On Lightning and Crickets

Horizon darkened by clouds, majestically hovering high as it hides the darkness of outer space. I see the sad eyes of eternity looking back at me with consolation, as if she feels my grief. Living in an utterly void existence for the past couple of months without doing anything or saying anything is starting to backfire. I feel succumbed to the painful liquid memories of yesterday. Trying to reach for that last drop of hope as I am trying to steal an elixir from the heavens, but how can one mortal manipulate the gods?

In my spot I see the vicious whiplash of the misty wind as it shakes my garden. The trembling lightning looks like strobe lights from the sky dancing in an overture to a long orchestra of nothing but loud reverberations and crashes. They are like kids, playfully jumping from one cloud to another. I am seduced with the scene as I try so hard to capture one bolt released from Zeus’ majestic hand with my phone cam.

My thoughts are drowning with the rain as my voice is overpowered by the thunder. It would be more humane if I was struck right here and right now since I have been struck with far worse things, I sincerely think that no lightning can harm me anymore.

I don’t know if I can still keep this silence, though I know I must... Every day, I am held captive by the all-around terrible-ness of things though I am still not used to it. I am missing the wisdom-filled kind of conversation with the moon. I want to believe that I may not see Luna, and despite the distance spiritually, emotionally and physically, I hope the moon still understands me. Am I solaced by the idea that she understood me in a history written not so long ago? Should I be? It must be amazing to have that undisturbed cognitive tranquility, higher than pain, fear, anxiety and superior to any form of hostility.

Along with this fudging feeling comes remembering, how she shines like the lightning. Ah sweet lightning, you are often misunderstood. Your beauty is often unaccounted as your magnificence is frequently seen with fear, plainly because people are afraid of things they don’t know. You come like a lightning bolt, intense, intimidating, yet ineffably beautiful. You are lightning…

Along with the trembling sound I remember laughter…

Along with this majestic display of lights, I recall how I am amazed by words and promises…

Along with this summer night thunderstorm, I reminisce moments when I use to drown and bask in the irony and tragedy...

The howling wind passed by quickly. At around 10 pm, the night sky was already clear. As I sit here in my comfort zone, I am now surrounded by silence (except for the chirping crickets). The melodious ensemble of the trees, wind, rain and insects have turned into a muted black and white movie as my mind wandered off with the silence and the chirping crickets. (oh yes, side comment: crickets are pretty noisy and annoying, but how come that most people incorporate crickets with silence? How Ironic…) My thoughts are drifting through the pitch black darkness with only the light from my laptop illuminating my spot as I sit at the porch. In as much as I want to chase the moonbeam, I can’t as the clouds are still there. It’s absolutely dark and I am surrounded by silence, what a night, oh what a beautiful night.

When I recall nights like this, I always find times when I realize there are too many things left unsaid, as if all I ever said were nothing more than chirping crickets.

*chirp*

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 ...

Stars and Songs

It’s 2 am and I am still awake. Though I had a long nap this afternoon, for some reason, my stubborn brain suddenly erupts in these manic streaks. My mind suddenly reboots itself and in a couple of minutes, I become as hyper as a kid who just ate 27 chocolate bars. Since it’s pointless to lie down and struggle to find the best position, I took my laptop, go out at the porch and started writing. As sat there, I looked at the heavens and there shines my moon together with the stars. The sky was barren of clouds and you can perfectly see how the earth is blanketed by the dark sky as the moon and the stars gave it an enchanting touch. The moon’s light is waning, so are my thoughts. I guess I am lunatic as I can write lots whenever the moon goes full. I consider the moon as my muse so I wondered, Why can't I shift my obsession to the stars? I think this is quite improbable. Stars are illusions, I mean, most of the time, the light that we see from these stars are actually t...

Fragments of the Quiet Mind

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