Written Draft

I hate to leave a draft on my table

On a hectic day or

On a profound night


I thought somehow

I could ease his pain

For marrying a writer

Who does donut talks before

She goes for an all day’s work

I’m sorry my sweetest draft

But I promise I’ll be back

To roll back the dice

And pen those strong words again..

You’ll never have to wait

once more.


Moments of eternal light

Glimpsing the ripples of history, sensing the changes overtaking the world, never entertaining fantasies of omnipotence or martyrdom

If only by wearing mirror -shades ironically, and sniggering like some post-modern harlots, I’d love to be confronted with an impossibility.

However, each fallen glass no matter, illuminates one and the others to remind ourselves of that frayed edge lapped by judgment.

She is an amateur

She is an amateur 

The kind that blows your head off 

When she struggles to do the right thing in extreme circumstances 

Whether through a stained glass window 

Or through a telecine sample, 

She touches lives in ways that even her is ignorant of. 


HE is a mix of complex-allusion,  wry humor, minute-detail, populist form, serious content and figurative-narrative elements. 

HE burns me with his big ideas and unusual structures that proliferate, rushing like the dizzying waters of a fall claiming me, throwing up patterns and resonances. 


stood one leg on a stone 

Arms stretched far apart 

Arching body to hold gravity 

Almost slipping 

Nearly falling

But God’s finger picking

Made me stand again


There I found my balance. 


A cross between pink and white

your hands sing as a wind chime

this skin that yells one bit

of soul from the swift & tender

prints & pores where Eva’s beauty 


feel the thin fringes & darkened 

curves on its tiny cracks

as you string along the veins for

that so called touch—

let me drink your sweat.


Fingers are like twigs

Lightweight and bronzed

That reach two extreme poles

Stealing hearts

Breaking parts

Awaiting light rays

Of goodbyes and new beginnings 

Suspended waving nothing

In the air but

Dead points and humidity

To touch is to rob the Holy grail

Out of the wilderness

Like your fingers.

It’s my secret

Eyes that gape at you

In silence

Basking in every t-shirt you always


Your hairy chest I’d like to hide

Not minding the time.

You smell awful that’s what they say

That I never once believed.

Wednesdays and Sundays are but a favourite

For your hair gets thrice as blacker after it’s ran by water.

Who’d think I’m crazy for you

I never met your daring eyes, never bump nose to nose, or stand on two feet inside yours

Guess there are reasons why

Everytime I ignore you

Your hard stare and dark brows


Silently with half a smile.

Was it yesterday when you wore those

Pair of faded blue jeans?

Melting my knees with your incomparable looks.

This one-sided affection and presumptive heart don’t

Want any more ploy and toy

That smile that voice that brain and air cool are

Too much for an encouragement.

Being around you is a lost love I’d like to keep

Bizarre, surreal no further than

This reality.

I mourn the days that turn green leaves to brown.

Changing one after one

Bares the heart-piercing

Hypothesis for

My mistaken identity.

So where do I stand in all this?

Truly I don’t want to answer..

As long as I have you

Near and far

In this demanding cell

I’ll not fail in this tremendous tale.

Like the nightingale so

Perpetual; it’s my sworn duty.

This silly mind wishes you’d blackmail me,

Push me to a dead-end to make me confess

How this heart never wants

Another man other than you.

But until then


It’s my secret, Darling.











You came back my old friend

Today I met an old friend from a land 58 light years away 

Like an alien he started talking moving his eyes from side to side 

He was so charged up I couldn’t blame 

He just came back from an illness he sure tried to mend 

My palm held my heart as usual it wanted to come out dry 

Jump to his so I excused my self and thought what I did was right 

I wanted an embrace but my tongue twisted like vines as if some vinegar was poured 

Hell I could cry for missing an old friend whom I dreamt was mine 

Words from the wind’s contractor, pictures of the guardian’s den, memories of the river, tales of his tears 

I’d like one from his mouth so much that my heart’s in despair 

To my old friend whom others tried to deduce

My feelings are there but it’s vessel never breaks a spell 

Once it’s broken consider it sold. 

You came back my friend.. 



I wish he’d contact me like the first time.

But I know him so well.

He wouldn’t give me the satisfaction. 


I wonder if that would make any difference. 


Don’t just stand there

Don’t just stand there mystified

By the morning dew from last night’s

Plummeting string of rain.

Don’t just stand there doubting your own pain because it’s real and

No one is to blame.

The decision you made comes like the small plastic wrapper that remains afloat in canal waters even after it’s washed by rain.

Don’t just stand there praying to God to solve the chaos you’re in

Might as well assign them yourself and let Him rest from your sins.

Sins lie in wait in a bowl of dried apples and oranges aged by filthy wind and blasphemy. 

The house in yellow sulfur is filled with death it seems no one cared 

No plants and lights, windows cracked and broken, voices only echoed from lost people, the long chairs across the wine bar are empty, webby never cushiony.

Souls have housed in its darkness the place is haunted now you should leave. 

Don’t just stand there hoping it’s only a dream. That the stars you see beyond the hole of the kitchen roof are real. 

They’re not so don’t try to sew them like some puzzle pieces they are only meant 

To keep you and make you dark as well.

Dream a little dream of him somewhere clean and clear it’s not helpful when you’re under some evil spell.

Escape all you want but don’t mind the house’s tale you’re not a priestess in a book’s occult fair.

Think about your family their warm smiles and lovely gazes to fight against 

This monster craze. 

Don’t just stand there I don’t want you there 

Move your fingers, blink your eyes and shout all you can 

Wake up from the nightmare and leave depression that’s all there is to say.




I don’t want to work

carlsbad-flower-fields-southern-californiaI wake up at six in the morning only to sigh deeply. 

My body moves slowly it does not seem to get out of the bed how lonely 

It is when the arms of the sun reach out for your eyes every day it appears 

The excitement has gone somewhere you’d wish it’s gone forever in your smile. 

You look at the window and pray it’s dark –not wanting to bathe and have breakfast. 

I don’t want to work it kills me as if I already know the scent of love beyond the flower field

The door likes to tempt I feel some issues are there waiting like soldiers outside they choke me so

I go out and take a walk then stand in front of the roses and white lilies to 

Light a cigarette and smoke I don’t want to work, have dinner and work even 

If it makes me fortunate like what others say because my heart is not there 

To tango with the music the office is playing for me.

I don’t want to work I only want to smoke and smoke because my life’s so full of mud 

It’s hard to get along, Amado mio.

inner tremor

What happens to people who give up on love?


I’ve seen some.

And many have said they were miserable.



I thought about it.


And it left me wondering


if I was…



Miserably happy




Happily miserable?




Sometimes, words are infernal.


Talking to a stuffed teddy bear 🐻

Because you don’t love me I have myself talked to a stuffed teddy bear at night when my sadness becomes my new lingerie

This stuffed animal sits on the edge of my bed with melting eyes as it cheers me 

“screw him!”

All because you don’t listen to my drunken speech about you who never loves me

Makes me speak to a lifeless friend and sometimes 

Teaches me fight like that of a UFC warrior to which I’m not sure I’d win against the oddities this life serves me 

Along with the curve gaffes and wind breakers 

How I want you never gaze at the darkness behind the black curtain

Takes me to the spot with my teddy bear and cry humanly on its lap 

Because you never capture my deck of subjectivity in an era of probability. 

This man of noble blood

This man of noble blood hears the sound her nose makes 

He follows through to examine who 

Dwells behind the wall no one touches to know 

Beyond the front wall of two walls 

He gets curious his gentleness pushes him through 

There he sees a woman of ruined spirit 

Cries her loudest 

The loudest inside her heart 

No one hears 

Who’d ever dare listen to

a melancholy? 

But this man’s different 

From the groups and institutions in the real world she knows 

He holds deep values that 

Breaks down her every reason 

And a pool of emotion she desperately 

Wants to link her arms around without being disillusioned and judged. 

Moving further away

Hiding under the red snow 

Flattened to sleep like the polar bears 

I wish to steal that tempestuous voice 

To heal away his sadness 

That makes him morbid always 

Always trekking the hills lonely 

moving further away from me

Like a sloth. 

I need not involve myself 

He said but so lame for me 

What could be done? 

So I’ll not sink farthest

from the sea bed 

So distant I could only 

Drop a coin to the heavens. 



Depressing words

His words are not at all soothing

To the ears that only hear depressing words

And disabilities.

If waking up would be this eventful,

Nothing can be saved from his mouth that kills and kills–







Before I take your silence as goodbye

Hi, how are you? How long has it been? Two, three weeks? You’ve been very silent, I’m afraid.

Your silence makes me wonder but mostly analytical.

I wonder if you’ve thought about writing me a letter but was scared to send them.

I wonder if you’ve tried talking to me when our feet crossed.

I wonder if such silence means something.

If you don’t mind leaving a word on my doorstep..

so this hand of mine won’t lose its grip on that doorknob.

Before I take your silence as goodbye,

Dearest, come quickly. 

Strangers in love

a love created by mere coincidence ruined by tragedy. The same love that fled from twenty years ago. So love scattered like the dust that covered the sea the same love reflected towards the sky. It’s hard to tell whether you’re still on my side now that we’ve both become awry in love. Believing in fate was no less than plucking butterfly wings and blowing them off aimlessly. Strangers we are in each other’s eyes as we both have lonely lives. Yes, just like strangers without you my love. 



We’ve reached this level.

A certain level of clarity. 

I saw quite a lot last festival. 

My intuition tells me, It’s the other girl you’re interested in and not me.

It’s Christmas and it feels like ” well, it’s about time I move on.”

Good girls cry, bad girls fight but a woman who gets the gist simply carries on.

Really it’s beginning to feel a lot like Christmas. 


tiny smiles in my heart


I don’t think it’s a total negative though.

To always have a copy of our exchanged messages.

Whether we cease to believe in them or not

review them or not

Or just mull over them ..

Knowing that it’s a heartache and that it’ll only give us a heartbreak,

in the simplest corner of my heart, somehow, 

that tiny cup of happiness exists.

The human mind is such a strange country

Diverse in thoughts and in motivation. Nothing is legal unless agreed upon. Whether internal or external, it’s never late for that to matter. Translated in life’s bare pantomime. Of suspicious intention and adulterated resolution til it taps down the heart’s karmic manifestation.

Kinesthetic and chemistry may vary —

Sure, you’d care less or be driven for more.

The human mind is such a strange country.

As it functions: call it freewill, freedom or simply Sunday.

You have overcome..


Let words run away from your mouth with great ease and immense conviction. Trace them with pain and dress them up from delirium. When you find the strength to spill all fuels and spread all cement in all fours, you know you’ve graduated from depression and literal nothingness. 

Fooled for a year

Called to wait you at the bus station. You never came and I cried in the cruelest bus station. Like a child orphaned with trust and hope. You married the girl named heaven and forgot my name now dwells in oblivion. I held on to the line that screamed ” I promise you day by day we’ll hold hands.” And in my dreams I was downtrodden,  insane and guilty of the longing buried in the deepest. How to please you once became my goal so I toiled, toiled and toiled the soil. I was happy but you weren’t–who blamed me for all the lies and deceit. Don’t kiss me to start marking your territory. This life no longer threads in your pity. Even if your mouth’s open no, I’ll kill it. This I go without the thought of you to never be fooled for a year or so.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                          

Leave me for good

Why do you hold so much influence in me? Over my life?

You’ve left. 

In my head it’s clear we are done.

Would you be generous enough to just leave me in peace?

I can’t understand why you still keep me up side down… 

I want healing. 

Stop harming me.

You’re gone. 

That’s more than enough. 

Roses have thorns to protect themselves from harm. I used to be that rose too. All red and a beauty. 

Now, I have made myself the thorn. So whoever cuts and takes a piece of me will bleed. 


Your random visits are not welcome.

Paper wings


I feel like a bird with a broken wing and a questioning head 


Each day I work to impress you with my tale and flapping paper wings.

Don’t confuse me with your 


I need some time recuperating 

Perhaps a day in Paris and an exciting window shopping 

To do away with the cufflinks. 

And make way 

For my paper wings. 

The panic attack that kills

Danes, you’ve drunk too much caffeine

Now your mind’s everywhere

It crawls down to your spring bed

Then jumps off the window in

Suicidal state

A tranquilizer for a good night’s sleep

But none was fine indeed

No medicaments for the torture

Your brain can contain turbid

Images like whirlpool

Danes, Danes I wonder if you know

Worms are seeking for your weakness

They mean drowning you in defeat

Hype you up in panic

Irritable and anxious in a space

Where there’s nothing called a

‘panic room’

Danes, Danes cover your ears 

And don’t hear their sins 

Whispers at the back of your lobes 

Sending you dangerous roars 

Danes see the warning sign

That calls for a red alert 

It’s the panic attack that kills.


One year

One year

with your hands rubbing a single black coin

and a 3D wish before the coin is slid into

your secret pocket

burns the fabric and creates a hole

as big as that of the black coin

to where your fingers warp

slowly then

one by one.

Next, your arm so long is drawn by the flow of a rainbow 

Consider your body being dragged in–

Into that glorious fantasy where there’s no collateral for a 

Reality-based drama of success and failure;

Of trial and error. 

One year with unfamiliar colleagues and unknown plots, amiable faces and fancy laughs, food and dance and a strict compliance with your personal mantra and 

The Imperative policy. 

One year never stands still as it grows you a year wiser; stronger

til your head is sucked in by the overwhelming hole magnified in your pocket as friction heats up the fringes now 

Transforming the coin to a silver nickel. 

Dates and days are ephemeral and so are the memories like weather constantly changing and charging. 

But no matter, 

One year is always a start–

of a new jump to the abyss 

To meaningful discoveries 

To significant circumstances 

To radiant friendships 

To relevant changes 

To genuine happiness. 

One year 

That’s more than just surviving 

A year of living as a human being. 

One year with you, with us.

One day, 

You’ll have a year to look back on 

A day to ponder this year’s resolve. 

This day makes your 

One year. 

This and so much more


If my lover were food, 

Hung fully on a ratan basket

I’d take no preservatives. 

Whether they were imported from China, America, Japan, UK, Spain, Latin or locally made

I’d gladly take them in and make no mistake 

Call his nourishment a charm

Beneath my skin and intestines

I’d call it nothing else but 


Before and now

Before I was satisfied with the prestige brought by writing a couplet then I learned about haiku and loving its 5-7-5 lines as much as the first.


When I met you, various collections of Russian novels and southern poems I wanted to touch and read. Whether they’d be in prose, in episodes or in a grand narrative. Words to adorn you while you sleep. For how many versions, sure. I’d love to. When you looked at that spot near your city forming a triangle as you spent a good 10 minute stare at it from your Godparents’ condo, I didn’t know how engrossing that moment could be. Or when you walked out on the quite sidewalks and started reminiscing precious times around town, I’d trade any of my possession to write about that. How you opened a beer in my honor after we shared petty stories. And while you drove your Dad interestingly, I thought about more words to put that scene in a clear-cut poem. 


I see you every time and it’s rare how consuming to find you in every word. Of course, there has to be some plots. Perhaps, plots could run like the Caucasian lad inheriting a necklace then, the necklace made him a merman. Or a series of detective plots written vividly only to find you the hero at the end part. Then, finding gold in the house of the peasants where you lived on your vacation but thought money could be destructive so you built them a school and the money for their books and their first teacher was you. Or maybe a collaborative work with different types of people doing humanitarian work in Nicaragua and in Tanzania.

Anything as in any thing. 

Words just love you


as I do.

Believe as you look at the world 🌍

The mountains look up to the clouds waiting for a kiss on a foggy afternoon 

The soil kisses the foot of the hill for a beautiful worth 

Then the soil kisses everything around her the greens, yellows and reds all contain in one big halo 

The bird sings to the heavens and thanks the Father for when he’s home to his nest the she-bird awaits and smacks him a kiss 

The fountain overflows with water to all strangers so when they’re thirsty before they gulp first, they kiss the water for their desire to be quenched 

Even the sea nourishes whoever dives in its waters for a bountiful scenery when you give your body as its own fill and be kissed 

The moon and the night sky both have something so reassuring in their cosmic set up cos together they vow before the sea to be one and kiss before they light up the world at night 

Your hands they clasp with another hand for a dainty lil kiss on a tiresome day 

And your brain thinks about a kiss on two sweet lips before you go to bed 

Then it might be wonderful to believe 

” What are all these kissings if you and I won’t kiss and be bitter? “

Oh but Darling, the world never fails to teach us. 

Look and let’s believe our desires to be kissed.. 

And let’s just kiss. 

Do you love me?

She’s twenty-five and has been in deep plots. She has a cat and talks to her every other time. Pretending her cat’s meows and innocent brush of its body to hers are a part of figures of speech,

She tries to dig out the significant meaning of its images only to realize there’s more to them than just the figures of speech but also the parts of speech.

They are on the bed on a misty Sunday afternoon. They’ve been there as if none of the chores are of so much importance. She holds the feline’s neck and touches its tag with her delicate fingertips. But the cat just looks and looks. Then meows and meows.

The cat’s brown eyes sparkle. I hope it’s not made of lead that weighs down someone’s faith and intoxicate. Oh and I heard her ask the cat. This is not really me. But I see her talk and talk. And I just can’t seem to walk and shake it off. 

She holds the cat’s neck, pull it closer til its ear presses her red lips. She asks her with intense grace and might “Do you love me?” But the cat just meows and meows while she waits and waits

Like a hopeful twelve-year-old child in her puberty love rush. She couldn’t contain her agony so she holds her cat the same. And whispers to her all over again. I look at her and hear her from there. As she draws the feline closer her feelings are dragged nearer. 

She whispers to the cat “Say it. Please say it.” But the cat just looks and looks then meows and meows

While she begs and begs.


My answer

They ask and keep asking

What you are to me and I to you

It sounds like another puzzle too

Of two wondrous people talking

Like that of a sweet tamarind

More naked; more scented than white spaghetti and milk sauce

However, my answer hides in my head covered by oddity and intellectual arrogance

But ok. I like the little benign traps anyway

Let me think and think it well cos

This picture is a lot bigger than the ones tapping the clean wall

You are a trailblazer in the most ingenious way with you

I feel high understanding your quirks and loving them in calculated doses

Like sand over my clothes to my face and down to my heel a pillow

Innovations and ideas roll like marbles on a tiled floor

And I am the corner that catches you when you reach the farthest

You are As open as the lines and dashes in the boardroom so

I want to connect the first tail to the last then see if I miss One 

Always warm and seen in random places

Vigilant to the needs, finding solutions to challenges at hand

Unemotional and logical quite away from the Hallmark sentimentality but

Definitely glides over the magic done by the mind.

While I’m all for action, passion and war,

You are air fanning my fire, redirecting my passion and abhor war

Like an Airbender one with all other earthly elements.

How amusing the truth is– knowing

how you see your experiments to the bitter end while I unleash fire and extinguish it mid-air. 

I can see that inquisitive look 

Arising questions listing answers. 

Our search for genuine and rare discoveries drag us at the center 

Given the laws of give and take 

A good partnership can be born. 

The answer is bare

Let’s hope they can see all clear.


I am a person who lives well in solitude. I am not lonely. And although some days, people may find themselves offended by my strict adherence to such an adventure, I take no pride in it. When I have the luxury, I prefer to look deep into the bottom of my cup when I drink coffee than to look above it. Take me out of it and I’ll famish. My creativity is stimulated when I’m left in discourse with my true self. Let me dwell on it in order to find the world in a much lighter perspective. The blackness of the room is sunlight to me so when I want to breathe, I just need to be.

In solitude I’ll be waiting

Here I lie writing an escape of emotion

As I settle in this room I long of breaking free

I’m thinking of many things

Yet, none of them I take of much importance

I’ve always loved acquaintances  

 Fear that when they’re gone

I too; be lost

I hate loquacity

I’m not even convinced of this dire stupidity

 Walking alike in a gloomy wilderness

Confused of which road to partake

I’m neither the great Thespis who’s adamant in tragedy and drama

Nor Epicurus who enjoys the grandeur of pleasures

Not even Li Po who makes boats and drinks wine with the moon

Not even Shakespeare and King Arthur or any one

I’m a nobody.

But in this dark raven I’m someone who can be like them

As I slowly drift, my strength ebbs

Don’t want to lose my grip

Oh but Alas! Reject their comfort

I despise the idea of asking for their company 

I’m a pessimist.

They’ll never be happy of me

It’s the same old feeling… It has always been

True, silence is much more deafening without friendships and friends

I’ve wanted to touch them but the nearer I come the farther they go..!

Time has lost its consideration as circumstances drive them away

Emptiness and loneliness rule over   devouring me just in the nick of time

In this one solitude moment I feel my tears escaped

But don’t mind them they are but the traditional melodrama

People come and go but few remain a stain on you

Yet hope is scarce as time travels fast

So I have to play my role

to make-believe in something that never sprouts to life

Wishes and longings are fading in the air like the gentle smoke in the chimney

So in this one solitude moment I’ll be waiting!


Really fucking sad; really fucking wrong 😔

My intention was to write for myself, to uplift my world that I often found too full for me; the devastation it brought in my life that made me mad about myself. I thought writing dedicated to myself could heal me, bring me back the spirit I innumerably lost; could help me stand against my own rampaging demons. I thought I could still impress myself with my own articulate words, persuasive and sincere ideas built around my unearthly fantasies and delusions. While these reasons were still true, I realized I no longer write solely for myself, for the sheer pleasure of it, I realized I no longer desire to solely impress myself. My desperation for aesthetics and self-appreciation and expression had caused me so much that I wanted you to be desperate for my words and letters, be impressed by me, desperate for me and hopefully beyond romantic, too.  But the limbo I created, the bubbles I carefully kept not to burst and the ink I spared for you alone collapsed, bursted and spilt for the life of me. And it was sad. It was really fucking sad that you didn’t feel the same way; that all along it was only me living in the dungeon of love and romance. When I deluded myself thinking that the world supported me or was moved by the unwavering affection I had for you; I was wrong. And again I was fucking wrong! Now broken and numb I don’t know how else I could bring myself to stand again; to believe in love and to believe in my ability to discern things and its driving force. I’m ashamed of myself for trying so hard, for desiring so much and for not going against my will. I’m mad because I was stupid; stupid to fall for you. Yet here I am quite unapologetic for my self-made mistakes, convincing myself to at least hear what you have to say, an explanation that you probably don’t even know what and why you have to. I was so wrapped up, too carried away, too smitten and too hurled up by the good things you naturally do to me. I thought I saw your eyes glistened for me because I was intimately special for you. But then and again, you weren’t and I didn’t turn you on enough for you to want me. And it was really sad. It was fucking sad that I was wrong so wrong.

I wished I was better. No. I wished I thought things out critically when I worked so hard to finish the feelings I embroidered on a white cloth for you, the hopes I knitted using a more refined yarn for a future you and me and the cross-stitch I was proud of doing in all the days I devoted for you.

I knew It was my fault. Just that…

It was really fucking sad; really fucking wrong.


Once you were

the source of my desire;

A shelter to my dreams in

A paradise I held thrice.

Locked you up in

a heart called mine

Betrayed by the emotions

I held through time.

Without you dreams

could never fly

like a kite,

Dead of the wind oh my.

In the sky I dreamt 

To mind.

Desperate and cold was I

For fooling myself then cry.

I spoke first but didn’t think twice

So great I made multiple crimes.

Wished we had so much time

To know the language we never

Knew will find

In a place heard not

Of escapes and a flight

But of love and home