Notes from a writer 

Streets are full of souls all thinking at once, the energy that brings us together is caught up between right and wrong, between emptiness and fulfilment We are wondering souls all walking on a path that leads to where our answers will take us 
Are we derived from helplessness? 

Are we certainly lost? 
I met a certain soul sitting by the park scribbling on a piece of paper 

The wind pushed through 

her notes flew close to the bin, I saw her looking at them, she rushed to get them before they get devoured by grass and dirt. 

I picked them up and handed her the scribbles 
She looked, 

took her papers and smiled 
She left 
We are not wonderers of hope 

We are wonderers of our existence 

We wonder around our scribbles because it means that we are writing a story 

We are telling a tale

A tale of solitude

A tale of belonging 

Ambitions run free 

Our notes are our identity 

Our writing is pictures of our life 

We represent life with the notion of telling a tale 

That is the case of a writer 

On the grass 

Or in an apartment 

We are free in our minds 

To think and believe in our characters 

To smile and punish our desires 

By a tale 

That will live longer than our wondering selves 




A world lost ofHope 

Pain tightens its grip  


Children awake, new lands 


Woman’s last tear 


Man’s finds his ship 


Maybe it’s time to turn a page




Pain | Love

This pain I feel
This pain I feel
This pain I feel
This pain I feel

Consumed every part of my soul
Driving me into insanity


The thought of you brings me
The thought of you brings me
This thought of you brings me

I feel structured when I was stuck
I feel helpless when I was here

Pain or not
Love it may be
Hurt or other
It sounded sane
I know for now
I may be in pain
But I am in love.

So I wait.


I want to travel
I want it to rain
I wish the sun wasn’t dry
Hoping it smiles

I think of trees
Wish they grew taller
To shelter us more

I love these white walls
I wish we had bluer clouds
I want it to snow

I hear violins
Asking me to sing
I hear notes
Asking me to speak
I am an orchestra
Full of life
Without life
Within life

I am here
But not existing
I am alive
But not living

I want to travel

The Box – Part 3

Helplessness is a deep emotion, it is when grief fills every part of your soul with the deemed thought of a lost future, where having control on what may happen is not within your scope, being truly lifeless with emotion, glaring into the reality of pain, when even melancholy feels bad to be surrounded by you, that is when you decide to lose your true self. At this moment, captivated by the indulgence of safety within my box, I want to feel helpless, but I had hope, I knew somewhere, sometime, or somehow, this train ride of confusion I am in will eventually stop and drop me to the right destination, to my home, to where I feel I belong, that is, if only I knew where home was.

At this moment, I am still trying to figure out where I am, or where would I be tossed once again. It seemed like it was just hours when I met the first person, or looked at them directly into their eyes, I haven’t felt safe until that moment, I had a moment of truth, that moment where I realized I would be saved, a distant thought now comforts my struggle.

I heard a foreign language,  I didn’t understand, but I grasped that I wasn’t in my native country anymore, they were discussing something, then suddenly I was picked up and then blasted to the ground once again, then I heard laughs, this hurt my legs as they were numb, I tried to knock once again, I wanted to tell them that this box was not empty, I was in it, but as I was attempting to knock once again, they picked me up and slammed my box to the ground yet again, my back cracked, I was then picked once more, at this moment I gave up trying to rescue what was left of me, I knew this hit final or not would be the end of me, I felt my back crack once again as gravity took my body, my eyes watered its outer self, I prayed I wouldn’t be put down once again, I prayed they would hear me, I prayed they would be gentle on this box, but the laughs got louder and louder, until I couldn’t hear anymore and dozed off to oblivion.

I woke up suddenly, I wasn’t dead, my legs were fine, my back hurt but it was probably because of the position I was in, curled up like two polar bears in a jar, it wasn’t easy to correct your position, I just hoped for a toss so I could turn. I didn’t hear voices anymore, it was silent, it was empty, I couldn’t feel where I was, I placed my ear closer to the crack at the far edge of the box, I felt the strong wind blowing, passing by the box in high speeds, suddenly my box rocked back and forth, I was in a car, going fast, where was I going once again?

After some time the car stopped, this journey felt longer, but this place is familiar to me, the breeze, the smell that surrounded the box felt old, but known, I knew where I was, or I thought I knew.

I was picked up, and this person walked slowly, held the box tighter, he whispered some words, those were signs of being worried, I felt he is going somewhere he knew and was hesitant, as he was walking a tear fell on the box, he began to pick up his speed, running but I felt in slow motion towards somewhere, he put me aside, and another door opened up, I peeked through the box I wanted to see what was happening, a lady walked out, beautiful, with grey dark hair, wrinkles around her eyes, puffed face, but she was surprised to see him, she was glancing at his face for some time, then she just hugged him tightly.

I knew her, I didn’t know him, but I have seen her someplace, somewhere, I am not sure how or when but I know that I have seen her. Then it hit me. This was my mother, and she doesn’t know I am lost, almost 15 feet away from her. She hugged him and comforted him, before walking in she asked him about carrying the box he left outside, I started to knock and scream, wishing that she would hear me, hoping she would help me, but he smiled and nodded, she then kissed him and they walked inside.

I am left outside once again, now I know the true meaning of being helpless.

The Box – Part 2

Congestion, indigestion, I feel acid punching itself in my stomach, the pain squeezing the last breath I take, the moment where I discover I am obsolete, out-of-place, but still I reminisce on my better days, my happier days, although dark and gloomy it was refreshing to be surrounded by smiles and affection, I didn’t need to ask for love when I was always in lust, the feeling of believing in everything positive,  this was my cure, this memory gave me strength to breathe under this surface, over the seaweed and swarming fishes, over rocks and muddled sand, I knew in some time I would lose myself, for good, forever.  I felt my box getting stronger, as if it created a new layer over itself, as I ponder my decision of death I remembered what brought me here in the first place, why was I lost in this box.

I closed my eyes, at least to realize that I would die in my own terms.

After what seemed to be minutes of delusion, I woke up to the sound of winds and the feeling of dryness, I heard children around me, kicking a ball towards me, I felt it hit me once, but then it disappeared. I heard discussions and frustrations, food being passed by, I was in movement, and then I stopped. I was dropped in somewhere, I feel it was a closet because it was darker, I heard a man in the other room talking to a woman, they started shouting, they started throwing things, then the door slowly opened up, someone walked in to the closet, I felt someone breathing on the box, touching the box, I feel they wanted to know what was in it, who was in it, why would anything be there, then suddenly the loud voice of the man barged in, he carried what I assumed was a child and I could see from the cracks on the box that he was waving, I wanted to scream, a tear fell from my eye, I felt I didn’t have any voice, I wanted him to notice me, to help me, to call for attention, I tried to push the box but it wouldn’t move, I wanted to scratch and open the crack of the box but I couldn’t feel anymore, my fingers were numb, my eyes were weary, my senses were deteriorating, slowly loosing myself once again. I wanted to be saved, it was simple, because the truth was much harder to grasp.

After some time, the man came by and carried me, didn’t he expect to find a human inside? What was he thinking? Does he know? Or is he oblivious to the obvious? I need to give him a sign, maybe he truly doesn’t know that I needed help, but isn’t he listening to the sounds of my feet, I knocked my foot twice to give a rocking motion to the square-shaped box but it didn’t affect him at all, it didn’t give him any sense of discovery or question, I feel hidden, not from him but from reality.

I was taken on the same cart, and he hummed a song, it was Nocturne in G minor, a beautiful piece of music, a classic, it had subtle waterfalls and pianos being played alongside each other, it felt as if I was lost in the wilderness once again, the song had notes of giggles and laughs, it was filled with joy, I knew I was in pain but this song brought me back to living once again.

Once it was over, I woke up, not on the cart anymore, but somewhere else unknown.

The Box – Part 1

This emptiness I feel, awakened by the sound of large boulders passing by, dark noises pierced through this shaded empty box, I am in it, I feel concaved with depression, aroused by the unworthy desire for silence. Do I want to be saved from the box I am in, do I want to regret being alone, now, I hear much louder noises, they are starting to disappear, fading away into absence. A smile lights up the darkness of this container I am in.

I hear water, am I in water, am I lost, am I found, am I floating, am I near shore?  I need to leave, but being curled up in this box makes it harder to breathe, I want to move but I don’t want my box to burst, I need to keep it in tact. My life is confusing, it has always been this way, I want to move faster but always slowed down by the reality of the future, the disparity of nature, not being nurtured, always faulted by actions than reactions. We must tolerate our worst enemy to please our best enemy, our self, our own belief that life is much better to coincide with danger, to befriend the devil, but to allow the angel to sit beside you, talking to you, still the angel doesn’t understand you, while the devil does, the devil listens, and pays attention to your mishaps and applauses you on it. Why is this box shrinking, will it blow, will I drown, I’m sure now I’m in water, I hear whales passing by, the hum and noises they make when they brushed the box gently, the sharks conspiring  a plan to divulge me, when to take me in, I’m in pure pain, my legs hurt.  The octopus snug’s itself under the box and hugs it tight pushing it closer to the end of the earth, closer to the coral reef, to the bed of the sea, far from safety, closer to darkness, far from protection, the idea of being free is not a fact, it’s a distant memory, should I disappear, close my eyes and think of a better day, when I wasn’t here, when I wasn’t feeling like this. The day I saw a horse glancing in front of me, looking directly in my eye, I saw Its mane brush its forehead in slow motion trying to say something, it slammed the ground, once, twice, brushed the grass with its hoofed toe and came closer at this point it is almost 2 inches between us, I feel its breathe, then, out of nowhere it got shot in the stomach and I was on the ground hoping to get shocked by my own death. I was saved, by whom, by what. Why was I taken away from this scene, why was the horse shot, were they aiming at me? I will never know, but when I was awake I saw blood, those hairs that once brushed my face are now brushing the grave, full of grief, this eased my pain, being in this box, being in this hole of depression, knowing I will be saved somehow, allowed myself to breathe once again.

Though how am I truly breathing?