It’s your day

One day, I would meet you in an unexpected way. 

Perhaps clueless, in what would I say.. 

But I will dare to look intensely in your eyes

Where I may find some truth in the midst of lies. 
One day, I would hold your hands tightly, 

Like I am gripping on a rope desperately

To feel that I am not falling apart in a piece 

Well, atleast, I still have reasons not to cease. 
One day, I would kiss you with full lips.. 

Exchanging breaths, sharing the same bliss. 

I’ll touch your face and satisfy my sight

With you–near me, this feels so light. 
One day, I would embrace you with my full arms.. 

Then I’ll let my self touch your chest with my palms

Let me feel that heartbeat– your inner song

I’ve been yenning for that to happen so long. 
And one day,  i would let you feel my flaws and strengths

I’ll  let you see me through all my depths

I’ll let you hear the echoes of my yesterday

And I’ll let you to be my present, might be my future– I pray. 
This is all my deepest thoughts that I want to say…

To the man who’s reading this poem today…

Your futuremate

Time Speaks


Time speaks pain

When endurance can no longer be felt.

Time speaks wrath

When ties are pulled by dark forces.

Time speaks death

When you’re at the verge of a breakdown

When you’re speaking yet gasping for air.

Time speaks emptiness

When spaces cannot be filled,

When vacuity shouldn’t be occupied.

Time speaks curses

When a single word explodes like a super nova,

When lies excruciate the deepest flesh,

Like razors so hungry to ravish.

Time speaks darkness

When light is nowhere to be seen,

When it hides like a mouse in a hole.

And time speaks itself,

Telling when to feel this, to say that, to hear these and to see those.



Time speaks revolution

When you surrender at the battle with no weapons in hand.

Time speaks reconstruction when everything had vanished and be left with fragments and debris.

Time speaks revival

When you no longer memorize the breathing patterns

When you barely taste the saltiness of tears

When gripping to something is dying entirely

When pain feels like joy

When wrath diverts to celebration

When death coincides with life

When emptiness suddenly overflows

When curses utter promises

When lies unveil truth

And when darkness reveals the light.


Yes, time speaks time,

A time that cannot be restored

A time that cannot be saved

A time that cannot be created..

But time speaks time that can be spent,

A time that can be made by memories

A time that can be settled on its perfect place.


Desperate I was to find the most
perfect words.
Earnestly, I roved the deepest corner of
my thoughts.
Again, words scribbled and they
collapsed– in an instance
‘Rude!’ I said. Forgive me for I cannot
write in just a glance.
Making some fourteen lines for you is
like finishing a puzzle,
All pieces should be put on their right
places and shouldn’t look
like a riddle.
Versifying someone like you is
like twitching my pen out
of the paper.
Odd, you may say, but a person like you
is more than a poem or a letter.
Understatements really fit for
something but not for you.
Rhymes and rhythms to orchestrate
you aren’t enough nor to fill you
a shade and hue.
No one and nothing can complete you,
yet I know Someone…
Eternal, infinite and endless, Who can
replace what is gone
Encompassing you is the Blood
that is full of life and love.
Never you are worthless, for He created
you with an absolute uniqueness.

Nightfall’s Stanza

   In the midst of this wearying eventide,

       a storm rages, galaxies clash,

        an inner pandemonium awakens.


a lulling whisper touches this tiresome ear.

drifting this soul to a dreamless slumber.

      A curtain drawn before this chapter.

Welcome to the Trash bin

It was empty.

Those pages were empty.. as well.

I could write, but it was tight.

The chains were too tight to bear.

The coldness

was tearing every fiber in my core.


could not control every snap.

I wonder

how many bitter tears should I shed?

I’ll wander

to the end of horizon, 

to the height of hills,

to the depth of seas,

to feel the only thing

I’ve been wanting for…


The “Poet-Wanna-Be’s” Feedback for the Spoken Art

Here comes the so-called ‘gateway drug’

Nearing to be a forthcoming addiction.

It’s like a warm caffeine in my mug

Brewed into perfection.

I might forget my words,

so I have to tattoo them by my sword.

There, I’ve written my forever,

obviously, it’s not my page-ender.

Wanting to be a wordsmith

who can strengthen the power of words.

Crafting every thought with no filth

is I want to swear

so these smithereens could go somewhere.

Presenting the thought of a ‘wanna-be’

dreaming to a ‘to-be’.

Preparing you may say,

Hoping I portray.