Strange Plants on My Vase

The flower stalls are a long, long way from our place. Still, I couldn't resist the temptation of seeing new sights, people, and minute-stories. Saturday afternoon, at a time when the sun is mild in our skins, I ventured out. I took the usual jeepney ride and let its wheels do the talking for thirty to …

That’s not a rag!

A gray shirt which used to be charcoal black.  It's ends loosening, letting go of the strings. They say I'm done.  But my girl-boss, my bearer - she puts me on like she heard nothing.  Maybe, it's because she's a little bit sentimental.  Maybe because, unlike her other clothes, I help her keep that mystery.  My …

Fixing: broken

Humans are weird. Only we have the compulsion, the addiction to fix the broken. Tight, we tie it with strings Closer, each loose ends stitched Snug with droppings of gooey white glue. Ponder: What if this 'broken' trait's part of the scheme? If by design it is scattered its flaws lingered? Too late Would we …

Clean this, Write that

I've been looking at that pink cabinet for some time.  Every time my eyes graze that spot, I would mutter to myself: "It needs cleaning.  I will clean it.  After..." But I don't. Because my mind wanders as my hands often do.  It will attend to dusting that wooden shelf; mop the stained floor; and …