Poetic Note

If only I can make someone feel so much just by writing:

I would make everyone understand how hard is it for someone who is living life being bullied.

I would make people understand how much does faith values in the world that is so full of uncertainty.

How love can be so overrated and still is underrated at the same time.

That the word ‘friends’ are so important that it is hard for me to even consider someone else as a friend.

I smile just because I’ve been struggling with my life everyday, knowing I have so much things that I left undone and I will not stop getting it done one step after another.

I miss a person on that certain time.

How I wish I can make a difference and trying so hard to make myself a better person.

That my dreams are not just a dream and I shall strive hard to make it come true.

That by living you will know that life have so much more to offer.

And how everyone is feeling the same way as I do and no one else is different.


So quiet that it seems so sad
So silent that it seems everyone is mourning
A hint of sound making it seems like someone is crying
A hint of noise making it seems like someone is breaking apart

A gesture of sound and noise
So silent yet so loud
Never ending voice of something
Signifying the night

Or maybe just an end.


They say the there’s a broken light for every heart on Broadway
They say that life’s a game and then they take the board away
They give you masks and costumes and an outline of the story
Then leave you all to improvise their vicious cabaret

In no longer pretty cities there are fingers in the kitties,
There are warrants, forms and chitties and a jackboot on the stair
There’s sex and death and human grime in monochrome for one thin dime,
And at least the trains all run on time but they don’t go anywhere
Facing their responsibilities either on their knees,
There are ladies who just simply freeze and dare not turn away

And the widows who refuse to cry be dressed in garter
and bow-tie and be taught to kick their legs up high in this vicious cabaret
At last the 1998 show!
The ballet on the burning stage!
The documentary seem upon the fractured screen

The dreadful poem scrawled upon the crumpled page!

There’s a police-man with an honest soul that has seen whose head is on the pole
and the grunts and fills his briar bowl with a feeling of unease
The he briskly frisks the torn remains for a fingerprint or crimson stains and endeavours
to ignore the chains that he walks in to his knees
While his master in the dark nearby inspects the hands with brutal eye
that he never brushed a lover’s thigh but have squeezed a nation’s throat

And he hungers in his secret dreams for the harsh embrace of cruel machines.
But his lover is not what she seems and she will not leave a note

At last the 1998 show!
The situation tragedy!
Grand opera slick with soap!
Cliff-hanger’s with no hope!

The water-colour in the flooded gallery

There’s a girl who’ll push but will not shove and she’s desperate for her father’s love.
She believes the hand beneath the glove may be one she need to hold
Though she doubts her host’s moralities she decides that she is more at ease
in the land of doing as-you-please, than outside in the cold

But the backdrops peel and the sets give way and the cast get eaten by the play.
There’s a murderer at the matinee.
There are dead men in the aisles.
And the patrons
and the actors

too are uncertain if the show is through,
and with sidelong looks awaits their cue
but frozen mask just smiles.

At last the 1998 show!
The torch song on-one ever sings!
The curfew chorus line!
The comedy divine!
The bulging eyes of puppets,
Strangled by their strings!

There’s thrills and chills and girls galore,
There’s sing-songs and surprises!
There’s something here for everyone,
Reserve your seat today!

There’s mischiefs and malarkies
But no queers
or yids
or darkies
within this bastard’s carnival
this vicious cabaret

From the V For Vendetta written by Alan Moore

He who fights with monsters might take care lest he thereby become a monster. And if you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you.

Friedrich Nietzsche

“What is architecture exactly? If art is nothing but significant, and science on the other hand, is the truth of everything that is happening around us, what does both combined mean? The significance of everything that is true?”


“We have this world now that want more of this and more of that but what is that and this without any certainties of why must it exist.”