#chezepoems

16 posts
  • chezeriel 4w

    I first saw you
    as a stranger in
    my favourite cafe.
    Sipping coffee
    unaware of pair of
    eyes taking glimpse
    of you from time to time.

    You love to carry books
    around you.
    Sometimes one,
    sometimes two.

    For two years,
    I settled myself being
    contented of seeing you
    everyday sipping coffee
    and reading books.

    For two years,
    I never got the courage
    to tell you that
    I love the way your lips
    move when you read.

    For two years,
    I silently laughed with you
    whenever you started cackling,
    first a muffled sound
    until you burst into laughing.
    And realizes you're surrounded
    by people, you blushed ranting
    so many apologies.

    For two years everything
    seems okay but not today.
    You came in bearing a heavy heart,
    suddenly the cafe seems
    crowded and suffocating.
    Your eyes wandered around
    and stopped when it meets mine.

    "Of all the sad words
    of tongue or pen,
    the saddest are these:
    'It might have been'."
    You dropped a note,
    confused, I search an
    answer in your eyes.

    "That's John Greenleaf Whittier's
    words not mine."
    You said and left,
    but came back crying
    "It might have been you
    I'm going to marry tomorrow
    if you just had the courage to
    tell me of what you feel!"

    I smiled sadly,
    slowly moving my hands
    creating signs I'm sure
    you don't understand
    for creases slowly appearing
    in your forehead.

    "I love you,
    but I was afraid
    you will not like me,
    I'm not capable of talking."
    A tenderhearted old
    woman translated
    my hand gestures
    to you.

    On coffees, books and regrets,
    the cafe was my cosmos,
    my very own universe,
    pretending stars are
    beautifully aligned
    just for you and me.


    _______________________________________________

    #mirakee
    #writersnetwork
    #chezepoems

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    //On coffees, books and regrets//

    "It might have been"

    ©chezeriel

  • chezeriel 6w

    Reality versus Fantasy
    (An argumentative poem)


    I reality, provides you a tangible scene,
    a sensation of touch that crawls in your skin,
    you can hear me, even my muffled scream.

    I fantasy, provides you a sense of satisfaction.
    I can bottle up painful reality
    and throw it in the vast ocean
    like it never even existed.

    Oh, dreamy land is what you're only good at,
    Flying unicorns? Friendly sharks?
    I reality, with just a single snap,
    palaces and princesses crumbling in my feet,
    how can you be better than me?

    Oh please, don't be so arrogant!
    I fantasy, people come to me.
    I rescue them from your cruelty.
    You may be better than me,
    but I and will always I,
    will be human's sweet escape.

    Dream on, they will come back to me
    after every illusional sessions with you.

    Only because they have no choice!
    You tarnish every hope, ruin every dream!

    I rather be like that!
    Than let them live with imaginations and such!

    You don't understand!
    People need me to survive!

    And so?
    They need me, to keep them being alive!

    ©chezeriel

  • chezeriel 8w

    In the world full of voices
    there's nothing to hear
    except the tyrant scowling
    of my Aunt Mayling.

    Sometimes I thought it's
    my mother's lullabies that I hear.
    But by every clamor of her
    hand when it touches
    my already bruised skin,
    I'm reminded,
    I'm trapped in the den of lion,
    any moment, she'll devour me.

    I saw the most beautiful woman,
    my mom reaching out to me.
    But when the decorated string
    in my neck tightened its grip,
    I saw Aunt Mayling's devilish grin.

    Yet again, I recall, mom is a thousand
    miles away, she's not here to save me.
    But as the hard wood kissed my body,
    I see angels singing, their lovely voices
    bringing me closer to mom,
    my mom who worked all day and night
    that seems perturbed yet hopeful,
    knowing money at the end of the month
    will land in her hand and with giddy heart,
    she'll send it all to Aunt Mayling saying,
    please bear with my son,
    he's a bit shy but trust me he's very kind.

    I wanted to close my eyes,
    for I feel like the clouds seems
    to be settling in my feet.
    And mom appears to be
    a goddess wearing the wreath
    I dreamt of gifting her.

    I smiled, knowing there's
    no need for me to wait,
    mom's head is ornamented
    with wreath made of hope,
    I don't want to take it from her,
    but I can't hold on anymore.
    My little body, can't hold on anymore.
    As my head beautifed with wreath
    of agony and suffering,
    that I can no longer
    distinguish reality from dream.

    It's always like this,
    I see mom, carrying me in her arms
    with all the love the world can offer,
    but I also feel aunt Mayling's wrath,
    as her heavy hand tortured me.




    ________________________________________________

    I wrote this as my heart was broke to pieces last night watching the news about a seven year old boy tortured to death by his auntie.
    His mother is working abroad hoping she can give better life to his son through money but it turns out it brought him to death instead.

    And the most unacceptable fact is that, the auntie claiming she loved the boy and the death of the boy was suicide.

    The boy was seen lifeless sitting on the floor while a string was tied in his neck.

    I don't believe a seven year old can think of suicide. Children are innocent that taking their own life is impossible to cross their mind.

    Besides, the bruises in his body, tells a different story.


    #childabuse
    #chezepoems
    #rf_lang_ch

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    Oneirataxa

    ©chezeriel

  • chezeriel 10w

    The sudden ardour of desire
    enveloped my senses that
    I can no longer reckon
    what's right or wrong.
    His kisses are like wine
    so intoxicating that
    I'm losing my mind.
    His touch feels like fire
    bringing forth sensation
    I couldn't explain.
    This feeling so alien
    yet I'm deeply engrossed with.
    Tell me if this is wrong,
    oh, bring back my senses.

    ©chezeriel

  • chezeriel 11w

    Dear God,
    I had witnessed how
    humanity eloped with evilness.
    With this sudden drive,
    the execution of brotherhood
    took place.

    The rusty truth about human's
    selfishness ruined the poised
    of wisdom you had given to us.
    The inflation of our sins rocketed.
    I am so sorry that we became
    like this.

    What should I do to
    make it up to you?
    Or what should we do?
    You're too kind and generous
    for giving us second
    chances over and over again.
    You've shown great
    tolerance over our evil deeds.
    But I guess it's about time
    to teach us again the lesson
    we tend to forget.

    For us, that we may see
    the error in our ways,
    and may our hearts be
    convicted from our sins.

    And to avoid heeding counsel
    of or closely affiliating with
    those who take delight in
    walking disobedience or
    doing wicked things.

    Give us the punishment
    we truly deserve.

    ©chezeriel

  • chezeriel 12w

    A letter for my Comb

    Hello dearest buddy!
    Sorry for not remembering
    you these days.
    Lockdown has truly separated
    us from our morning routine.

    When was the last time you had
    caressed my long wavy hair?
    Maybe a week?
    I truly don't remember.

    I was looking at the mirror
    when I noticed how miserable
    my hair looks without you.

    These days, every time I woke
    up I don't spend time rummaging
    my closet looking for you just
    like before, I settled on using
    my hand and do finger combing
    and tie it in a bun but mostly
    I don't mind finger combing at all.

    I never took seriously the
    constant nagging of my father
    that I need to at least make
    myself presentable even
    I'm just staying at home.

    Yes! Quite new that a father
    nags, but who wouldn't?
    When you're seeing your
    daughter looks like been
    in war for centuries with
    her so unacceptable messy hair.
    I doubt he wouldn't at least
    give his daughter a hunch
    of how she almost looks
    like a witch.

    My hair looks lank and lustreless
    falling around my shoulder like
    a strings of rotting straw.
    Ugh! Very unhygienic isn't it?

    But staying at home means,
    "Who cares of how I look?"
    As long as I don't smell bad
    I think it's okay.

    Besides, it's not always
    I'm like this, just this lockdown
    made me not care of how my
    hair would look like nestling
    in my head.

    And I think, I'm giving my family
    a wonderful once in a blue
    moon chance of a lifetime.
    They're allowed to criticize me
    of how I look in my lockdown state.

    My dearest buddy,
    please don't feel bad.
    It's not that I don't love you anymore,
    I just quitely don't need you for now.

    Remember how possessive I am
    when it comes to you?
    I don't like sharing you even
    to my sisters,
    you're mine and mine alone.
    That affection still applies
    for you until the last day of
    your service to me.

    Don't worry.
    Starting today I won't make
    you feel alone anymore.
    I'll let you play
    with my hair again as
    you shower each other
    with love only you two
    can do.

    I will always love you even
    if old age starts stealing
    my hair away from me.

    So, smile na.

    Your possessive best friend,
    Michelle

    ©chezeriel

  • chezeriel 13w

    As the kite hastily cascading
    to the ground you can find
    the little boy running to
    catch it before it ever landed.
    The kite runner.

    In dreams of becoming
    a good kite fighter,
    becoming a kite runner
    is the first step.

    He had worked hard,
    as he silently admired
    the colourful kites
    invading the firmament,
    the little boy worked hard.

    "Aren't you tired of running
    after a kite? He's father asked.
    "No papa, you won't get tired
    when it comes to reaching
    your dreams."

    For them it's only running
    for the kite, but for the
    little boy it is his life.


    #thekiterunner
    #booktitle
    #chezepoems
    #mirakee
    #writersnetwork

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    The Kite Runner

    "Aren't you tired of running
    after a kite? He's father asked.
    "No papa, you won't get tired
    when it comes to reaching
    your dreams."


    ©chezeriel

  • chezeriel 13w

    Along the street
    on my way to church,
    I saw three children
    trying to make
    sampaguita garlands.

    Curiosity in me took over,
    I halt for a moment
    and keenly observed
    what they're doing.

    The expression on their
    faces broke my heart,
    for an innocent child
    they seem badly treated
    by the cruelty of life.

    "Little Anna, it's not like that."
    The boy, who seem to be
    older than the two little girls,
    says to the youngest.

    "No one will buy our garland
    brother, the sampaguita isn't
    fresh and what we made
    looks so ugly." the bigger girl
    started to cry.

    "Hush, hush, Malia please,
    don't worry, leave this to me,
    I will make a way." I would
    laugh if this is just an ordinary
    scene of seeing children acting
    so matured compared to me,
    but it isn't, this is harsh
    reality I am seeing.

    I had no idea how long
    I've been watching them,
    not until the little girl
    approaches me.
    "Would you like to buy
    our sampaguita garland Até?
    You've been standing here
    since earlier."

    Instead of answering her,
    I asked back,
    "Why are you here?
    Aren't you supposed to
    be sleeping at this hour?
    Where are your parents?"

    The hopeful face she had,
    vanished upon hearing
    my queries.
    "We don't have parents,
    we're here working so we
    have food to eat."

    I was expecting to hear
    those answers,
    but it did still
    hurt me knowing
    what they've been
    through is no joke.

    I watched her walk
    back to her siblings.
    In the middle of the night,
    where children like them
    should be peacefully sleeping,
    they're here in this cold street
    working for survival.

    Midnight's children,
    yes, the night owned them.
    It owned them that even
    in this hour they have to
    work for their selves
    and is forced to forget the
    reality that they're just children.

    ©chezeriel

  • chezeriel 13w

    Walking in a void space,
    nothing I could see but darkness.
    Forlornness I felt,
    for even my shadow had left me.

    I tried to console my heart,
    but the abyss of emptiness
    seems unfathomable.
    There's no saving for my soul,
    there's no saving.

    And when
    everything seems lifeless,
    my hope, my faith
    was almost dying,
    you came.

    You came like
    a thousand splendid suns
    decorating my darkness
    with your comforting light.
    And I couldn't he happier,
    for at last I'll be alive.

    ©chezeriel

  • chezeriel 13w

    Would you believe?
    if I say to you children
    are magicians?
    Probably you'll laugh,
    but that's where you're wrong,
    children creates magic
    without doing magic.
    You'll see.

    Wounded is her heart
    after everyone turn her down.
    Abandoned by parents,
    despised by relatives.
    Just she got pregnant,
    so young and innocent.
    Her only hope, the father
    of her future child.
    She came running to him
    but the irresponsible rat
    doesn't want to be chase.

    With no one alone,
    except the growing
    baby bump she owned.
    "Baby hang on, I'll raise
    you with might" she cried.

    Months had passed,
    an angel was born.
    The forlorn heart
    of a broken soul
    was healed just by
    the angel's cry.
    "Magic" the new mother
    had said "My angel
    creates magic without
    doing magic. You see?"

    Years and years had come,
    the angel learned to
    crawl, walk and run!
    She giggles, chuckles and
    laughs filling the emptiness
    of her mother's heart!

    Would you believe me now?
    If I'll say they create magic
    when they smile.

    #mirakee #writersnetwork #child
    #chezepoems

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    I'll say it's magic when they smile.

    ©chezeriel

  • chezeriel 13w

    Woman she is, the weaker kind.
    She value less among the rest.
    She utter a word, no one listens.
    Oh, typical stereotype,
    discrimination never cease.
    "I fancy words more than men.
    If marrying my own poetry is a way
    to taunt the world of its indecency,
    I will." She says unfazed.
    She may be hindered to raise her voice,
    but no one can stop a broken soul,
    in bloodlust of scribbling her thoughts,
    for it is evident she got the
    art in her veins.

    ©chezeriel

  • chezeriel 13w

    Chaotic thoughts cascading
    like a massive waterfalls.
    Her mind jerked and she
    can no longer reckon.

    Countless of dreams
    perhaps life met their
    demise fighting a battle
    with their own self.

    Can't figure out
    of heads or tails
    as to why it exist,
    but it does exist
    and to say the least
    not in a friendly way.

    Devastation,
    that, it always brings,
    like a parasite leisurely
    frazzling its host.

    Anxiety, depression,
    deprivation, violence,
    alcoholic misused,
    insecurities
    and discrimination
    they all evolved
    annihilating a healthy host.

    A sensitive case this is
    to tackle over a family
    dinner treat but the
    awareness to it
    can save a million dreams.

    To say the fact,
    this case impervious
    to accolades and
    achievement.
    Socioeconomic status
    not a hindrance
    for sowing its saplings,
    thus, we must adhere
    to make effort on
    spreading information
    and awareness.

    For this wasn't born
    just yesterday,
    but for centuries over
    centuries it reigns.

    An extreme stigma
    on human existence.
    A struggle ever since.
    Mental health illness
    a red stain.

    *********
    #mirakee
    #writersnetwork
    #chezepoems

    @mirakee
    @writersnetwork

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    Her mind jerked and she can
    no longer reckon.

    ©chezeriel

  • chezeriel 14w

    Love is really tricky, isn't?
    I shouldn't be feeling this way,
    I don't love you, or maybe I do,
    I'm confused and I'm hurt
    that's what I know.

    Seeing you happy while I'm not,
    I see it an insult, not to my pride
    but to my heart.

    Who was the one saying,
    "I can't live without you"?
    It was you, right?
    Ironically, it's you who's living
    and I'm the one who's not.

    Did you ever really love me?
    Or I'm just one of those beautiful
    charade of yours?

    Plaything.

    You see love as plaything,
    Your view of love is different.
    It's so different, you're different,
    I'm different perhaps that's why
    I'm hurt because we're different.

    #chezepoems

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    It's different.
    You're different. I'm different.

    ©chezeriel

  • chezeriel 14w

    Still blurry was my eyes
    but the shining smiles in your
    faces shows what the world meant.

    The touch of your love,
    caressing my yet confused heart,
    provided the feeling I'm safe in
    your hands.

    Like a new born cockatoo,
    scared and unfamiliar with
    the rules of life, having you
    as my wings, I learn to fly.

    Growing up in a world where
    evil deeds lurks everywhere,
    you outshine them by showering
    me kindness and unconditional love.

    From the moment I opened my eyes
    until now, you became my inspirations
    making me a warrior of life.

    Storms had passed shattering
    all hopes I have, avalanches of
    regrets that shaken up my faith,
    you didn't failed to be my rainbow
    after every rain.

    You're my hero not known to
    the world but is known by
    every bits of flesh that makes
    me whole.

    To what I am now,
    is the outcome of your
    everlasting support,
    I am me because you made me, me.

    And to that,
    I'll return all the love,
    and if possible surpass it
    more than the world can provide.

    My dearest mama and papa,
    thank you for your love that
    continously lightens up my path.



    #parents
    #chezepoems

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    Having them as my Wings,
    I learn to fly.

    ©chezeriel

  • chezeriel 15w

    STRANGER

    Strange this white heat brewing in me.

    Trapped in my mascular organ that should only be pumping blood.

    Reserved is I am, I always has been, but this,

    Alien knots of emotions, trying to invade me.

    Nowhere to go or how will I stopped this?

    Gratitude to this emotion, I no longer feel.

    Ending it, is my one and only aim, for

    Ruthless it can be, I'm afraid I have no control with.

    ©chezeriel

  • chezeriel 15w

    PRIDE

    Predestined to be the ruining agent
    in every relationship.

    Rules the heart more than love
    can do at times, an

    Innate behaviour of an egocentric hombres.

    Destruction to one's self and others
    it always brings.

    Extinction of this sapiens' behaviour
    should be it's ending.

    ©chezeriel