A Rebirth Story

“I want to be reborn,” she said decisively.

So she plucked the moon and marinated it in poison;

she ground oleander and water hemlock,

and drank the decoction from her porcelain tea cup.

She gathered the stars—near and far, and far and near—

into her bosom, burning her skin

until she was stripped to the bone.

Then she swallowed the sun

and let it burn her further,

until all her wishes, her desires, her hatred,

and her attachments that had been deeply engraved in her bones

became nothing but whispers and ash,

carried by the wind

and scattered into nothingness…

“I want to be born again…”

Then she woke, and became a butterfly.

Luna x Sol

She was the moon, mysterious and ethereal;

He was the sun, bright and magnificent.

The day she was born

Was the day he died;

His arrival,

Was the day of her departure.

They were each other’s destiny,

Yet they were never destined to meet;

They were each other’s fated pair.

And both unaware, followed different orbits.

Though fated, they chased and ran,

And followed others

Without pausing to realize the restlessness in their hearts.

They were always a distance away, sometimes a breath,

But their paths would never cross

-Maybe not in this lifetime,

But perhaps in the next…

Hopefully, in the next.

Regrets

They linger like ghosts

in dark corners,

behind the potted birds of paradise

decorating the corner of your study;

and even when the living room

is brightly lit by the sunlight

coming in through the picture window,

they sit silently on that worn lawson sofa –

gaunt, with blank eyes

that stare at the black and white abstract

you hung above the fireplace.

They keep you company in your empty kitchen

as you eat alone on your four-person dining table.

You see them standing in the corner

by the towel rack

when you look at yourself in the mirror after your bath.

And they blend in with the cold in your bedroom,

as you close your eyes tight

and bury yourself deeper

under the covers, hoping

they don’t visit you in your dreams.

Despair

It begins with an itching

that one cannot relieve by scratching

the outer layer of the skin;

it crawls, and spreads silently

from the mind to the smallest crevice of the heart

and hitches a ride with your blood cells

along with oxygen,

incorporating itself into the metabolic process.

Sometimes, it becomes a permanent resident

and gnaws at the last threads of hope

stitching you together.

A BL Story

Two guys walk into a bar and order drinks.

One orders a whiskey sour,

the other an old fashioned.

There was instant chemistry,

and the cozy ambiance had them drinking

to Troye Sivan’s Seventeen –

sipping and swallowing the melody,

breathing in the rhythm,

and ingesting the alluring scent of whiskey

mixed in the atmosphere of quiet conversations.

The lyrics, reminiscent of their wild youth

that has mellowed with age and

the clinking sound

of ice melting in the glass.

The melody, entangled gracefully

with the meandering cigarette smoke

as it wafted from intimate corners.

They found themselves drunk

on whiskey and love.

[If] Atlas Shrugged

You’ve been holding the heavens on your shoulder for so long,

enduring for an eternity without respite.

If you shrug, then the heavens would fall,

and the earth would shake.

Olympus would be thrown into chaos.

Perhaps they’d think you’re inciting another rebellion

– another Titanomachy.

But the truth is, you’ve been thinking of your fellow titans,

your brothers and sisters in arms.

Wondering who has it worse –

your eternity or their suppression in Tartarus?

Guilt prevents you from shrugging.

So you continue to bear the weight of the heavens,

atoning for the tragic beauty of your rebellion.