Maybe behind this wall of torment and fear,

Lies a solemn escape with tremendous ease.

A place of tranquility and contentment,

So close to what you call a utopia.


You must conquer mountains and monsters,

To reach the so-called perfect destination.

Experience loss, sacrifice, thirst, and hunger.

Even lose your mind, so to speak.


Now, is it truly worth taking?

To tackle the road of uncertainty?

To fight against an invincible army?

To  accept the quest for the future?


Thus, the vehement forces come in rallies,

Destined to take one step further.

On the other side are the ones with power,

Cross-legged, sitting inside their privileged offices.


They are growing bigger as they eat off from

The efforts of their very own people;

Like a lion munching some lone mammal

In a faraway deserted desert.


But this doesn’t cripple the voice

Of the generation with an oncoming success–

That is if they relentlessly strive and promise

To uphold their fight with conviction.


As long as the hourglass hasn’t been inverted yet,

Notwithstanding that time runs in a course,

There is still hope that we can reclaim

The future we once dreamed ourselves in.




BALA. (Tagalog Poem)

“Iho, iho!” Ang sigaw nila sa akin.

Habang ako’y naglalakad mag-isa sa dilim.

Tila ‘di narinig at ‘di napansin,

Kaya’t nagpatuloy sa aking lakbayin.


Sa daang ito ako’y nag-iisa,

Kasama ang kaluskos ng aking mga paa.

Ito ay oras ng pagtulog ng mga tao,

At ako’y pauwi pa lamang mula sa aking trabaho.


Bitbit ang pagod at antok,

Puso ko’y mabilis na tumitibok.

Napalitan ang pagod ng takot,

Ang baril saki’y itinutok.


“Iho, iho!” Muli nilang isinisigaw,

Habang sa aking bangkay sila’y nakatanaw.

Sapat na pala ang isang bala,

Upang ako’y ‘di na makita muli ng aking ina.


Nang ako’y kanyang barilin,

‘Di lamang ako ang kanyang pinatay.

Damay na rito ang aking mga pangarap,

Na kasama ko habangbuhay sa alapaap.


She is as soft

as a cotton feather.

And as sensitive

as a baby’s skin.


But deep down,

Lies a monstrous soul.

Suppressing everything,

It grew to be mean.


The mask she wears
For other people’s pleasure

Hides the darkest corners

Of her mind.


At the crack of dawn,

The cover cracks like glass.

And starts to unleash,

The demon behind.


Now awake,

A little groggy.

It’s as if the monster

Had left her being.


But no one knows,

It’s always there.

Evermore, underneath,

Slowly breathing.


Battling the demon

Has always been tough.

They think she’s okay,

Assuming as always.


They’re not cognizant

Of what she actually deals with

A constant battle

That’s been going on for days.


Or weeks.

Or years.


I can’t write right.

Sometimes I can’t write,

my mind’s being deceived.

Not sure if it’s right,

don’t know what to believe.


A blank piece of paper

stares intently back at me.

I can’t even bother

to write meaningfully.


It’s as if every inch

of creativity has been taken.

Maybe I just need a pinch,

or  a life-changing awaken.


Take me back

to those days,

when I don’t lack

the words to say.


A few drops of inspiration,

something to set the mood.

Using my imagination,

to write something good.


Perhaps, my talent is missing.

But, I can’t seem to discern why.

I used to long for writing,

letting every word go by.


I am thirsty to create anything

that will leave your literary soul

hanging, banging, jumping, craving.

Will I achieve my goal?