Nature Abhors a Vacuum

i am, to be ensnared by pieces of agony,

like an animal caged, and the rage is within me

the buried yelp arise but fades into silence,

and the craggy path I stepped upon has no ends.

the key to release me has been stolen,

the outside portrays the crumbled and the fallen.

all is left are the barriers, what a tragedy.

i could jam myself in the rooftop cranny,

but the triumph of gravity has let me down.

of wearing human skin, i’m no bird around.

to glide freely cost a batch of feathers.

only if i catch the essence of the weather,

i can soar back to the welkin yonder,

but i am left here to wander and ponder.

a bed of lilacs for a cosy home,

my eyes were desperate to see them alone.

yet thorns from fiends are only to be seen.

but the crack with the sun rising to beam

is my only hope to keep a sense of me.

wherever happens to my own glee,

is still out there, surrounding the air,

collided with woes, i bother not to care.

but every time i breathe, slowly, i decay.

everyday, i am a goner, why am i here to stay?




a waxing crescent for every beam

only to be seen in the darkest hours.

but with strands of hair that gleams,

he bloomed among the sunflowers.

how are you my very own dreams,

my teardrops from the rain shower,

and the sweetness of my cream?

it muddles me as i am devoured

by every thought that scream.


i am, of the bitter and the sour,

but my cries are stronger than any stream

flowing around my ivory tower.

will you save me from the extreme?

or leave me like a perished flower,

still waiting to be redeemed?


Know Where All the Bodies Are Buried

she has plucked eyes from a young child.

naive, but the imagination is growing wild.

she has stolen the mind of an old man.

slowly withering, but wisdom is her friend.

she has a mimicked mouth of a public speaker.

talks more, and the words meant something deeper.

she has duplicated ears of a private listener.

talks less, puts down the mirror, and it wouldn’t be her.

she has chopped off hands from an artist.

creative, but putting the emotions at risk.

she has the decapitated head of a writer.

put it in the clouds, it will make her mightier.

she has the misplaced heart of a soldier.

vulnerable, and no, not a past holder.


A Watermelon Grin

her watermelon’s shell

keeps the flesh well secured,

together with the seeds

not freed inside the flesh,

it’s easy to notice, but no luck

to pluck them out,

people leave it there as they devour,

and she keeps an empty bottle

to scout for the seeds

with her tiny tongs

until she got ill.

she displays every bottle

like a shelf of her worthiness.

it’s to remind herself

of her accomplishments.

and every seed that is spat out,

she pretends and takes it

as a token of gratitude

coming from the mouth

she grows more in her backyard,

she would have to plant, wait, lift

and slice to shape a perfect smile-

her perfect smile

to capture the outer part of her

and it took every courage

while the grind hides

the flesh of her crimson rage.


Flip the Page

He flipped through the pages
Of his new book, that has a ton of pictures in it
And it contains simple words- a little amount of it.
For every word he read wrongly,
His father would kiss him in the forehead
And his mother would teach him the words.
Then, the teacher in his kindergarten class
would give him a butterfly sticker and a thumbs-up
Because he wrote a simple story
That he copied from the book with pictures on it.

He flipped through the pages
Of his new book, that has a ripped page in it.
His father said that it was his favourite book,
But he complained that there were no pictures.
Yet, his father kisses him in the forehead
And understand that he was young and naive.
And his teacher gave him a shiny gold star
Because he wrote a poem entitled, “Pictures.”
His mother put it in a picture frame and hugged her son.
While the father went out with a lot of money.

He flipped through the pages
Of his new thick book with no pictures at all.
He heard a lot of screaming and shouting
From the other room.
When his father came out,
He complained that the book was too violent.
His father scolded him and threw the book across the room.
Then, his substitute teacher wrote a remark
At the back of his paper
In his poem entitled, “Malice.”
Stating that it was too vicious.
He didn’t show it to neither his mother nor father.
So, he hung it in his wall with the other poems he wrote.

He flipped through the pages
Of a newspaper because he doesn’t have any books left.
He decided to write a story for him to read
As he does not want to bother his father
Who was snoring loudly while holding onto a bottle.
His teacher never gave him a score
Because she slept soundly at her desk thrice.
The students chuckled and continue their works.
His mother picked him up from school
And in their car, it has a strong smell of cologne,
But his mother only wears perfume
And his father never drives the car because he doesn’t know how.
He ignored the smell and showed the story to his mother
Who ended up crying so hard after reading.
He was confused as he wrote a funny story.

He flipped through the pages
Of an old book that he constantly repeat.
He asked his father to buy him a book.
His father nodded and head out.
When he came back, the father gave him a library book.
He was upset, yet, he read it anyway.
Then, he wrote a poem called, “Farewell.”
Whom he gave it to his teacher
Who was carrying a box of her belongings.
The teacher never gave him a perfect score,
So when he went home, he gave himself a star.
That was the time, she join his father
And they both drink while singing the blues.
His mother cried a lot that her make-up was ruined.
He threw her revealing clothes to the laundry basket
And hugged her son with the smell of cologne in her.

He flipped through the pages
Of his library book, that was from the previous day.
His mother gave him some money that she earned.
Even though, she doesn’t have a job.
His father went home unexpectedly,
With a smell of perfume that his teacher always wear.
His mother and father would never kiss each other
His father asked his son to hand him the money
So that he could buy him a new book that he wanted.
The one with dragons and knights fighting one another,
But he didn’t.
He wrote a poem called, “In the Dark Room.”
His new teacher gave him a bad score
Because it wasn’t related to the topic
That was assigned to him.

He flipped through the last page
Of his library book, that has a devastating ending.
He gave the book to his father who looked sophisticated
And asked him to return the book to the library.
He nodded and continue grabbing his belongings.
His mother put the clothes in a suitcase,
This time, she never cried at all.
His father carried the suitcase and head outside
With the library book in his other hand.
He stared at his father as he took a cab,
This time, he didn’t think
His father would ever return.

He flipped through the pages
Of his new book, that has a ton of pictures in it
And it contains simple words- a little amount of it.
He read every word correctly,
But his mother didn’t kiss his forehead
Because those were the only books she could buy.
Then, the teacher in his senior class
Scolded him for being a ne’er-do-well
Because he wrote a simple story
That he copied from the book with pictures on it.



The feeling of nostalgia is hitting me, forcefully.
My sentiments are combining- making a big bully.
Thoughts are constantly too overwhelming,
And I knew, personally, I won’t be winning.

The eradication of my optimistic self is beyond scary.
I am nevermore legendary.
However, I’ll do whatever it takes to fight back.
My feelings and I would go for an attack.

Obviously, it is I who would choose the winner.
Maybe my fears would be thinner
If I accept my emotions for who they are.
My happiness may come back from afar.

Acceptance is the key to unlocked the door.
Wish I could have done that before.
This is the easiest way for my fears to shrink,
Yet, deep inside, I am starting to sink.


The Shoes of Ascar

Ascar seclude himself from his surroundings.
He stayed in a room with his heart pounding.
Looking at his own shoes
He thought it was new.
Even though it’s raggedy and old,
It’s good enough to not make his feet cold.
However, no one likes his shoes.
To them, they were not amused
As if it was just a typical footwear.
To Ascar, he swears
That he’ll change.
If not, he will be at the shooting range.
In the next decade, no one will have a clue
On what happened to Ascar’s shoes.


Invisible Wings

What if we walk into this world with no gravity?
Would we float in the state of tragedy?

We may live like kings and queens in the sky,
But we are so close to the time that we’ll cry.

We would soar like the birds near the atmosphere.
However, we would all be living in fear.

We would touch the stars in a pitch-black night.
Yet, we could lose our sight from the very bright light.

As we continue to fly, we would be able to touch the moon,
But oxygen is limited anytime soon.

The wind would embrace us, dearly.
Holding onto us until the very end- even when it’s weary.

Our invisible wings may not last for all.
We can go back down, if we don’t fear the fall.



Your favourite book is collecting dust
In a treasure box, that is starting to rust.
No one would dare to touch
Because it is too much
To handle with care.
Although it’s rare,
A vagabond would burn it with fire
To keep himself warm- that’s what he desire.
Being friendless, a companion is what he seeks.
Even if he is contagiously sick,
Empathy is what comes into his mind.
While dealing with his disease, he signed
His name on one page that he took.
That was him- the author of the book.


Thy Love is Murder

The last sound is what I despised,
At the time when the sun is starting to rise.

Your words honoured my heart which is filled with lust,
I wish to leave behind traces of dust.

I’ll cherish what has been burdened.
I sense agony in my head, all over again.

Revive my soul that has been decimated,
Revive my art that has been splatted and hated.

Contemplations and dilemmas set us apart,
Continue throwing those unwanted sharp darts.

I wish to endure myself through your woes,
We will be defined as far-flung foes.

Although you left my weary soul,
Please give me back what you had stole.