Archive for January, 2011

The past is always a fragment of who we are. It is a portion of ourselves that helped us become the person we are in the present. It never fails to bring out a gamut of human emotions, good and bad. No matter how much we deny it, we find solace in it, a calming feeling.

I had a chance on seeing someone this week and she gave me a box that I left when I once lived with her. A box that is so plain and boring, a bit dusty as it was kept in her closet for more than six years. I recognized it and it bore my name in my handwriting, so I took it from her and opened it. And I was surprised as to what I saw.

There infront of me are letters given to me by random people, an old box of chocolates, some paper flowers, old movie and concert tickets, little ribbons, small notes, and a couple of other little items. I was surprised that she kept it, even more surprised that I had this habit of collecting whatever is given to me, big or small. I was stunned that indeed, I am a person of great sentimentality. Or am I just a prisoner of my past, like what I always had been?

I took the box home, and suddenly found myself reading through small notes and letters, checking each chocolate wrapper, looking at each folded flower, appreciating small poems sent to me… all while walking down an alley of my past. I suddenly felt like I am lighting up one dark alley of the past, an alley whose streetlights were once shut down, by the lonely soul in me. I find myself playing memories in my head, reliving each moment spent with friends and other people close to me.

The feeling is strange. I suddenly miss these old friends and began to wonder where they are right now. I began to think of how kismet brought us together, and how changes, chances, decisions, and opportunities made us all drift apart. There is a small fragment of my soul that feels happy because I know that in one way or another, I was able to experience the bliss of pure friendship and there is that much people who once cared for me and appreciated who and what I am – the friends I lost in time. I am happy that some even appreciated who and what I have become – the friends I still keep with me. And mostly, I am happy for the lessons I have learned in all that decade, lessons that molded me and made me the person I am now.

I was asked as to what I would do to it, and I decided to burn the box. Right now, the mementos are not important. I do not need reminders, I do not need to keep items just to keep the memories alive. The memories are already here with me, etched in my soul, never will they fade. I will always remember each face inside that box, each memory, each lesson learned. Afterall, what matters is not what you did together, but what you LEARNED together.

To the person who kept these for me, thank you. To each face inside the box of memories, you will always be remembered. To my friends who stayed, you are all appreciated… I will then take a step back to reality with a smile on my face with these new discoveries.



Dark Lullaby

Posted: 24/01/2011 in Poetry
Tags: , , , , , ,

This alley cradles my soul in the solace of its darkness
Tossing my knife, playing with it, with no mark of kindness.
My eyes reflect the devil’s own, full of wrath and lies;
As soon as I release my grip from this, I know, someone dies.

My muscles tensing, as I crave for a release;
While this unexplained agony makes my soul unease.
The darkness enveloping my soul in a solitude I cannot contain,
Vindication, revenge, all parts of a bliss I wished to obtain.

Looking up her windows, her silhouette emanating bliss;
Dragged me to the days when we shared that one special kiss.
Her voice, her sweet voice, rings music to my ears,
Brought memories of her helping me wage wars with my own fears.

I cannot bear the pain any longer, my soul is succumbing to the dark,
Her love, her heart, her soul, I no longer can win back.
Let her sing, let her float in happiness, let her be held and loved,
While I forsake my mortal shards, deny light from up above.

As the day breaks for a new beginning, I kneel down
Accepting my fate, succumbing to the dark crown
As she sing her heart out, I released my knife for the kill;
And her dark lullaby left my heart, soul, and eyes sealed.


It was in my attempt of deleting unused files when I saw this poem from a couple of months back. I realized that I have been starting a few poems and due to things I have to attend to, I consistently forget to finish them. This is one of the poems I made in my futile attempt to write in rhymes. Guess I am really a prose poet, afterall. Not one of the bests, but I hope you enjoy.

The Star Poet Award for Week 37


The sun shall never compare,
to the warmth soaking in her skin.
His probing eyes gently staring at her,
drowning all her fears within.
His touch, his sweet smile,
telling her everything will be okay;
Like it has always been,
an eternity ago.

His hand perfectly fitting hers,
clasping hers.
And she knows that the battle has been finally won.
All the years she keeps on running away
are finally over.
He is right there, infront of her,
within her reach.

His lips touching hers in a union so surreal,
locking himself in.
Her inhibitions slowly fading,
her pride, her fears all are gone.
She stopped fighting her ideal bonds,
fearlessly succumbing to her mortal shards.
Breathing him in.
Losing herself.

Just then, the dream starts vanishing,
reality slowly sinking in…

He is sleeping peacefully in her arms,
eyes closed.
His chest heaving rhythmically rising and falling.
Arms enveloping her.
Limbs wrapping her in a deadly embrace.
And she is just staring.
Taking all in.
Keeping each detail in her memory,
preserving each moment in her heart and soul.
Knowing it would soon be over.

And so it is.

The hourglass is almost empty now,
she is on her half-waking dream.
He began to walk away,
closing every door behind him.
Taking steps away,
away, away from her.
Not looking back.

He got what he always wanted,
her heart and soul.
She got what she always deserved,
her death.

He is lost to her forever,
while her name, he can no longer remember.
She is left alone,
on hollow corners of her memory.

Slowly dying,
tears falling.
Facing her bitter end.



I was idly sitting, pondering on moments that was once lost but regained, things that was once ignored but noticed, dares that were once temptations but taken. I look back on the images that plague my soul, conversations that ring in my ears, and the scent that crippled my human form. I cannot help but walk down that dark alley of memories, once sweet and inviting, now hollow and sordid. And I felt like I needed a good cry, I badly needed one. Just to empty my heart and soul, just to liberate myself from the fangs of the past, just for me to move forward.

Then I think of the things we did and promises we made, of parting songs and farewell words. I looked on how things are now. And that’s when it hit me. That’s when reality bit me.

Author’s Notes: As always, thank you, Jingle for keeping me going. You and the rest of the poets in the rally makes me inspired each time I visit. Here’s an entry for week 38.


Nickel screws and copper bolts;
Aluminum plates and metal knobs.
Its stare empty, its chest is cold,
The scientist called it A-2004.

He opened its case,
and was shocked.
Beneath the metal casing,
there is a heart that is faintly beating.

He pulled the memory chip,
watched as a laser beam hugged it.
He was taken aback,
as he viewed ghastly images,
of a long forgotten past…

He saw his face, his smiles, his tears.
He felt his every emotion
on every fragment of memory saved.
He sensed the agony and the pains,
the happiness and sorrows,
of the woman who owned the heart,
and those memories.

A drop of that salty fluid
made its trail on his cheek.
He took the heart,
and locked it on the safe.
Along with the chip –
the chip of broken promises
and shattered dreams.

A new chip was installed,
electrical circuits replaced the heart.
As memory increased,
functionalities were optimized,
and applications were installed,
The scientist killed it.

What he have now is an android,
devoid of truth, of affective fallacies.
It is his masterpiece, CA-2011.


Thank you, Jingle. The rally keeps me inspired. It is an honor to be on it.


Buttoned eyes,
drawn lips.
Arms and limbs,
sewn in a stuffed cloth.
Scrap fabric
covering its nakedness.

The little girl,
whose eyes shames the stars,
held it close to her.
As a mother would
to her child.

Years pass,
the girl forgot.
About the sweet little one,
whom she cradled,
when all the world scared her…

One eye unbuttoned,
lips fading.
Arms almost unstitched,
from the stuffings.

The girl is now a woman.
And it is just,
a ragged rag doll.



In one way or another, we all have to move on. People would eventually forget the smiles and tears and memories that you shared together. Years will pass, but there are things that would remain the same. And there are people who would always feel left behind. 😥

Addendum: This poem is also a form of acceptance of an award I got from Jingle’s “Thursday Poetry Rally”. I nominate Danroberson’s “My Life Will not be a Stagnant Pond” for Week 37.

A captivating view of colors and light;
A wink of his eye, a quiver of his lips.
A tear from her eyes, their warm embrace.
A beauty painted by life, viewed under lenses
– captured by the shutter.
Kept in a dark-infested room,
Until such magnificence is caught on paper.

I grab ahold of it,
Stared at it.
Suddenly, mesmerized as I
– the lady whose tear fell –
remembered the feeling…
I held it close to my heart,
kept it.

Times I changed my calendar.

My hair is graying now,
my skin wrinkling.
I pull an old book of poems,
and a photograph fell from it.
I am taken aback as I marvel at the familiar place,
and the man with a younger version of myself.
A man I still remember,
but the feelings seems strange now.

Memories linger,
like the love we once felt.
But like photographs,
love fades…

In time.