Not from the magazine

” She is not a woman of the magazine.

She’s an all time mess of doodled paint; a candidate for a three-fold pain in the anal.

She’s never a dream woman, oh dear, this is not to break her heart.

She’s a rouge in a boyfriend shirt’s clothing

The best men actually ‘friend zone’ her, they said, “she’s only a good person.”

She chases her own hero every 10 years but other men accuse her like that of a restless child.

Although she belongs to a world where magazines are made

and photos seen on Instagram with a short caption that says ‘like me’ coz I’m fishing for compliments, oh but,

She’s out of that league. 

If she could make you hold onto the edges of a twinkling star, she’d make you feel you’re a dangling beauty of the evening light.

Herself is her own character in a novel, and if you’re not careful, 

She can write you as one of her notable characters. 





To Christ

I fear your name

as much as I fear your coming

in the shadows of my sleep or

as you creep in my day.

I fear the notion

I don’t see but you do.

You see, you feel, you hear

I fear you as much as I fear you brandishing my life away.

A night at the park

I saw 15 stars around the full moon some sparkling some fading the night’s tranquil. Let’s party at the center of Park mall stargazing; security guards were roving three of wands were drinking Gold Mojitos on a yoga mat taking pictures; stealing chances for a shot of tequila. The orange street lamps and the taxi stand all awaiting for tonight’s ending. It was a first time to hang out this way. They were f&%*ing wasted while I was writing. We shouted, we clapped hands, cried and blurted out our grievances at work; sometimes about you. You had so much going on in your head. They said to relax your brain and feel the pain. If the medicine were known, all must have been fair. Could we be more confrontational of our feelings next time?

You may chase…

You may chase the world for money and fame but 

You will never chase for my love in vain. 

You may chase the moon at night when everyone is asleep but 

I’ll never allow you to chase the moon alone.

You may chase another girl for her love so weak and cruel 

But I’ll never let you chase me with worries and betrayals.

You may chase the shadows of your ideal woman in bed but 

I’ll never let you chase the truth in my words. 

You may chase everything in this lifetime but 

In case you get tired of chasing… 

I sure will wait for you to roll back to me and say, in your arms I’d like to rest, my love.


short poem #5

“Opportunities can be very obvious that it constantly tells the mind.You know the obvious chance to get to know someone even on a much deeper level. Or simply a new job for you. Or a chance to enjoy sky diving. Yet the mind just says, don’t worry it’ll come around the next time, it’ll present itself the same way to the same people. Then if it’s not happening, we convince ourselves about how ugly we are for missing that beautiful train of opportunities.” 

Mad woman

She’s a mad woman.

her face hides so much truth

and her words rather nonsensical

for others, they wonder (haven’t you?)

she’s a mad woman filled with chaotic energy

don’t think you can overpower her; she hasn’t given you her full-attention JUST YET.

When you see her with little or no energy, and it’s a good advice, your presence and ego-boosting intellect simply bore her to death

Her nature is charming and childlike to an extent, annoying she loves to play on trivial days

what you see, what you get

take her or leave her but even those remain questionable

“Do this, do that”

stay here; wait here

Control her to change her

be persistent on these and you’ll see her standing on the door leaving, sighing and blinding

Don’t mistake her though

Her parents brought her orthodox so half of her life was she a meek doll

the rest was differential

she seems undisciplined; uncontrolled; thoughtless but don’t be fooled like the others

she is dangerous when she’s at her best

she’s a mad woman so far, that’s one clue

she’s free; freedom is the key

adventures, new beginnings, fresh ideas, practical stuffs, unknown truths—-

Let her mind travel and her body grows thrills and she’ll be with you for the long haul.

the trick is in her eyes;

there is a reason for her eyes evasive nature

they wield her purest fires.

Judge her actions judge her well and she’ll leave no stone unturned

as she challenges you in every way, from an intellectual conversation to an unusual first date to a spirited argument and a physically satisfying resolution to the most outlandish storytelling and drama

But not unless she’s comfortable.

Her emotions can be sometimes over the place not to get your attention 

But to be at home with her emotions 

She can be very honest if you ask for the facts

A perverted monkey if you remain a jerk 

An awesome nymph for such mutually fierce desires 

She’s a mad woman the kind you’ll love to keep 

A mad woman who doesn’t confuse her ‘Yes’ and ‘No’ just to get the guy

And sometimes, she is just a woman. Mad. Mad. Mad woman to choose to be a woman; to allow you to be her man.

The mad woman who offers you real bond and new beginnings. 








To the woman who is my friend

“Woman! your body is not for any street gentleman who brings you to a fancy club

at their very convenient hour. It doesn’t matter if he’s a genius boy, a cool guy, an astute looking man, a rich bachelor once he makes you his booty call,  his second option, his stunt girlfriend, his latest trend and his ‘vague forever’.

So to any man you run into don’t let your guard down.

They are vultures and hunters of the primitive age—

and kidnapping your panty is quite a no brainer.

Let them complain about your weird standards,

Let them throw stones at your lust for real connections,

Let them judge you and be awed to know who you are inside because..

real men, no matter what, will always  have goals, visions and a willing-act for you free from any ancient prejudice or judgment.

You are not a high-way where 10-wheeler trucks and garbage vehicles pass full-speed ahead.

You are not an automatic-slut-machine who gives them a triple monkey face for ‘Jackpot.’

You are not their dishwasher, their vacuum cleaner and, their auto-bot; you also tear and wear.

Your beauty and sensuality are not only for fb and instagram-selfies 

Don’t be so impulsive to be known; don’t be so empty for a show 

Value yourself like no other

Dream hard and dream big make them all your reality

Don’t give in to half-live, half-life, half-time and half-love

Be passionate, be gentle and loving to yourself

Be your own trustworthy companion

Allow yourself to love and don’t be frugal with it

People hurt you yes they will

Some have made you feel miserable

But don’t be so hard on yourself

Life is about going through all the mistakes, the messy-mucky-fucky side of it, thrive on it; learn to overcome

Always have a growth mind-set

Don’t allow your soul to get stuck on something that doesn’t serve you good

Men will lure you, bewitch you and make you theirs for what purpose we don’t know yet 

Don’t be in a hurry to follow what others do or make 

Create your own and be your own original 

People will tell you things but remember they have never walked a mile in your shoes so be conscious 

To understand and be considerate enough 

Be the kind of woman you would never wish to let go of ; 

You are a woman.

You are your own healthy paradox. “



” to beg for someone to stay is suicide

to stand in place is martyrdom

to walk away from the present position is liberation.”

short poem # 2

“unless you feel loved by a real woman

you’ll never know what it’s like to lose something precious.

Like a void underneath a thin glass,

                                                Like a cat,you keep scratching on the surface; and

                                                                                      like a fool, you keep losing yourself.

to some, it is unrelenting.” 

Behind 10,000 padlocks

Nothing hurts more than having to love him in silence.

feeling him immensely.

In silence—the only noise that never breaks

But reveals so much about the passion she hides behind the door with 10,000 padlocks.

Where is the key? he asks.

Then, she sighs.

Between meaningless and meaningful

Before the sun sets 

                I need to find you somewhere in between the mobilizing rays of the day and the paralyzing beam of nothingness.

But I can’t. I can’t. 

I can’t find you anywhere else but only in between the purest field of birds of paradise in a good soil and the dark blood drawn chariot of a cursed sky.

As the sun gradually sets in kindness, I can’t,  I can’t, I can’t see you around the swollen clouds of death and of irrelevance. 

It seems I haven’t laughed at the parody yet 

I can’t, I can’t bring myself to act upon the abundant noise of mutual futility 

Where fertility does not matter 

Where priority becomes not even the second best 

Where the choice to fill in the void is atrocious 

And I can’t,  I can’t meet you even within the exact rendezvous

Find me. Find me between meaningless and meaningful 

Whereby one is left to figure out the only ‘meaning’ in between. 


The only pessimism is to remain a pessimist

I am knocking down the concrete walls in the streets like fresh umbrella mushrooms,

Hitting hard the grand temples of your depressed mind

Pricking the waterless drops of tears in your soul-less eyes

And you tell me,

There is no beauty in family -abuse; raping daughters of sunrise, digging out family inheritance.

Absolutely No. There is no beauty in cruelty, in death in this world compiled in a black chapter book where there is only humans slaughtering men in abattoirs.

There is no beauty in seclusion, in indifference, in randomness even in the plenitude of human affairs.

No, there isn’t.

This world is a controlled HQ where us is kept within a panic room like a child with Asthma sustained merely by some allergy drops.

Life according to a neurotic mind is one remote control with a single click —– flushed out and doomed —– like an automatic toilet bowl invented in Japan or in Germany by another great scientist from the year 8080.

One day you’ll meet a tall, dark stranger ; a movie director ransacking deathbeds, digging deep to show NO beauty in a mother’s cry for her children’s dead bodies.

There is only enough limit in which the human mind can take the evil horrors of life.

So before we become more alienated…

Into the heart of darkness, let your eyes see the unsung childhood sailing away forever

Look deep into the pictures not of golden harvest and organic flush of wind but of war crimes, skin discoloration, the commercialized face-lift, nose jobs and tender oil suction, the poisonous bombing and the publicized hand-served of the UN tribe in a plate of dystopia.

Yes, you told me these words from the other worlds.

Yet as actors and bare performers on a stage with different acts and rotating backdrops, if you know,  the ‘cirque du soliel’ we are.

Go into the heart of things to witness how the world rattles one after the other as people scream in despair with a doggish mind unfollowing god -serving butterflies reinventing the color-wheel eight octaves higher.

As you perceive the Earth, human beings and life in general —

Searching for light with all the good beyond all evil in yourself and the cyclical mud-view that creeps into being,

With all these, you want me to figure it all out.

To see them in your light; I do.

Because we live in the same pig-pen fed of the same pig-sty.

Yes. You tell me everything.


I can’t carry the same seed even if I’m the only one stupid, joke -immuned girl reduced to misunderstand the truth of life’s meaninglessness. 

You tell me, you have a much rancor towards life. 

Isn’t that unfortunate? 

To disqualify yourself of a single life with the way you regard life to be meaningless. 

Isn’t the one who contradicts it desires most of it?

If this is the ground where we lay the foundation, 

All must have committed suicide; —-

           removed of the vitality for life. 


This is love.

Why? This cup I offer you isn’t taken by you. Why?

Are you holding back for something I don’t know? 

Thinking. Deciding. Hiding all of them underneath the sheets of the subconscious 

Resisting the urge, the chemicals; guarding yourself up: through maximum security 

Why? Why? Are you hesitant to walk to me?

Do I resemble the devil who wrecks havoc and gives you pain?

Why? Why are all the stars in your eyes sparkle as fast as shutting them off completely? Like a free shuttle freeing up to the space unheard-of 

Why are you doing this Mr. Hanged man? Are you terrified juggling between two truths? One the reality and the other just an ocean of your desires?

Don’t feel it all by yourself showing me that King of sword act 


Are you cutting me off like an icepop taken out from the cold freezer hard to be eaten, I should be chopped? 

If you feel that way why won’t you just be honest, let me know if I’m causing you trouble, isn’t that the right thing to do? 

Why? Tell me why?  If you’re seeing me as the Queen of cups, shiny, all good, there’s no way can you be reciprocated? 

Is this your way of saying No? 

I suffer then I stop? 

If it’s true that you calculate, can you also calculate the risk of getting it all right and true?

And if we remove some irrelevant pre-judgment, won’t our wishes come to fruition? 

If this is so bad that you’re afraid of rejection then let me tell you,

You haven’t asked me for an answer, 

       Haven’t wooed me, for me to reject you just yet.

Why are you afraid? What is something that keeps you awake at night?

Justice: if you could give justice then leaving you would have been less painful, But.

Do you really want me to walk away from you?

Why? Why? What are you thinking?  Are you really thinking about me? 

Protection, Security I don’t need them all!

Why? Am I too incompetent to need all your shining armor? 

I’m not! Deal with me the same way you deal the person you love. 

Why do you see me so weak?  Why?

Such brilliant mind only see diminishing results instead of  overflowing abundance? 

This life isn’t perfect and I don’t think I am. Neither do I feel that going and being with you will be ‘perfect’.

No way. No way!

But people don’t come together only to fill the brain but to feel the heart by overcoming hardships and grief.

We are work in progress. Isn’t this what you said? 

Why? Don’t do this to me. 

Please don’t make yourself feel as the only victim.  You are not.

Why? Why Don’t you love yourself? Believe in yourself?

Who you are and what you are, that’s You. Just you. And I love all of them.

If you wonder if you could still trust me well, 

Love me or don’t love me.

Trust me or don’t trust me at all! 

Why would love be any different? 

Compromising our feelings and the possibility of a good relationship? Deleting our precious friendship? 

So why? Why would you let yourself suffer alone, I’m here. 

If I am that sunshine you don’t need to be that shadow avoiding light rays.

You deserve all the light; all the warmth.

All the smiles and all the grace of tranquility. 


Don’t do this. Don’t do this to your wonderful and lovable self.


Man up a bit # 1

If you shut yourself up to a girl, oh boy she’ll definitely check you out. 

And you’ll wonder why? 

But if you do that to a woman, she’ll happily replace you. 

Then, you’ll never have to wonder why.

My friend, I have written you like this

I have written you my best friend into a specialised poetry 

The Achilles, the Hercules ; the untouchable hero 

in a puzzle piece put in place intentionally ; our friendship displayed on a white wall 

I like him beyond words 

Even though ‘like’ makes you romanticize all things 

I think telling you the truth is incredibly more brilliant so take this 

brief confession :

Yes, we do have a shaky start of meeting, bonding over small talks and shared love for books 

And in all honesty, it is simple, not quite obvious; pure 

I wouldn’t say it blossoms out in utmost perfection like that of a beautiful sunshine 

In fact, it is a bottomless pit, bloody as we tip-toe, play and argue  over one umbilical cord. 

Sure, we are two separate poles in one magnet 

a wound from a dark poetry that dry us then stitch back up in tears from a stalemate 

On the forefront, he is an organ donor and I am the recipient from a time when my insides had to be removed for all the people to view 

We are victims of sheer dissection and his time is preserved for me 

Gossip mongers and fake friends look so hard for the code behind our secret actions ; the eye movement and emphatic words 

Our diaphragms continue to expand; breathing heavily as he lends his bone-marrow to cure my cancer-filled body as I let his overworked mind rest in my warm heart 

Our wrists leak out with fresh blood and we need each other like tight tourniquets to keep our souls in our life beds

Most of the time, we are silent ; contained sobs in a period of no contact 

sometimes we anger one another that we push ourselves away over long points and tired excuses we forget what they are 

Absolutely, our knuckles are bruised,  rough and messy lives, changing dead skins, we are put together by our focused warmth. 

Dearest someone

Sympathy is pitiful 

Empathy is spiteful 

And apathy is a downright curse. 

Make me feel something when I think shallow 

When I breathe hollow make me think full 

When everything is hard to follow 

Dangerous to swallow 

Help me feel so alive today as I simply doubt this so-called “tomorrow.” 

Your righteous politics

Your mind perfectly deconstructs the works of my body 

Your drab brown eyes only see wrongs of all sorts 

Apparently a turn on for me 

That pessimism versus my enthusiastic noise 

Arouses me

It is a given how your fingers point out every ‘needs of improvement’ in me. Fix that in three days. 

Ows? As I submit to your powerful command. 

It is amusing to have that personality 

One day, we’ll see eye to eye 

How this spiteful symbiosis completes us 

Your need to destroy then recreate 

And my desire to enjoy and act them out 

I love this 

Building bricks and laying more blocks 

Making me infatuated with you 

Hey, you have made your way under my burnt skin 

Injected yourself into my blood stream 

I know this won’t do you any justice 

You are a stubborn cynic 

The only floating skeptic 

Who denies most of what I’ve said and done 

Here and now you have propagated a hectare of garden of likeable ideas in my head, ha!

The God who is always in question

Tempted to be His own rebel

When I hear random non-believers

Question my belief of the true salvation

Leading me to join their denomination 

Where is GOD? I don’t know.

There is no God, they laugh 

They mock with enough sincerity 

I hear members of the church preaching in the cold streets 

This is God and no other 

If you hear what’s being said, you’re there to follow the herd

Where is God? I’m not sure, maybe in the Bible? In Quran?

In the foyer? In your pocket? In your brain?

How about asking yourself, what happened to you why can’t you find God?

Nah, who is God anyway?

Jehovah? Jesus? Allah? Buddha? Cat? Dog? Mouse? Rock? Mountain? River? trees? Myself?

Perhaps God is the force? The cell? The lost chimpanzee? The movie director? The chef, or your nasty neighbor?

How many a time have we been questioned? 

How many a time have we proven ourselves, the world and Stuart Little? 

Yet the answer remains a question to be answered 

Throw in and out of the waste bin, recycled, refused or reused

Hand me the truth!

Oh you mean the subjective truth?

Bring me someone who has seen Your God.

There isn’t a need to.

It’s enough that you touch yourself, feel yourself and the energy around you, then, ask yourself again if there really isn’t God?


We’ll never get to the bottom of this. 


Believe that there is GOD. 

Don’t resist him so hard 

Desire Him to come into your life


To know God is to accept God amidst confusion, despair, happiness, grief and madness

He’s not the book, the sculpture, the idea, the cup of coffee on a regular day or the warm liquor you worship at night when you’re down as fuck

All these are His provisions 

He will manifest as He has already manifested Himself.

This is the God I know.


My name was one of the early rising church goers 

My hand being held by Mom with my cheerful Sunday’s dress 

In the church, we sang Christian hymns, kneeled thrice, held hands, prayed for grace, submitted our sins, kissed the wooden saints and God’s carved images, lighted candles for wishes to come true, donated money for the church, took the bread of life (they said), asked for the forgiveness of our sins, kissed and blessed the hand of the priest, cried in extreme agony and made a long historic confession 

But also in the church, we looked at other men and thought who was more handsome, was it the guy in red or the man on the altar? We chatted nonsense things, closing our eyes; pretending with our busy and dirty minds the next dress we’d wear at the party, the whereabouts, some enemies we condemned and not forgave, how much money we had to donate for the church or where to get my sister’s tuition fee, house rental and all these ever-growing predicament 

Together t’was a family activity from a not so distant familiarity 


Getting up seemed to be an argumentative discourse rather than an automatic reflex in my brain, 

To which you could guess the latter was my ultimate destination 

As a child, that was the tradition. 

But as a child too, I enjoyed more the post-activity of eating out and riding boom cars at the metro mall than the banality behind religiosity. 

Even though I couldn’t argue then it was a feeling I constantly felt but put aside 

As I used to feel like a doll being dragged by its excited owner

Bible reading or preaching was never a routine task or an encrypted understanding 

So even the joys and love of it became a feeling of nonchalance 

Funny how we got stuck in this tradition of religion when we were never the lover of the Bible

As idle procrastinations and conventional trainees nurtured by the nameless ancient paganistic rule of worshipping God (whichever adjective comes first, I’m not sure ;-)) 

I was never taught and I never learned you see, I didn’t understand anything but had to follow everything. 

And I used to be that consistent, obedient and obligated child of hypocrisy ( here comes another adjective structure :-/) 

To a much bigger and bitter scale, this existed in the family (only Satan knows when)

But childhood must go on, isn’t that the case?

It wasn’t really a struggle to carry out such a controlling practice but more like a constant nudge to question the ideology in the subconscious 

It was a ‘ I’m supposed to ask you, him or them (whoever is an expert) where and how it’s grounded and why but remained silent. ‘ —not wanting to anger or argue with anyone. 

So church-ing (really I’m verb-ing it :-)) became less significant to an extent of ignoring then walking away from it. 

A week ago, I was once again put to the ‘girl being questioned scene’ when I ate at a canteen near my workplace by someone who seemed to be the enlightened one, I reckon. 

He asked as I made the sign of the cross in front of my meal 

“Was Jesus the one who cooked your fish? Did he send you the money to buy all your needs?”

And I was like what? Hell no. (that was a quick self-serving answer from me who was no less than caught off guard by the sudden interruption 

Or perhaps, I just didn’t know how and what to answer, should I explain or tell him? OK and if I decided to then, what should I say? (sigh)

because even the basic act of thanksgiving, I still struggled to keep my tact and confidence which stemmed from NOT knowing; NOT understanding therefore, silence! I had to be silent. Otherwise I’ll run the risk of failing to prove anything or defend something. 


I learn NOT through Bible reading, or listening to some false prophets, movies and movie reviews, history and literature. 

But by Faith. 

Even if I know enough through reading and listening or nothing at all, I decided to just believe.

I know that most of us want to remain grounded, we want answers to validate our own truths, we want a more combative debate to prove who’s right or wrong, great and small, we want to uncover the mystery surrounding us in this lifetime, we want a more secured future, endless love and perfect life.

Hence we try our best to learn astronomy, theology, physics, biology, psychology and neurology to understand everything in order to have a sense of belongingness or satisfaction or even become the God ourselves. 

Because learning and understanding all things mean, we can get ahead of others even to ourselves. It means power. This desire to be powerful brought inconsistencies and pain in our lives. And yet, how easy it is to blame our circumstances, other people much more GOD for our own selfishness and pride. (I hope I didn’t sound preaching. I too need to learn to understand) 


I believe that there is GOD. And that Jesus is my one true savior. I claim His existence in my heart.

I don’t need to flag this to everyone, show them his physical house or existence, I don’t want to exaggerate but 

I just want to believe that through His blood I’m saved. I’m forgiven and that is more than enough to keep my sanity and restless heart. 

the young poetess & the free bird

He’s been flying high around the longest skyline, spreading seeds in different high lands

at times, singing with the wind’s soft songs with his flapping wings magnificent feathers, resting on branches; waiting for more perplexing flowers to bloom as he watches the sun slashing shadows beneath the grandest of trees.

He said, “I’ve seen them all; beautiful and ugly.” I know this one , this thing they call ‘bondage’ and so I know that liberty can only let me be and live.”

This young poetess goes for a walk looking for a landscape she wished she could put her words into. Deep into the forest she found many yet all too many that she found them unsightly. She said ” I am my own being and what I love I desire intensely that even the universe will work to move everything as I command.”

she scribbles some lines from the myths of the living but nothing feels more condescending than writing something out of immense longing.

so the great bird sings from his own beating rendering all others in profound bitterness. The young poetess ceases from writing and thought nothing is worth knowing; worth learning since there is none that is manifesting..

her pen that is filled with yearning about to be thrown out to the wilderness but the great bird appears singing and flying and living’ circling around and proving the poetess her mistaking

Her eyes lighted; her spirit exalted by the freedom which captures her immutable desire for the arts and soul

Once, she told him songs are poems

she works with scraps of papers and words and he with scraps of sounds and making melodies and that a poem is never finished until all scraps are joined together just as where they are supposed to be.

The great bird always finds her on the ridge looking beyond the vast expanse; out of her frame and out of her two obscure lenses, he laughs and likes to say.

Now she’s working on his own poetry; a poem involving real oddities and she likes it how crazy poems can be because she can improvise a lot with the great bird as her art

putting all the scraps, the words, the songs being held down by the clouds of uncertainty and ceaseless expectation.

The great bird says ” oh you are done. You are the woman for that.”

The young poetess says ” I would never ever disagree.”

My self: I never left you

out in the cold from my mother’s womb

i cried out loud for my father’s love

the lil baby I was; they all admired

put to sleep by my mom’s precious lullabies

when at night my father just couldn’t hold me high

years peeled off so significantly; now past my childhood where I should be

flying paper planes, jumping ropes, playing cards and dreaming mad of land so distant I longed to be welcomed.

days had been rough; I needed to be tough

I went to school without a dime, I carried with me just a lime

sometimes there was nothing to eat only the monstrous cry of defeat

I held my heart with so much care afraid of people to dare drop the only treasure I had; shattering all on the floor of glass

the ‘mango tree’ and the collapsed hide away, the singing streams of tapestry, my lil soul rejoiced them all feeling the oneness that life gave me

for a time a child must learn to sacrifice a life of her own

earning coins, bringing plastic wares and a gas tank as I ran to the school ground with my peach uniform not wanting to miss the flag ceremony

It was a day-long earned; hard work so my journey had begun

Failure was not a contemplated option as a young child I bravely defied

one day, someday with my dreams, goals, and a lust for freedom abounded

I should thank Quintus Horatius Flaccus for his phrase sent exuberance to my spirit that I only had to enjoy the day with little trust of how future played; that was how I exalted

With a naive and restless heart I made a run; ran to the street where no one did

I thought I won all the price then bragged about the way to my destiny but lil did I know what hid underneath; underneath the leaves and dried twigs was a long and perilous hole dug by a mole rat

A very climactic turn of events, falling right through the traps and snares where I couldn’t win again life’s enigmas nailed by the unspeakable stigmas

Was I twenty when I heard the first call?

I rushed again towards an unknown man a stranger of light cloaked in a merciful robe

warning signs all I ignored; to me there was nothing greater than the joy of being noticed romantically

how my impetus for the seed of love transformed; breaking and pulling then destroying the only ideal foundation I laid in secret then got torn

back then I carried with me a new life moving through its own rhythmic fashion as I became what I never dreamed of becoming at least in an age filled with evil doubts and multitudes of regrets

I was told, ” I had better killed it.” At twenty-one, who would have thought he’d be the total demon I never thought he’d likely be for in the core of my soul I knew I trusted one beautiful soul

I couldn’t cry even that was a right I had to earn for I was the reason and the only one to blame. I made a mistake; had to purge my sins

I grappled against life; fought a lot even if it was a losing battle. I had to stand and keep my position otherwise I couldn’t be that powerless woman to my joys in life

  Four years I kept the surging tides calm as to how? One must never ask coz beyond this light-hearted person I was– masked the fading bursts and flares of pure energy from the memories made half a century ago

All rational thoughts, threw them out of my window for I was whispered by pain and sorrow when He left and left me with everything he dared not to keep as I wondered wastefully how it might have been if only he was braver like his father used to say

Only assured that ‘tomorrow ‘ shall return to me the love I yearned when I bid farewell—

My self: I never left you not even in the period of heat and cold—

until we hear the in between of the scientific and the magical.


The irrational and the strong rational

in love


this is not an easy thing to make

turning down good offers

Not materializing anything;

a bit of a struggle.


To feel everything; to feel them in you

how this irrational lady falls for the strong rational

Just trying and trying to love a distant soul 

who bears all there is in a rational man.


Oh! falling down a tree in this irrational lady

Afraid he’s not seeing

Him questioning and judging?

this irrational lady is not so insightful

in the eyes of a rational soul

Who doesn’t look at me like He looks at Her.

Two poles

Two extreme opposites:

the head knows North and the heart being South

Does it matter?  (we compliment each other?)

as we bring forth so much movement and breakthroughs

the mind that seeks fulfillment and stability


the heart taps down the inner self and emotion

 But who’s to say they act around the same platform

None is superior over the other or


the latter being the protector, the healer and  the educator

the first is the strategist, the scientist and the visionary–

Neither is half in love with an easeful difference.

 Must I contradict myself?


Do you contradict yourself?


but in the hope that ‘future’

will allow acceptance without qualms..

that my reality, your reality and the entire design of reality with others

will be bright enough to insert delight.

Truth might dazzle us with misdirection;

reason will upgrade us from living to leading

News can spin lies and deception

a woman; somewhere I read in Aristotle’s text—the fall of 

a ‘rational man’

such a rational rationalization

tell me who?

if any one is? Then, find me someone who is..

coz it seems so fetish, I’d like you wouldn’t ask me or Aristotle.

I hate it when someone ruins all the fun!










Hello you?

You love the world so hard

Desiring things with every strand

But the outcome, you see is unknown

Sending mileage of cynicism and skepticism

Deep down; how easy it is to be ‘all knowing’

Almost quite too often, ‘you know’

plagued by the mysteries bestow in every idea

mapped out inside your freeing thoughts

a power struggle ( i need not know?)

A lost item but now has resurfaced

Science and Philosophy we all have to deal with them

But the realms of emotion only need the wisdom of the heart

where the heart outsmarts the genius in you 

and the truth is just the only victor.

Open your eyes and make no mistake 

The world is a trinity of the flesh, the mind and the metaphysical 

Too much analysis and calculating logic

will leave you drip-fed of time distorted.

This warring conflicts and unsettling disputes 

open up more fattening rational cells;

such rational accordance fills the head where such Philosophy only motivates the meek

but fails to satisfy thy seeking heart.



You’re looking at me

the same way I to you

Yet no one notices (not even you?)

How I like you glimpsing 

here; now

sometimes leaning or touching

glancing; your eyes are dancing–

I catch them all welling.

I wish more than anything

when we are like this flirting,

you are braver for my

feelings unspoken.

By the sea 🌊

there was a time when i had to follow you like the sand stuck on my feet

They clung; obstructed or enhanced my legs ; it depends.

and at night

I sat in front of the sea; without looking at the blinding neon lights or the fueled couple kissing behind me.

I sat there opposite the sea as if making a confession.

I looked far, deep and wide.

I looked through what my eyes couldn’t see.


…ash blonde hair fabulously 

                                                   the spawn of chaos.

                                                            jet-black eyeballs, well…

                                                                                               alcohol:liver cancer

tobacco: lung cancer,

meth”am-fet’ ah-men-

             brain tumor

and sex:

i don’t care—f***

the clouds are high to sink so low

yes, oh dear every night when you booze

sniffing wild salted crystals on your skin

we let loose the demons and sorcerers so we rock n roll—

twirl your panty round my finger hell love th’ shots

won’t past the third disk dance n’ a fellatio freak

Jose cuervo tequila, Brewmeister armaggedon n’ snake venom-

yep–I had sex with the mafia! 

Down, go down til you crawl..

scream for your life you’ one insane slut in this drug trade lust.


I doubt if any one be a close when you’re stuck in a rut–

          hey miss you fool don’t kill the newborn 

to take breast milk residue from her mom’s rare poison.

sex is economy with uncle pedophile n’ Daddy Jones his lord-

Money magic is a magnet to tinder match stick heads with devilish smirks of all social forms; lighted by  a padrone

                                                  inside his matchbox hull.

How much is a life ? —go name your price-

                   to bury the ancient bones; or hide your soul’s skeleton over one silver coin and 

a jacket of ‘Judas’ —to your name?

I skinned a man and a black cat !  

I buried them below the small table

                                                      in front of the furnace;

underneath the rug–no one saw —

you should know.

If a word is said ssssshhhh…

i hear small sounds of your fear–..hussshhh…or

                                                                        this 45 caliber will be a rapid machine-gun fire!

















The bright faces of people surprise me.

that woman sits on a chair facing the wall

Though hunger beats her stomach she doesn’t move

Her forehead touches the surface of the wall slowly banging as her lips babble some short sentences

Die! Die! Die!

Her room is a cage built with the specifications she wanted.


surprises are dull.



Teach me

lick me. trace me. disrobe me.


                 undo me.


even as a euphemism;

                                                       Teach me;

                                                                        Unlearn me.

 “Yes” he replied.            


I saw the setting sun

     through your eyes

as it darkened the world;

           the world had blackened

before your tears, too.


your eyelids failed to open;

                                                 since then.

The Book

The smell of your name’s

                                  patented on a dead page—

in a book held by my left hand.

                                   as my fingers touched the edges of every word


about you

          & my blinded passion;


           They all screamed in disdain.



The watch

The watch slithers out

of the undressing future;

                                  revealing time you ought to live & not live

either won by default or by an unusual configuration,

                                  Life’s to be lived as you watched.

Men of conceit


& the men—they desire you to falter:

              Be a shabby loser, a con-man or a spiteful doer

Then they can press on you, ‘I know this is going to happen.’

I’m smart beyond compare!

       But such men—- they seem not understand—

Poets- scribble things & even that don’t mean—

       Well, I want to mean: no matter how we write about rivers & trees & flowers

The same way we choose to embrace &/or f**k them every day—

              Make sense so little; after all dreams are chosen & weaved by all of us;

Our souls are in our hands.


              Still these men with their m_n_a_ illness have become “too cleverly presumptuous” for poets.

              So we let them smile.

                           SMILE ‘til their mouths tear apart.

Little girl; don’t cry

Oh little girl; don’t cry. 

They broke your tiny bracelet, 

And your paper dolls too; I know.

But that was a day or two 

Even this little pain will pass by, too.

Oh please little girl; don’t cry. 

They killed your pride, your heart 

And made you cry too; I know. 

But that was a day or two

Even this little pain, will come by too.

Oh little girl; don’t cry. 

They let you walk on fire, hold the ice and dig the earth without a smile; I know. 

But that was a day or two 

Even this little pain had tinctured your soul, laugh like you always do. And sigh to the ones untrue cos love will be with you. 

There little girl; don’t cry. 





All my life

My life is a lie 

Living in the wrong skin 

Moving in the wrong space 

Beg to people I hardly even know 

It seems my childhood has flown by

Stuck in the past I still mind 

Everyone is sick 

And I haven’t got a dose of mine 

Now holding a loose rope 

Of loosened strings 

And difficult wirings

Tell me what’s a girl got to do? 

To live it through and through? 

Or forget it so and so?

I follow the world with enough consistency 

However, the one who lives it isn’t the real me 

Masks each tear a promise 

To survive time 

But the one self inside simply just wants to die 

I’ve gone far strangely enough 

Been to some places happy 

And served few men as their deity 

But I’ve never really been to me. 

Lost state

Today, she was asked to share her story.

She was straddling her left foot to mount the horse but the one thing she thought was easy and fun took her a day to execute.

Before she knew it, it was already dark and the other visitors had gone home.

Instinctively she went home.

The streets looked strange at night though. The road to her house became a little bit different hence, difficult to follow.

But she was bold and daring so she went on walking on what ought to be the path leading to her house, crossing on the same highway and stepping on the same concrete.

She was happiest with her ‘me time’.

But the star she followed, the street signs she held close to her, the coordinates and, the land marks she knew all became mere toys. Little toys in the city.

Her notebook filled with questions of feeling spiritually detached, taking in erroneous perceptions of everything around, trying to bridge perception and actuality.

Much like the prison waif taking the bull by the horns

Unable to.

She fell into a limbo inside the rabbit hole.


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.