• Prose and Poetry

    a cook

    as chef gustov had said: “anyone can cook.”i think cooking is part of a man’s instinct for survival. i think it is integral in each and every one of us, a skill that is waiting to be unleashed at some point in our life. some may be natural born cooks, while others need to study in order to learn how to cook. some do trial and errors. some religiously follow a recipe. some can be very creative in mixing and matching different ingredients altogether. some merely stick to tradition. i was not interested in cooking during my teenage years. i consider it a burdensome duty of a future house wife.…

  • Prose and Poetry

    30 minutes to oblivion

    Cold, tangible, lies Excruciatingly pierced the heart Breathing with difficulty Pain lashing like reality Numbing knees taking control Dagger of curses precipitating On broken hands and promises Leaving traces of distraught nausea Five then down to three seconds of ending Sobbing, sobbing like a robbed fool Deceit lingering like facing death in an open tomb And then drowning underneath the void

  • Prose and Poetry

    night.moon and stars alight,the quietude of dusk til midnighthear the whispers of the oceanand the somber flow of the river.children breathing heavenly reverie,with little pixies giggling idly on sleeping flowers. ————————————–dream.the spirit roams free,entering a warped world,lovely and exquisite or revolting and dreadful.visions may emit laughter,visions may emanate tears.

  • Prose and Poetry

    My jeepney ride was whirring away from work. Finally. I was going home. I was already pooped and scorched despite the fact that it was early evening.Eventually, I had reached half of the destination to home. Monumento. As usual, the place was teeming with people. It was a cacophony of yells and honks. Amidst the noise of rush hour, one thing was evident to me – my growling stomach. But hey! I was in a place where food isavailable in all directions!I started to think about what to chow on – a kebab of kwek kwek? Nah, too few ; shawarma?too expensive; a tuhog of fishballs? too bitin… hmmm.‘Lo and…

  • Prose and Poetry

    a heart entwined in thorns bleeding profusely with so much anger i implore a sullen haven where i could entrap myself and set a barrier, against the misery that’s leading me to my place, a place set for me in the underworld… yet, i don’t want to be caged… i’d rather follow the footsteps towards my emancipation, and trudge gradually on the broken pieces of my life. until my innate fury dissipates, and grant me my final respite.

  • Prose and Poetry

    Fallen Star “They could never understand what you set out 2 do instead they chose 2 ridicule u when u got weak they loved the sight of your dimming and flickering starlight How could they understand what was so intricate 2 be loved by so many so intimate they wanted 2 c your lifeless corpse of ignorance that they have done for much 2 long 2 just forget and carry on I had loved u forever because of who u r and now I mourn our Fallen Star.” – Tupac I then stare at nameless faces and back at my own hollow cadaver. It was a pity to be mourned…

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