Tag: poetry is not dead
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End of 2022 | New Year 2023
2022 was like cryptic poetry. A stack of unopened boxes full of mystery. It started with intimately wrapped presents encased under pretty gift wrappers, opening to a delightful surprise at a new dawn. A series of firsts after the long lockdown and life began to restart after 3 years. Work came in full swing and…
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Lonely Thursdays
It was a lonely Thursday when I impulsively got on that plane to find myself. Soothe the trembling hands from a longing so unbearably painful, the noise from my throbbing chest so awfully loud. Is this how it is to love truly? To intentionally be blind from candied lies and dilated pride? Could I even…
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September musings
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Random June thoughts
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Life lately
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3rd Quarter Musings
I think—no, I believe I haven’t written in a very loooong time. This pandemic has fvcked up my sleeping cycle, my body clock, my little to less routines, and totally drained out whatever is left of the creative ink circulating in my brain. I started this back last year if I’m not mistaken? And I…
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The Day Everything Changed
One full year isolated from friends and loved ones. One full year out of work, out of school. One full year of faces hidden behind a collection of masks. One full year of life as we know it, thrown into complete disarray. Exactly a year ago when the world went into a standstill, locked down…
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3am Thoughts
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That Year-ender
I’m still freaking curious. There was a spark, I know there was a spark and I’m missing that spark. I’ve been digging inside my head since that Thursday and I still can’t find you and your words and that smile. I’ve no memory.
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Bewitched by Children’s Laughter
I did not dream of having kids. It was never part of the plan. I wanted to write and live in different places, experience this diverse, expansive earth everyone keeps talking about. At some point, I even wanted to go to outer space, discover aliens, leave footprints on the moon, trek Mars, name stars. But…
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Rainy Friday Afternoon
When everyone is used to running towards you, expecting you to fix their cracks and you try to seal it, feigning wit and refreshing humor, to somehow complete whatever it is that they lack. You have this way of making things better after you, it’s hard to explain. The sponge so they say. But who…
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Ode to Sunrise
Life is full of sporadic facades and intermittent moments, bits and pieces tattered with every flip of a page. And sometimes the struggles forge you into this impetuous cynic, averted by the water that you keep to hydrate. They leave you shriveled, bare and almost dying. Almost. – I cannot even begin to describe the…
Density Runs 