I’m running out of words,

For the words I write, the words I speak

Are all about love — the kind of love that breaks a heart.

The kind of love a girl feels for a guy or the other way around.

But that kind of love is terrible most of the time

And it struck me that the kind of words I say are terrible and certainly don’t matter.

They keep on repeating on every poet’s mouth that they suffocate the mind of a reader.


I wish I could write — for I already forgot how to write — about life;

Its ups and downs;

Its winding road and the lessons I learn in each step I take.


About sea,

The dives I was scared to take but I took anyway

And though landed with hurting back, butt, head or limb,

I still managed to make a good one and another.


About the places I went to,

And the charm each one has unfolded to me;

The awe in every new experience,

The ‘ahh’ in every relaxing treat I get.

I traveled a lot, but I want to travel more.

Yet, in every travel, I have yet to use

All the words I know to explain what it felt.


I want to write about my dreams,

The strange ones and the ones that looked more like stories created by my imagination;

How some are scary and heart-pumping,

While many are surreal and enticing

And others — even those which I love — are heartbreaking.


I want to write about different people,

For truly, they’re part of this dream I have —

Not the as-I-go-to-sleep dream —

But the other one composed of wishes and aim.

I want to write about them and their stories

Because I know theirs are far more important

Than infatuation or lust or third-party craps.


For it’s okay to write about girl-boy love and heartbreak

But then there are far more important kinds of love that matter:

Love that can be seen when a doctor is trying earnestly to revive his patient, even without certainty of reliving,

Love that radiates from a friend in being a good listener,

Love that holds a family together,

Love that fights for the country and its countrymen,

Love that a Master has for His lowly servants.


Words struck deep like a knife and I forgot

How to use them in a way that will strike each reader,

Or in a slam poet’s case, each listener.


I’m running out of words and I couldn’t use them

To, somehow, change a single person’s life.


I’m running out of words and I couldn’t use them

To enlighten a human being about the beauty of this seemingly inhumane world.


I’m running out of words I haven’t tried using them at all.


[ October 04, 2015 ]



A Song called ‘Scream’

It’s haunting me,

Yet again.


I’ve nowhere to run,

I’ve no one to ask,

‘Save me, pray.’


Distinct sound,


It hurts;

Such cry so profound,

‘You lose,’

It says.


Darkness prowls,

Night eats and drinks,

Wind gusts but no breach,

‘Where am I?’

To myself,

Sound humming,

Yet again.


The wind sings,

Chimes made

From distant strings;

Laughs drumming,

Echoes, they’re mocking,

My body swings

Out of torment.


Tears flow,

I’m running,

Towards a room,

Called eighteen,

The door creaks,

My mind unlit,

A loud crash!

The walls bleed,

My hands, my hands,

They tremble;

There I see,

What’s it to be.


A Shooting Star

A serendipitous tale once transpired

A lone wolf surrounded by extreme coldness;

A bright shooting star eventually chanced upon.


Charred the ice was

When hands held tight

A sudden gush flowed through their eyes


‘T’was an unremarkable picture

Of a mysterious wish

Agreed to be with one another


“Truly glad I am, to finally meet someone,

So tender and kind, cool in the midst of gloom,

Life’s stiffness unbent by a feathery stroke.”


The once lone wolf answered in a blush,

“Though thine fire was brought to soothe

Mine’s bitterness and angst.”


Yet, the light the star emanates

Didn’t promise a constant state

Of compassion and hopeful fate.


Though the light shines,

The fire engulfs without gaps

Charred not only the ice but the radiance.


How such lovely scene turned into dust?

The two hands break, they must

Memories – good and bad – created ash.


An inconsolable grief thrashed the night

Full of supposed warmth

From two people breathing almost as one.


What if the only way

to forgive such past

Is to get even with the one who passed?