Skip to main content

Moonstruck



Last night, I was having the usual neurotic fixation with the moon. I was talking to her, admiring her light and beauty… but to my dismay, the clouds covered her up and it felt like the moon decided to close her doors on me. In a couple of minutes more, the rain started to fall.

I guess it’s her tears… I guess it’s her way of pouring out her sadness… It must be pretty lonely up there, shining her light to people so they may find their way out of the dark night, sending romantic moonbeams to lovers in love and soothing crushed souls with her consoling silvery luminescence.

It’s like the moon have these invisible arms that hug people in despair (hug me!)… but the ironic thing is that, is there someone out there who embraces her back? Is there something that consoles her as well? Does she receive appreciation with those romantic beams that she so willingly give?

And this is what I’m doing. Trying to give something back to her… I maybe an insignificant speck of dust in this vast universe, nevertheless, this tiny act is my way of giving the moon what she deserves.

I can’t provide her light, I can’t console her… and most especially, I can’t send her romantic moonbeams in as much as I want to. All I can give is the promise that she is not alone. Even at times that she’s not there, or just like last night, even if the clouds were covering her, I am secretly keeping her company. Using her as my muse for my poetry, my writings and well... she is my muse in almost everything i do… I am immortalizing her in my thoughts, for I will always remember Luna.

I know it sounds dumb and perhaps people would say I am imagining things again. Sorry to burst their bubbles, but i am not. I really don’t think that these are lunatic episodes (but even how much i try to explain, they wouldn't understand anyway...) 

I’m just trying to feel. I mean, I don’t think I deserve the title ‘poet’ yet, but this is  precisely what I’m doing right now. I am trying to look at the world in a poetic perspective.

Or perhaps,

My admiration and fixation with the moon is my way of healing…

I bask at the abundance of beauty coming from the moon, so I can understand my emptiness…
Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

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...
Post a Comment
Read more

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 ...
Post a Comment
Read more

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...
Post a Comment
Read more