Pagsisisi ng isang manunulat

Ang nakakapanlumong karanasan ng isang pilosopo

Sa kanyang pag iisa hawak ang sigarilyong tumutupok sa kanyang katinuan,

sa bawat hithit at buga ay sya ring bilis ng proseso ng mga ideyang di mawari kung dapat pa nga bang isipin o hayaan na lang.

musika, sining, pilosopiya – Kabayo, damo, ulan at buwan.

Di dapat ito pagtuunan ng pansin. mga kontradiksyong kinapapalooban ng pagdududa

Mga katotohanang napapanis sa tagal ng panahong di napagtuunan ng pansin.

“Tama!” maski ang katotohan ay dapat ding maubos.

Ang nakakalungkot ay ang kawalan ng lakas ng loob,

At hinayaang takot at pagdududa ang mamutawi sa iyong kamalayan.

At isa ring tulad mo ang nakapag isip ng ideyang ito-

Sa pagitan ng pantas at ng kawalan,

sya ang di natitinag na sabihin ang kanyang nasasaisip

Binigyang kulay,

pinalawig ang emosyon,

at isinalahad ang kanyang saloobin.

Habang binabasa ang kanyang akda

Wala ka ng magawa kundi tumunganga.

At sinasabi sa sariling,

.“ay tanga! Bat di ko naisip yun!”

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A Blank Verse Poetry

I ran this morning. Gray sky, nothing special. Weather that doesn’t force you to feel anything. Usually, I wander without purpose. Today, something stopped me. Time is a trap. We pretend it’s limited, but it isn’t. So we rush through it—steps, choices, life—until it all blurs. The small things disappear. The smell of earth, the quiet air. Gone. A song got stuck in my head. “I’ll stop the world and melt with you.” Unwanted. Persistent. How did it get in? Maybe fate. Maybe nothing. I don’t believe in destiny, but here I was—stuck in the sound, stuck in a loop. The world paused inside me. I didn’t move. The day went on. Hands trembled—not from connection, but from the weight of existing. Scars on skin—maps of past failures. Nothing clean, nothing clear. I touched a cheek. No softness. Smoke? Habit? Grip loosened—like sanity slipping. Wanting to let go, but afraid of the emptiness that follows. I kissed a cheek. A stupid move. A laugh broke the silence. A glitch. A mistake. Coffee a...

The Slow Death of the Familiar Lie

The 2025 elections just ended. Not with fireworks, not with riots—just the quiet unraveling of yet another chapter in our nation’s long and complicated dance with democracy. There’s something different in the air this time. Something subtle, like the way dusk falls before you even realize the day is gone. You feel it before you name it: a shift. Not seismic, perhaps not even visible to the untrained eye. But there, like a whisper at the edge of a crowded room. People have grown wiser. And no, this isn’t naive optimism. It’s not the kind of blind faith that wears campaign colors and chants slogans. It’s the kind of wisdom that comes from repeated heartbreak—from choosing hope too many times, only to be betrayed by men in suits and smiles. From believing in change only to see it morph into the same old trapo politics dressed in newer fonts. “Pain is a brutal but effective teacher—especially in a country where memory is often the first casualty of every election cycle.” But maybe ...

The Tension Between Hope and Despair

This is w here the light breaks just to drown. Hope isn’t some pretty thing. It’s a slow burn that keeps you awake at night, fooling you with a whisper, “Maybe this time.” It digs its claws in, even when everything screams you’re done. Hope’s the hook you can’t shake, even when it’s tearing you apart from the inside. Despair doesn’t wait politely. It crashes in like a storm, cold and sharp, and it doesn’t care if you’re ready or not. It doesn’t dance with hope—they fight. It’s brutal, ugly. Despair wants to swallow everything whole, leaves no room for mercy. There’s no peace between them. It’s a war you didn’t sign up for, but you live it every damn day—grasping for that fragile flicker, even as the darkness tightens around your throat. You hold hope like a lifeline but feel despair pulling the knot tighter. No balance. No graceful dance. Just a mess of broken promises and shattered dreams. Hope keeps you chasing ghosts; despair waits, patient, knowing it will win. And the worst p...

Fragments of the Quiet Mind

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