I am and yet I am not..

I am a writer.
And yet sometimes
I wish
I am not.
As the words
threatening to be
the end of me
wouldn’t want to be
held in secrecy.

They’d creep
into my throat–
choking me to death.
And when my mouth
refuses to voice them out,
they’d flow
in my veins
’til they seize control–
a pen in my hand,
scribbling words
I couldn’t understand.

No they wouldn’t want
to be kept.
They’d want to be
written, painted
on the already tinted canvass
they call life;
like a cup of coffee
left undrunk
and spilled
on my table
staining all the letters
I am yet to send
or burn
or bury.

I am a writer–
I so wanted to be.
And yet sometimes
I wish
I’d never dreamed
of playing this part;
I wish
I’d let these words
put a stop
to my beating heart.


Just Another Letter

I didn’t want to write you 

yet another letter

that would be left unread

hidden in this little box—

of secrets and freedom. 

But then you invaded 

my too quiet night

where I could hear nothing 

but my dying breath

a tear each time my chest heaved

as the now crumpled piece 

of my agony

is clutched in my delicate hands; 

written were words 

you wouldn’t understand 

memories of which only I remember

too well that I could still 

hear your every breath

too faint of a sound but too clear

to make me turn around 

only to find nothing 

but cold breeze kissing me goodbye. 

Then there are these days when

I could still feel your arms around me

as you sing me a lullaby

that no other one—

even the sweetest sound—

could make me yawn and fall asleep; 

not even the darkest hour

can silence your serene voice

that still echoes in my mind

yet too painful to hear 

to even let me close my eyes. 

I still see you

dancing before my very eyes

soaked and cold but alive—

catching every trickle of rain with your palm

as if they are meant to meet your hands

and say hello

only to leave without a goodbye. 

And I see myself running to you 

to feel the drops against my skin

and the bliss that I could see in your face

but once I stepped into the rain, 

it turned to storm

and thunder struck

my lovely dream. 

And now it’s nothing but a nightmare, 

a shivering thought

inside my unstable mind

where you left together with the rain 

and storm and thunder

and I am left under the heat of the sun

too hot that even my soul melted

a painful demise I could not escape

and wouldn’t; 

as though it’s torment 

it would be better

than this hollow inside. 

So I wrote

yet another letter

that would be left unread

hidden in this little box 

as you were gone

and soon will I be gone.

​Dear Ghost: 4

Dear Ghost, 

Your touch of cold misery 
still lingers

in my deepest memory. 

Your bitter laughter

still echoes

when all I could think of is peace. 

Though I try to run

far far away

where I wouldn’t see 

your footsteps; 

Far ahead of you, 

so I wouldn’t be trapped

in your shadow; 

so your darkness

would leave me alone–

You somehow get your way

back into my safe zone

stepping inside

that border

I drew 

with my faintest will

to keep you away; 

You somehow

find a way

to creep into the night

and invade my dreams

and turn it into nightmares; 

You still find a way

to make me feel




and unwanted. 

I smile 

and writhe in pain

all at the same time. 

But I shall run still

and build that wall

once again. 

A wall

You can’t break through; 

a wall

that shall crush you

the moment you dare

to even stare at it. 

A wall that 

shall keep me safe

from false hope

and deceitful smiles. 

I’d stay 

behind that wall

where I shall be free

from your toxic words. 

From this moment

to the eternal emptiness to come, 

I shall keep my self free

From your plausible trickery. 

City Lights

​Could I pretend 

you are all shooting stars

that fell from the vast sky? 

Then I’d utter a wish 

from one to the other

And believe 

you’d all consider 

granting that one single wish 

that I’d whisper all over again 

until one heeds my plea. 

Until then 

I shall keep wishing 

as you fascinate 

this lonely girl 

in a strange city.


Did the words leave her hanging 

or have she left them scattered?

Soaked and smashed on the ground–

Not a single meaning could be found.
So nonsense verses were written,

As the poetess lost her rhythm;
Like a lunatic, she just keeps humming–

Mindlessly tapping her fingers, eyes aren’t shining;
Like how it used to,

As she sings along with the wind,

And the stars dance as the melody plays,

Blinking her scars away.
Yet the song stopped–

And so did she.

Lost in the  darkest, loneliest, 

And unforgiving sea.

Disclaimer: The sketch is originally a pinterest photo.  Let’s say I’m a copycat.  Harhar.  Ctto.  😚

​100-Word Story: Unspoken Words

“I love you,” I whispered to her ear. 

She’s sleepy yet she fights it. She’s still waiting for someone,  and she doesn’t know he’s already beside her. 

She curiously stared at me like I’m a stranger. I smiled sadly. For a moment she just studied my face before slowly smiling with misty eyes.

“I wish my son would also tell me that,” she whispered between labored breaths. 

I couldn’t help but silently cry. I never told her I love her before Alzheimer’s hit her,  and no matter how many times I utter those words now,  she wouldn’t remember me anymore.

Nineteenth Entry

I heard you say my name,
As you dropped and tapped my window pane;
Making your way down in bliss,
And my name became a masterpiece.

I heard you sing a melody,
The one that’s been in my head.
As I patiently waited for your fall,
I hummed the song instead.

And so I whisper the feelings
I feel when you fall;
And let you soak my soul.
Your sound creeping to my deepest griefs,
And once again I am whole.

Dear you,

It’s not the rain that you hate
But the memories that come crashing down
When the little drops meet the ground.
Those days you couldn’t replay,
Like a photo you could look back to,
But could never live on anymore.
The thought of a place you couldn’t be in,
As the tiny crystals shine in delight through your window pane.
It’s the song you used to sing,
But now you hate to hear
As the raindrops fall to the roof,
With the perfect melody
That hums as your heart beats.

It’s not the rain you hate,
But the emptiness you feel,
For things you could’ve
or could’ve not done.
It’s not the rain you hate.
You love the sound it creates,
Like a lullaby on sleepless nights.
You love how it make its way down
On your glass window
As you trace them with your fingertips.
You love how each drop feels
Against your skin
Against your palm,
Against your face
Welcoming every tear.
It’s not the rain you hate,
But the things
that made you think you hate it.
So dear,
See how beautiful the rain is.
It does remind you of pain,
But mirth always comes with it.

With a drop of my own rain,