“He said-She said” pt.3


, , , , , ,

She said “They say the best things in life are free – friendship, love and peace of mind”.

He said “Yes, I agree”.

She said “If I can only pay the price to get him back, I should have long paid for it”

He said “Yup. Sometimes love doesn’t accept payments. Besides, you’re just making yourself in debt of something not worth your tears.”

She said “What do you mean?”

“Move on”, he said.

“He said-She said” pt.2


, , , , , ,

Photo Credits: Google Images

Photo Credits: Google Images

When I lie down, I feel my heart beating. It’s trembling fast, as fast as how your wheels go when you drive.

I don’t know if this is palpitation, or some way how my body releases stress. I’m stuck in between so many side of things.

Lastly, I don’t know if this is love.

“He said-She said” pt.1


, , , , , ,

Photo from Google.com

He worries for her being tripped at, being abused, being hurt.

He said “It’s still dark outside”.

She said “I don’t really have to go outside to see the dark side of things”.

“Then stay with me outside, I would love to see your eyes glimmering with a dark sky in a breaking dawn”, He said while staring at her eyes like there’s no forever.

Persecuted Poets


, , , , , , , , , , , ,

This morning, I’ve visited a link from a Facebook friend, which is about 5 persecuted poets:

Aron Atabek – Kazakhstan

Mohammed Ibn al-Dheeb al-Ajami – Qatar

Enoh Meyomesse – Cameroon

Susana Chávez Castillo – Mexico

Liu Xia – China

They were persecuted, detained, imprisoned and murdered because of their activism in poetry.

Click here to view the full article:






, , , , , , , , , , , ,

It’s funny how a look in his eye
has changed everything past your life

Ironically, it’s insanely funny how a look,
a glance in his eyes
to a stranger beside
can change everything,

including your goals and plans
and your future was ruined in an instant.



, ,

She can send a kiss in the air

She doesn’t understand why
He can’t look her in the eye

She will never understand
How her beauty can strike him
How her stare can feel like her skin

He doesn’t look that much at her
Because everytime he does, he lose
He becames a madman on his knees
Trying to delight her, trying to please.

Untitled #2


, , ,

“And I asked the weather, “am I as cold as you?”
Then I waited.. still there’s no reply

So I got my feet into the waters and asked, “Does he love me too?”.. still there’s no reply

In dim light, I asked the moon, “Why do I feel as lonely as you?” Still there’s no reply

And I saw a fly flying next to another, so I chased it. It might have the answer to my deepest saddest questions.”

Full Stop


, , , , ,

Days before I wrote this, I had been thinking of shutting down my blog OR not fully shutting it, but to stop writing poetry.

I’m planning to save poems for a fifth drafted book called FULL STOP. That’s what I’ve been thinking. But I’ll sure miss poetry. It was my first love back when I was in elementary.

For a change, I kept a diary. I lodge daily events in my life. Only due to stressful times or stressful work (nothing to do with people, but because it’s numbers) I find it hard to write daily.

During my break OR after I stop writing, I might find myself reading books of novels, poetry or any genre I like.

When I read the poems I made year ago, I was quite disappointed, having the fact that I hate my own works, so I decided to take a full stop to improve or to fully stop it.

But anyways, writing has always been my relief. I might not take a full stop. But I enjoyed my stay here in WordPress.

Nights came


, , , , , , , ,

Nights came when she hates love
When she wished for food instead
She sighed and looked at her new book
She composed, then she threw her third look
Dracula on front cover
She’s going to read when she’s sober
Then thoughts of her last lines flashed
Should she take her full stop?
“I don’t need to be a millionaire” she pondered
But she thought “where could I be,
If hunger had dominated thee?

To the unreached dream


, , , , ,

Broken dreams
Free spirit soars high

In the sky of hope
Kindles and tickles
Pieces on the floor
It will someday be whole

Fragments still defy
Echoes of mercy
In your life, lifts light

Your presence is a gift
It has been, as always..

(I wrote this yesterday for a friend. We had a nice talk about unattained dreams and hopes, but life goes on. I believe God has a greater plan and besides, it’s never too late. He said “Sometimes, you just have to motivate yourself, because there’s no one else to motivate you. I salute him. I think I just found a long lost brother in him.)

“Coffee Girl”


That secret poison I drink
With my heart kept pounding
A light-bulb in my head
Thoughts flow in my bed

Like a river across the mountain
I was into place I’ve never been
Creatures and events happen
You watch it like a sequel

A stone in a brown liquid form
Drown my mind in the storm
But a fish will always swim
Upstream or downstream, but it won’t drown


Movies, Poetry, Love – An addictive potion to taste.


, ,


Seriously, I fell in love with Jane Austen’s love story.

You were walking in the woods.

Then you meet someone arrogant, then you meet love.

And you were caught off guard.

Then the sea of emotions drown you in.

You feel you can really fly.

So you write and let it out.

Then when it’s all there, you give up.

He gives up.

Then after summer and spring, he chose someone else.

Then you meet his daughter.

Then she asks you to read.

With pure innocence that you were once fueled by his father’s presence.

That’s just so horrifying and inspiring.

Becoming Jane 2007 Movie Cover taken here: http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0416508/

Becoming Jane 2007 Movie Cover taken here: http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0416508/



, , ,

Have I got my May wrecked
On the twentieth when you stepped
Did it forward to his February
Does silence gives me a sanctuary?

Will you dump the cloth if not mine?
Why am I feeling wasted over time?
And on a white car
Do crossroads give rewind

And if my feet got sprained
Will there be someone to get here
Will he bring a bottle of iced tea
Paired with biscuits and cold drink

Will he get in an office Wednesda-te?
And see me laugh, see my eyes at night late
Will he wet his hair in rain?
And wait for my sweet revenge?

If my memory serves me right
You should have not left that night

But I ran first and left you crying
Now, what makes sense is really nothing


Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 839 other followers