Tuesday, March 29, 2016


Jiwaku kacau 
bagaikan langit yang gemuruh
menuggu datangnya sang angin
pembawa rindu dari pinggiran dunia

Yang tak terungkap dibibir
terbuku menjadi puisi
ditinta menjadi janji
dijunjung menjadi doa

Wahai langit,
      Sang lestari,
              sayu ini tiada berubah
              disebalik tabirmu yang luhur
              siapa saja yang menuggu? 


For L. who is encouraging of my half-baked endeavours.

Saturday, March 26, 2016


the promise of belonging is the pull of stars
and heavenly bodies
to the skygazer who sits by himself
making conversation with his soul

Monday, March 21, 2016


Each passing day feels like a brick. A brick cemented into place in this looming Wall in my path. Soon this Wall shall be unscaleable and I will find myself in a place I have glimpsed far too many times in those dreams that haunt me; a place full of silence and longing with nothing but piles of dead leaves that crumble into dust at the whisper of a touch. 

"How lucky for you, that your path is set. I myself face an uncertain future," said her.

I peered at the naive girl and thought how wrong she was. I exist in a cage set to descend into the nethers of a pit. A 'set path' indeed.

I am tired of feeling. Let me rest.

Sunday, March 20, 2016

High & Dry

There was a time when I felt like I could brave the world as long as I have two very particular things in my life.

Well times have changed and here I am, high and dry.

Monday, March 14, 2016

the moon is a crescent

The moon is a crescent tonight,
    amidst the tremolo of the singing crickets
                the human warmth of the dark
                the laments of my worn soul
       I embrace you in my thoughts

The shadow upon the moon
is a mirror of my quaking heart
      and you, Star,
      are the Sun of my eclipse.

Thursday, March 10, 2016

Right now, it feels like there will be no happiness in my future. 

Everything keeps getting harder and I am so tired.

So tired.

Sunday, March 6, 2016


Occasionally, the things you've buried unearth themselves; like ghoulish things they haunt the recesses of your mind. . . occupy your very soul. So much so that you become blind to reality and find yourself in a space of pure sentiment—sacred, scarred and scared.

I admit this for I know the time will come when all I have to keep this ancient ache at bay, is my own resilient soul.

Not to worry though, I have learned to not constantly dwell on things. I have my poetry, I have my heart, together they keep me alive.

What is a journey without experiences? Even if it was but a mirage; to it, nothing compares.


It's a wound when it needs healing, which unfortunately requires time.

There are times that I wish I did not possess such a feeling heart but then, to be an unfeeling person? Such depravity. A sham.

I would rather endure the burden of feeling.