Another day,
Another name,
A new tally
To tick off a chart.
Another face
Burned away,
A new score
To a losing fight.

Another home
Lost a life.
Another burden
On our minds.
Another prayer
On our lips.
Another angel
Has been given wings.


This is for everyone out there who has lost a loved one to this pandemic.


An endless sea of strangers,
stories interwoven,
creating an endless saga of dreams.
I just love connecting the dots,
following the patterns formed by interactions.

I lay back, wondering
how many faces I’ve passed by,
how many voices have said their hellos and goodbyes,
how many tears drenched these worn out streets,
how many…
how many…

The list goes on and on
flowing through my mind like a stream,
each passing moment
fading in and out like a dream,
and I am left to wonder
where our stories go from here.


Note: It took me a while to come up with a final draft for this poem, and until now I’m still thinking about the cohesiveness of this. It just started as a random thought that I wanted to write down and worked my way from there. Hopefully you guys would be able to appreciate my work this poem.


I wonder,
when the world is sane again,
if I can walk these same old streets,
drink in these once-familiar sights,
and still recognize them.
I wonder
how much has changed
since I last visited
these long-forgotten places.
I wonder
how much more
of the old world
no longer exists.
the only way to look
is with a new set of lenses.


If I Wanted To

I could write a poem for you
if I wanted to.
I could use a thousand or more words
if it would make it more meaningful.
I could swim every ocean,
walk every mile in between,
if I had the strength to do so.
But I’ve lost all the words
to the song I used to sing,
and my muscles can’t take another step.
All I can do is watch you fade
into a beautiful, distant memory
of what used to be.


Black and White

I used to dream of a world
where everything was black and white.
Maybe, I thought,
in this perfect world,
no one would see my flaws
or my scars.
The illusion of perfection
seemed so satisfying to me.

But perfection isn’t beauty,
and beauty was never built to last.

So I learned to color by numbers,
painting in every detail,
and in doing so, I found my happiness,
and the joy of being free
eclipsed my need for admiration,
and I was most satisfied.


Photo from Pexels

One Day

Give me one day
to stretch the minutes into hours.
I swear this time
it will last forever;
no second wasted,
no word left unsaid.
Just you and me
in our little bubble of infinity.

Just give me one day.
I promise to make it right.


Photo from Pexels

Soleil et Lune

The Moon ruled the night sky,
her lonely existense
extinguished by the little stars
she formed from her tears.

When she slept, her lover rose,
the Sun in his majestic light.
He dreamt, in his waking hours,
of holding her in his arms.

Their love was destined to die,
but against all odds,
it blossomed
like the flowers that grew below them.

Their story was written in the textbooks,
told and retold throughout generations:

Every cycle,
every shift of the universe,
was a promise
for their eyes to meet,
their souls to touch,
until that fated day,
when their paths crossed
once in a millenia
for a momentary dance,
when light and shadow become one;
a sight to behold
from the heavens above.


Photo from Pinterest

Pandemya, July 22nd, 2020

One hundred and twenty eight days
spent counting calendar pages.
The World slowly breathes,
measuring irregular heartbeats.
She looks in the mirror
at her reflection;
she sees a face
she no longer recognizes.


Note: When I wrote this, I counted 128 days from the start of the enhanced community quarantine period in Manila until yesterday.