woe of the patien(t)ce

i have left all behind

in great necessity

in search for a cure,
to travel with ease

no choice but to endure

the shadow of my shoulders

burdened by the memories

packed away in boxes

(we only have

… what we remember)

my closet’s clothes I could store

but not the skeletons (I wore more)

failed me were luggages of wicker

the hopes, the dreams,

like quicksilver

seeped through gaps of my life

not woven close enough together.

I have reached this land,

a far away land

between two mountains

a cooling stream

to impede my ailments’

predatory speed

the ones for which

there is no vaccine

my strand of heartache,

much different than yours

from behind your cracks,

rays of light shone

but i wade in a field,

of mines and dreams

only one strand,

one blade, different

yet all you can see

is our mass appearance

like the one inside me


i have






so we wait, our hearts quietly wait

in the wind the sun the rain we sway

singing to you who do not know

this is the the grievance of dependence.

this is the struggle of the patient.

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