Most of us move too fast; we scroll, skim, and swipe our way through the day. But every now and then, something slows us down. A walk through trees, a quiet moment by water. That’s the space William Wordsworth lived in. He didn’t just write about nature; he breathed it, trusted it, and let it Read more…
I do not write for the world But the world whispers to me A faint little murmur For it to be told and be free.
You may wonder what inspired me to read and write. Well, it seems all hazy when I rack my brains. I do have a vague picture in mind, though: I was only seven years old. Just like any child my age, I too had a dream. I started writing songs, which may or may not Read more…
Looking back on the days when I started writing, I invariably end up thinking about my nightmarish days in the eighth grade. After all, that was when things really changed. Back then, I had started losing all my so-called ‘friends’ because, well, my grades had hit rock bottom. I even flunked a couple of subjects. Read more…
She waited in the corners As people came and went The winds howled faraway And birds roared above But she only had four walls to stay To have given up her freedom To only be called a beauty O’ what a silly bargain had it been One she had known all along One they Read more…
NoI won’tI promisedNot to cry andThat’s what I’ll doYou won’t hear from meThe way your words slashedLike a knife cutting my heart openI won’t give you the satisfaction you craveAs you clawed at my heart with spidery pincersI am strong as I laugh through the winds howlingI am unruly as you play peek-a-boo with my Read more…
Once upon a time sat a merchant in his house Robbed of his riches he now sat in a hut To feed twelve children and keep their mouths shut The youngest girl of the lot was a beauty Who was subjected to cold and misery One day the merchant heard about his ship’s return And Read more…
Parched was the sky scattered with puffs cottony the blazing heat ball piercing the horizon with raw agony yet the farmer plowed the land and toiled and bruised, drenched in sweat heavens up above gambled and strings of silvery clouds won the bet. Unhurried and carefree, wandered the little child o’ what fun are Read more…
Nostalgia is in the brown half-toothed smile your sister flashes upon you after you buy her the chocolate-chip ice cream instead of the cheaper vanilla. Nostalgia is in the surreptitious smile you catch your mother in, as she stumbles upon an old song that must have rewound the time for her. Nostalgia is the echo Read more…
