ba talaga?
Pagod na ako
Pagod na pagod na ako sa totoo lang.
Ano bang nagawa ko sa mundo para magdusa ng ganito?
Nung mawala ako ng ilang minuto grabe raw ang iyak nila,
Nung bumalik ako, abot-langit ang saya nila...
Paano ako?
Natatanong niyo ba kung masaya rin ako?
Minsan nasasabi ko-
Wala nang magmamahal sa akin,
Wala nang tatanggap sa akin maliban sa pamilya ko.
Wala naman talagang makakaintindi sa akin kundi sila...
Kaya hindi na ako magtataka kung pati kayo ay mawawala.
Nasanay na ako,
Ano pa bang bago?
Sige, magsilisan na kayo.
Gusto niyo ako pa ang maghahatid sa inyo?
Ikagagalak ko.

“Once a false hope came,
He promised me everything—
It hurts ‘cause he left.”

Be brave,
Be strong-
Be humble,
Be proud;
Be like a lion.

The ink?
The ink is the tears
For a mourning writer
Who found refuge in writing.

The ink,
A black stained scars
From a writer's heart
Who carve their thoughts in blank pages.

The ink...
It serves as a photograph
From a writer's mind
Through pen and paper.

The ink
Is like a paint,
The brush is the pen and
The canvas is the paper.

The years passed, months
Are passed
But the days are few
That no one knew.

I always have the thoughts
That I already holding you
But I know
I am imagining again.

Dad, I just hope you're alright
Please come home safe
Cause even how long I've
Been waiting for you.

Dad, no matter what
Even how many years passed
Always know
That you are loved.

"I write for myself,
Not for fame,
Not for others,
Not for the readers,
And the likes.
I wrote stories and poems
Because I want to read it."

Do you know that God is my Wizard?
He is my brain,
He is my hands,
He is my direction,
He is my inspiration,
He is my fan,
He is my reader.
Without Him, I am just an ordinary pen.
Without Him, I am really nothing.
Go is my intelligence, I am His masterpiece.
God is my wisdom, I am His pen.
God is my Wizard and I am Cane
The Wizards Pen.

Your death still haunts me everyday;
Every time I close my eyes,
Every time I dream,
Every time I'm awake;
I could hear your scream
and your pleading—
Whether my eyes are close or not,
I can see your suffering.

I was once a sailor alone,
I explore the high seas,
I fight the big waves,
I was battling with whales.
I was once a sailor alone
Until I saw you,
You bring me colors,
You showed me love
That I’ve never seen before.