Music = My Life

I hope you know that every rhythm

Keeps my heart beating.

I hope you know that every note

Keeps me alive and breathing.

Listen closely to the songs I play;

Because the lyrics speak 

The words I fail to say.

Some people have lives,

I have my music.



(featured image courtesy: deviant art)

Here’s To All the Writers Out There

Thank you for all the wee hours you spend in front of your table and write to express the opinions and notions which represent not just yours, but the opinions of so many people like me, as well. During the times I have waited for your stories, I already know it will be worth it.

Thank you for voicing out all the thoughts in my head that I know I would never ever be able to say out loud. You have been the voice of so many people like me who relate to your writings.


If it weren’t for you, less people would be able to understand what I am going through and I could not thank you enough for doing a magnificent job in portraying these emotions as if you experience them yourself. But who knows whether this pleasure or pain you write about is how you truly feel? I hope I would be given the chance to know if these words are real or that is just really how lucrative and effective you are in this field. Nevertheless, thank you because you could not have written it more accurately.


Thank you for your passion in this field. I hope you know that many people like me find you as an inspiration. Your love for what you do can be truly felt in each and every page of the books I hold when they are the only things that keep me company. Your books have been my only friend during those times when I felt so alone.


Thanks to them and thanks to you, I have felt as if it is you who has been my friend, too. My only wish is to be able to get back to you, someday. Because if it weren’t for you, this reality I have been dreading to face would have made me give up and end it a long time ago.


Thank you for all the stories you make, albeit fiction, which help me escape oftentimes when reality is too hard to face. You have taught me that there are moments when it is okay to be lost in a perfectly made-up world of heroes and heroines who also, in a way, has taught me a lesson or two which could help me as I face the real world again. The pieces of advice from the experiences of these characters are truly applicable. 


If it weren’t for them, I could not be brave to take two steps closer to being ready as your stories conclude and here I am in the real life waiting for the new set of your writings again.


Thank you for giving me hope through the fabric of words you weave. Thank you for giving me courage through the intricate lines, stanzas and paragraphs you design. Thank you for giving me a will to live through the euphoric aura and nostalgic vibes that exude from everything you immortalise on paper.


If it weren’t for them, I could not have survived this life you always have had described as the ever-confusing labyrinth which although, many wants to escape from it, you have influenced so many people like me that life, indeed, is worthy to be experienced and endured.


That is why thank you; thank you for saving so many people like me. Your words speak of the death people like me continue to experience everyday, and that is what makes me want to stay alive.



(featured image courtesy:

A No Laughing Matter

This is for me,
As I got a glimpse
Of the real world
Where my fellow countrymen
Continues to suffer
Under the scorching heat
And inconsistent weather,
But still strives,
And pushes thorough
To survive.
Commuting is
A no laughing matter.


This is for my dad,
As I realise
How much he care,
As he try to
Always be there
So I won’t go through
This exhausting,
Extremely arduous
Experience where
I may falter.
Commuting is
A no laughing matter.


This is for my fellow countrymen,
As I salute you,
And your forbearance
For living each day,
And surviving
The warzone,
The daily battle.
The struggle
Of every minute, every hour
Is for the family counting on you.
Commuting is
A no laughing matter.


This is for my country,
As I hope
To serve the people
In the years to come
As I witnessed how
This is too far gone
But I believe
I can still do something
For it to be changed.
It mustn’t remain the same.
Commuting is
A no laughing matter.




(photo courtesy of

The Feeling When Reading (8 words in 8 lines collection)

In the battles of tragedy, love, and hope.

I felt the happiness, misery, anger and fear.


I shared with them, I cherished each moment.

I lived their life, I don’t wanna leave.


If I could just stay and forget reality,

I would gladly do it in a heartbeat.


The feeling of never wanting it to end,

Will always be the issue from the beginning.



(featured image courtesy of

Our Dying Country

The generation is dying,

Everything’s falling apart.

A millennium one will shake his head at.

Close-mindedness, this age creates?

Naïvety or masked stupidity at its finest?


Whatever begets, comes and passes

like nothing happened at all.

After all, no one cares if he’s not

affected by that passing tornado, 




Self-centered citizens,

Is this what you’ll pay our ancestors

who shed their blood and soul for this country?

Have you no shame at all?


Is this what you’ll pay our country

that is so precious and fragile

due to the enemies that dared cause its harm?

Hmmm, probably.

No, definitely.


After all, who is the real enemy?

The one we vie for to lead?

The one we foist into the responsible ones

who you dare corrupt?


No. OURSELVES is the real enemy.

We have a choice but we go for the wrong.

A decision I have yet to understand

But never ever will comprehend.


Is this the price democracy will cost?

No wonder Plato doesn’t agree

with this government form as it continues

to arise a conflict between fellow countrymen.


But that’s how it works, I guess.

People against his own people.

A lost cause indeed,

A battle for our DYING COUNTRY

against ourselves we will never win.


All I can say is that now 

May God bless us in all that we’re doing

from the past, what is passing,

and what is yet to come.



(photo courtesy: Paper Boat London)



thoughts that this mind creates

At night where these thoughts

Just doesn’t seem to stop.



vibe that this mind brings

At night where the melancholy

appears from out of nowhere.



experiences that this mind relives

At night where secrets

Are out in the open.



Deafening silence that this mind hears

At night where your own heartbeat

seems to be the only sound.



thinking that this mind undergoes

At night where these memories

Are suddenly brought up.



body that this mind controls

At night where the eyes

should be closed.



words that this mind forms

At night where drunken sentences

Are actually sober thoughts.



state that this mind goes through

At night where darkness and 

silence slowly kills your soul.



(photo courtesy of

Violated (8 words in 8 lines collection)

Note: This entry is dedicated to the victims of sexual harassment. It is NEVER your fault that there are dirty as*holes in this world.


I feel sorry for your mother or sister

For knowing and living with someone like you.

A bastard, an imbecile, disgrace in this society!


Aren’t you aware of your mother or sister

Or whatever happened for you to spite humanity?


So in behalf of the girls you violated

Those that I may or may not know;

May God have mercy on your filthy soul.



(featured image courtesy:

How Dull is a Life Without Music?

How dull is a life without music?

It’s like a quiet world of misery.

A full experience of the pain this planet brings;

A pathetic living with no harmony.


How dull is a life without music?

It’s like nature without colour:

Plain, black and white, boring.

What would we be living for?


How dull is a life without music?

It’s like rhythm would be lost.

Seasons would not change, water would cease to flow,

Everything, a lost cause.


How dull is a life without music?

It’s like a complete set of free fall.

Earth would stop spinning then,

I’d rather not live at all.



(featured image courtesy:

My Concept of Life as a Comparative Literature Major 

Note: This entry was originally written on 19th January, 2016 for my BIO 1 class.


As we talk about existence through prose,

We may speak of life through poetry.

Or through a critical review of a thousand words,

A research paper and critique mostly.


We immortalise life with words we write,

Composed of thoughts we fail to speak.

As we face this rollercoaster ride called life,

Writing about it seems on fleek.


Life is a figure of speech;

One part irony and two parts metaphor.

An upside down when things go okay;

Everything, an interrelated force.


To make God’s gift worth living,

Make our everyday life flow with rhythm.

Maybe add a dash of sarcasm to spice it up.

Perhaps, this will be a successful mechanism.



(featured image courtesy:

Grief (8 words in 8 lines collection)

Note: I dedicate this entry to my cousin, John Lester. I miss you wherever you are. May you rest in peace.

It kept holding on me since that night;

I wish I could bring back a life.

I have learned that emotional aches hurt more

Than me being physically stabbed with a knife.

I’m not sure if I’ll survive these days;

For the feeling of  grief will always remain.

But soon I am sure I’ll be okay

Because I know ‘acceptance’ will ease the pain.


(featured image courtesy of