For You

All she wanted was sincere love, even if it meant walking upon thorns barefoot or crossing through forests.

It wouldn’t hurt her the slightest, as long as she had him, by her side, for the rest of her life. 



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Palpitating Organ

When the pain descends to the inner depths and reaches to attach to the organ we call heart,

It’s not long after, like an adrenaline rush, it shifts with uneasiness, ready to erupt like a volcano. 

The remnants of its blazes, reaches like a knot in the throat, trying to swallow it quickly before they appear on the outer surface of my body. 

The eyes, I aim have been untouched and unsensed from the inner turmoils, keeping them dry, and viewing them to make sure they have been unchanged. 

No sadness.

No tears.

No Redness.

Until all alone, all gushes forth, pouring out, what I held; 

what I call pain. 



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There’s a hidden story behind them,there’s a secret hidden pain, 

those deep, yet long wrinkles, that attempt to hide the scars in vain.

Her sad sunken eyes searched for someone lost in the distance.

I noticed a tear tremble as she tried her best to avoid them in resistance. 

Who was it that she longed for? who was it that she searched?

who could have left her so broken? Unaided as I continued to implore. 

She looked at me; as if it was her final goodbye,

I held her hand to reassure her; as she began.. 

to close her eyes.


When one reaches old age, help them and learn from them. Don’t break them even further.

There’s much you can find just by looking into the mirrors of their soul. 


Memories are like fragments, we place together the ones we like, I like to place my happy ones together, leaving my painful ones aside. 

I like to sometimes recall them, especially when I’m sitting alone,

They are like a comforting, dear friend, who is still to others, Unknown. 

They’re like my little secret friends, whom I visit when I like, inviting them in when I want to, disregarding them when I like. 

Memories have a special place, that we hold them close inside, disclosing them if we wish to, sharing them only with those whom we confide. 

Memories are like little fragments, keep them close, keep them locked inside.



Empty Spaces




Are my words,

lines and verses,

the only way for people to read me.

What if I left dots . . .

and empty spaces.


would they not suffice to know me.

What about a barren land,

that is left deprived of any existence ..

That emanates to bring forth

some of the greatest verses,

poems, and stories.


Are my words,

lines and verses,

the only way for people to read me.




If only there was more emphasis on reading people more than what’s around them.

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