PLACES

The tear-drop shaped island

 

Captivating. Mesmerizing. Insanely beautiful.

Finally laid my eyes and indulge on the beauty of Siargao known as the Surfing Capital of the Philippines. This unexpected holiday trip awakened my inner thalassophile  persona. It was a dreamlike escapade shared by wonderful set of friends and new-found friends too. The white sand, water in different hues  of blue, dazzling waves, native ambience and the welcoming smiles of the locals there made up this stunning island. We had our speed boat rides during our one day island hopping on the three renowned islets there: Guyam, Daku and Naked islet.  We also explored the natural pool at Magpupungko and witnessed the right-reef breaking and the surfing frontiers at Cloud 9. This four-day getaway lift up my spirit and prayed in awe that this will hopefully not the last.

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PAPER AND PEN

sunkissed

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warm hugs of the breeze
and the clingy air whispers
the sand as the blanket
and the skies as the roof
with bare feet and radiant smile
the island welcomed her sunkissed

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PROSE AND POETRY

Lost and Never Found

She thought to be the wobbly thread on the clothe of your jacket you hid from your closet long years ago that you ought to remember to cut but immediately forgets. She felt like a hook, a clip  or a clasp that you just wanted to find when you ought to need something to be fixed, to hold on to and then leave somewhere else when you are done with it. She sensed that for you she’s one of the heaps of  papers on your cabinet that you barely recall the significance of its content. She was the thickest book standing in your shelf that you lazily turn its pages and then abandon it in one corner.

Remember how it felt to never locate a thing when you need it the most at the moment? When it seems so  invisible?

Just because something was there all along doesn’t mean that it will be there for so long.

 

PhotoFrom: Pinterest

 

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INSIGHTS

Street Lights

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topview at Butuan City

If you are a traveller (I know we all are ) ,the road is not always paved with the rays of the sun. The street lights are crowned by the stars at night. They invade the way up to where our destination should be.

At those dark times of the day, we all the more appreciate the “stop’s and go’s” , the “slow down’s” and “this way’s”, the glowing sketches along that guides and reminds– signages that are the map that we compromise as our safety.

We, at the end of the day, has our set of people we treat as our streetlights and signboards during our darkest hours.

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PROSE AND POETRY

Hi Reality

the sun was up but her room was in its darkest
when the most awkward smile faded off on its palest
and no matter how she closed her eyes
Reality kept on knocking
oh could you lay down your cards this time?
than play knives with your sugarcoated sayings?

give me  my blanket, my pillows and the truth
are you the flame burning and am I the moth?
I’m not here to beat around the bush
I’m not here to give meanings to your every hush

So I dared, took courage, to let Reality enter
and then I, on that room was at first, bewildered
gazing on how Reality brightened  every corner
atlast! I was awaken from that awful nightmare

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PAPER AND PEN

Silence

She could hear the loudest sound of the breaking of the needle through a fabric of denim cloth, trying to patch up and stitch the split of the textile that shows a part of her skin with scars of fears and longing. She could feel the pinch of pain, undulated by its sharpness and the drop of blood from her fingertips that mixed into the tears dried up through the years of trying hard to make things right again.

She could see the broken strands of the thread like her broken dreams lying asleep into the corner, waiting to be found and awaken.

After a long while, she then picked up all of the stitching tools, wiped away the red liquid, set aside the  busted needle.

Well then, for sure, there will come a time she will patch things up again.

She just need to put her feet up. She just need to hear the loudest sound through the silence of oblivion.

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PROSE AND POETRY

For her…

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Photo credit: @karl14

For her, he is the ring on her phone that makes her get up despite of her lazy times.

For her, he is a caution that reminds her to slow down whenever she runs out of calmness with her storms deep inside.

Forher, he was the mirror that creates her best self despite of her ugly days.

For her, he is the breaker of silence when she was choked up with regrets and insecurities.

For her, he is the long spade on the clock that ticks for the every second that counts.

For her, he is her safe haven — a escape, an open diary of her what and whereabouts

For her, he is her morning rays and her late night hiatus

For her, he is her music that serenades and always comforts

But she is a maze and a jigsaw puzzle.

She is a haze,and  at times a riddle.

Still for him, she is his all time favorite song.

and he doesn’t mind reading her notions all along. ❤

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