Personal blog posts and poetry, the unfiltered notes in the margins of everything else.
His hands are tainted with crimson mess, / For he did things that no one could do. / Who ever is laid down in front of him, / He slaughters without mercy; he cut slashes and hacks, / Without a speck of neither pity nor shame. / A tool of death that has no free…
Continue quest →Underneath the Santol tree I laid, / Staring at the dark blue sky, / Waiting for that magic to happen, / Of the moon to share its shine. / As the time went deeper through the night, / The moon showed its light. / Slowly puffs of golden beauty, / Started to break up the…
Continue quest →A missing piece of him was lost; / Been wondering for 6 years. / And the other half forgot / That this part of him was missing. / The lost one lost faith, / So as his strength and hope. / While the other half continued, / Thinking that he is a complete man.
Continue quest →Playing a guitar you have to strum its strings, / Making excellent or terrible melody, / But which ever you play one thing remains the same; / The aches and pain from your fingers. / Some say you’ll get use to it; maybe you will, / But the pain will always be there as long…
Continue quest →He wields a sharp blade to make his craft, / Not to kill but to give people life. / A sheet of cloth he wraps around his waist, / And a tall pleated hat he wears with pride. / He starts the fire; make it burn wild, / Then slowly he calm, tame and befriend.
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