Вірші
Will Never be Blown by the Wind
I thought we will be hale
I thought our connection will never frail
But as a sampaguita took her last exhale
There comes the simultaneous existence of an ail
That circulated among us like a chain mail
Her breath was her goodbye
But ironically, I never did cry
I know we will all die
But her presence felt like a lie
That gloomed my life like a night sky
A night sky painted like a bruise
Reflecting on my eyes are great blues
Her shutdown made me experience abuse
A pain that only I knew, damn, I lose
I made myself a victim and tried to loose
Ink of a pen sitting on my hand
This will be the last of her as my brand
I'll bury all I have just like her in the land
Everything will be gone on a whip of wand
She'll be blown by the wind yet she's a sand
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Self-slaughter
Oh how tiring it is
To witness my brokenness
How tiring it is
To see myself in pain
How tiring it is
To seek validation from people
How tiring it is
To be in a battle alone
How tiring it is
To be not myself
That despite all my loud weeping
People are still blind
That the little things they do
Greatly destroy me
I'll not even have one doubt
If I let my tired self
Rest on a bed of roses
Or maybe by the swing
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393
A Wish Tonight
Tonight I wished that was me.
Saved by the warmth of your body
And barricaded against everybody's cruelty
Tonight I wished that was me.
Seen by you as a person with purity
And redeemed from the storm with your brolly
Tonight I wished that was me
And every night I'll always wish that that was me
Even though I don't know what that thing I wished I'll be
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624
She is the Flora
Her fragrance was like a flower,
Stood every day with noble power
She was never been glower
Of the people around her
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583
The Garden
Love was conveyed
Smiles were displayed
Memories were made
By friends that I prayed
Like a bag full of chips
That are shaped like an ellipse
Some are sweet to our lips
Some just makes a move to our hips
Whatever happened and may happen
I will not forget them, and through a pen
All their names will be written
And be buried inside my garden
But let me warn you my dear reader
One of my friends is a deft deceiver
I, myself was fooled by this storymaker
That presents herself as the victim but is actually the gainer
But still, whatever happened and may happen
I will not forget them, and through a pen
All their names will be written
And be buried inside my garden
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