A paradox


Source: Google Images. Photo not mine.

Was I really the fire that caused you to melt?

Do you know how it feels to be asked the sun

when all you can offer is the splendour of its reflection

placed in a vast, night sky,

together with the incomprehensible wonder of diamonds –

breathing and demised?


Do you know how it feels to be asked a rainbow

when all you can offer is the rain that comes before –

the one that contains droplets

which could be of both

glee and poignancy?


Do you know how it feels to have the world

that witnesses clarity in darkness,

light in shadows,

and jubilee in melancholy,

But still not be desired?


Do you know how it feels, my dear,

to have everything

which, in your eyes,




Who am I?

Source: Google Images. Photo is not mine.

For those who easily judge the depth of the river by sight, and who struggle coping with the river currents. 

This is my fifth jeepney tale.

I am

a plane without a pilot

always stirring towards jeopardy,

 and circling the sky without control

but with direction.

I am

a puppet without a master,

speaking against its own will

and dances despite its utmost reluctance,

but presents itself intelligibly.

I am

an eternal poem without an author,

extending infinitely with words

blending with such violence,

but later proves to be a

masterpiece in an unending progress.

I am

perhaps who they call “lost”

or the one who is momentarily


I am

who they describe to be in a

“poignant phase”

or in a

“period of exploring”.


But beyond the scope of their thinking,

the name-calling, and the

incomprehensible paradoxes,

I rest with the fact that

I am someone

who is driven

by a melancholic absence.