Might Be Time To Park My Pen

Each time I attempt to write a tale
A paralyzingly doubt comes over me
Are there more stories to tell
Why would anyone want to hear it from me

I lay awake at night
Thoughts chasing each other
Reviewing what I have written so far
All of them rubbish
not worth anybody’s time

There is one half written novel
Of two friends cruel to each other
In my mind I reviewed the first chapter
And cringed at the sentimentality
Soaking the first paragraph

The male protagonist’s characterization is so wrong
For a reticent man why did I make him squeeze
The heroine’s arm every so often?

And why did Abigail, the narrator of the story
Sounds like a walking Wikipedia
Every time she offers an information
About a place with historical significance?

What is even the point I was trying to make
With this coming of age story?
That even the smartest man will always
Pick a pretty face over an intelligent mind?

If I really think about it
That is not always true
Though not short of suitors
It can also be difficult for a pretty girl
To find a love that is true

Either I re write the whole damned thing
Or it is ending in the bin

Sometimes I Get Lost in The Darkness And The Mist

I wake as I often do
My limbs lifeless on the bed
Everything in grayish hue
I search my mind
Where are you

I see a different face
Of someone in the past
Oh no, a muted gasp
It cannot be
Not you

A panic rises in my heart
No, no, no
I do not want to be married to you
Get away from me

Sweating and trembling
I force my eyelids open
Relief floods my being
Hearing his even breathing

I reach out just to be sure
I touch his face
And I feel grateful
There you are
I am married to you


A Borrowed Memory

Sometimes memories tease me
In the recess of my mind
I see faces I do not recognize
And landscapes where I have not been
And series of events not from my life

A feeling of sadness swirls in my heart
A remembered pain which is not mine
I pause in wonder as I recognize
I lived a thousand lives in thousand places
In between the pages of a book



The Siren and The Water Dog

Cleansing, calming, purifying water I cannot live without. Under the shower or the falling rain what pleasure it gives me. When I left the rainforest where I grew up I would run as fast as I could, whenever I could towards the sea.

Now trapped in a landlocked city for five years I am parched longing for the sea, thirsty for the rain that falls sparingly. Luckily numerous rivers flow snaking and branching endlessly around and along the states.

We followed one up north and reached a river bank with sandy shores. What delight to step barefoot on the sand after a long time! The eager canine, gaga over water like me jumped on the raft with immense enthusiasm, stared at the water with longing and awe.


Unable to contain his excitement a few feet before we reached the shore on the other side he jumped and swam.



His joyful gallop along the river, dipping in the water every now and then, mirrored my own happiness of being near the water again though it is a river not the sea my tense muscles relaxed instantly.The stillness of that reflective surface infecting me. I drew a deep breath and surrendered to serenity. This where I want to be.


Emerald Dreams

Rummaging through a box of memories, eager fingers flipping through a set of honeymoon photographs. Eyes sighted something green and sparkling. In an instant, the heart ached with longing for carefree days spent frolicking on Coron’s emerald shores.


 That untainted jewel cocooned in a cluster of islands down south of my native land. Nostalgia echoed on my bedroom walls. Of crispy laughter reverberating under Asian sun.

The mind wandered back pining for that bright morning, hiking up that volcanic mountain to swim in that verdant lake, in that green soup where swallows dip to quench their thirst at four in the afternoon.

Yearning now intensely, for cool waters caressing the skin while snorkelling in that secret cove, Twin Lagoon it is called, where salt and lake water meet painting mirages for creatures underneath.


Sighing, wishing to go diving and swimming with those kaleidoscopic school of fishes playing around a maze of brightly hued coral gardens. So ornate and splendid, a surreal world so exquisite, an encounter with mermen and mermaids would not be impossible at all.



A Man Such As He


He looked so strong then, such a commanding presence. Sitting on the ground drinking tea with his peers. His deep sonorous voice resounding with wisdom. Though words were uttered softly, his companions listened intently. His strength is subtle, silent like an undercurrent. Pride swelled up in my heart. He is a man. My man.

Self Righteous Rantings

My ears are smarting from your self righteous ranting. Your keyboard is thundering from your passionate pounding. Hurling criticism here and there. But your words fall flat. Resounding with jealousy and insecurity. Broadcasting your own narrow mind. I think you just better shut up.
“Self-righteousness is much like a spiritual egocentricity. It constitutes a secular type of love that thrives under conditionality, one in which is only existent after an individual meets the adopted standards of the condemner.”
― Criss JamiSalomé: In Every Inch In Every Mile