Waves Without Sounds

When things come crashing on the shores of the mind.

To Love You


To love you is to love a lot and love so easily.
To love you is to take a shot at loving endlessly.

To love you is to love the sky from morning until night.
To love you is to love just why and for whom I must fight.

To love you is to love your smile and all your sorrows too,
Because, my love, you are worthwhile in everything you do.

To love you is to love a world so different from my own
For which I’d abandon the mould of everything I’ve known.

To love you is a peril and to find peace and leisure.
To love you is to understand attachment to treasure.

To love you is to find a home in a living being;
It is to paint the monochrome with colors worth seeing.

To love you is to live anew in every waking day
Which, love, I get to spend with you until I wilt away.

To love you is to find the bliss that transcends all the worlds
And be sure that I’ll never miss the things this life affords.

To love you is to love a song in its cacophony
To love you is just to belong in blissful harmony.

But, dear, the joy of loving you, is nothing compared to
The bliss of being loved by you and knowing this is true.

So now, love, let us keep this love for all eternity,
Let’s hope to gain experience of unending ecstasy!

The Disappearing Rock Formations

I decided to make a new category to accommodate personal stories or anecdotes which I itch to share with you all. This began because I was about to post this story in the NoSleep subreddit but held back because I was uncertain of this story counting as a scary one. I hope you like it!

My family hails from a small town in the Philippines, situated right beside the Pacific Ocean. Despite being devout Roman Catholics, my folks still firmly hold on to traces of animism such as believing in tree spirits, fairies, dwarves, and other folklore stuff, to the point that we communicate with them. Honestly, supernatural encounters have become an ordinary part of our quiet town lives and I’m not even sure if I should begin with this one. Nevertheless, this is one unforgettable story which still keeps me up at night thirteen years later.

My first encounter with these rocks was when I was six. We were vacationing from Manila at the time and were spending the day at the beach in the middle of a cape. At the farther end of the cape is a steep cliff of yellow-white rock with lush trees and vegetation on top. I see it clearly as I type this– the pallid rock with greenery on top, the blue sky and the sea of the same hue– it was enchanting.

My mother was the first to point it out. “Look! It’s like a lady asleep!”, I remember her say in our native tongue.

The rest of us clamored at where and how it looked like a lady asleep. She pointed out that half the face was buried in sand and all we saw were her closed eyes, brow ridge, forehead, and hair of trees and shrubs. Surely enough, the lower portion of the cliff at the edge of the cape formed a pair of bulges that resembled a pair of eyes peacefully closed, with the vegetation right below playing the role of eyelashes. My aunt took a picture of the said rock formation and we spent the rest of the day uneventfully.

The picture my aunt took was developed (as we did not have digital cameras back then) and displayed in the shelf of her dental clinic back in Manila. It proved to be an interesting conversation piece. Acquaintances from our town who’d visit my aunt’s clinic were told of the rock formation. We returned to that beach a lot more times and we’d acknowledge her petrified slumber before going about our business. She was like an expected companion to our beach excursions until 2004.

I was eight when I was stung by jellyfish in the same beach and that was the last time I saw her. When we returned a few months later, the closed eyes on the cliff were gone. We have known the place for ages and there was no way that we were in the wrong beach. We were in the same spot by the same cape, but the rock formation was not there. In its place was just a boring cliff with no peculiar formations to offer. I reasoned that maybe it was eroded, or that there might have been a landslide but the people living nearby could not recall landslides at that cliff. People just noticed that it was gone one day.

I was able to convince myself that it was nothing supernatural and that the people just didn’t notice the erosion or landslide. I was content enough with this explanation until we returned to Manila to find that its picture at my aunt’s dental clinic has gone missing. Perhaps, it must have been a coincidence, but what an eerie one that is!

My family preserved the story of the sleeping lady as a conversation piece long afterwards. The rock has long been gone along with the picture, but the story was repeated to an acquaintance from our hometown. This acquaintance claimed to know of a rock formation just as interesting. It was situated in an islet not far from the cape and took the form of lovers locked in an embrace. He said it was detailed enough to make out the limbs, hair and torsos of a male figure and a female figure kneeling while hugging each other, their faces buried in each other’s shoulders.

My aunt decided to go see it with that family acquaintance. The said acquaintance has been to the spot several times and had no trouble finding it. However, the petrified lovers were also gone. A handful of people also remembered this formation, but they did not notice it turn into a shapeless boulder over time.

So far, those were the only disappearing rock formations we know about in my family, but they were enough to confound us for years to come. I cannot ascertain if both formations were of the same rock type though. I have not returned to our hometown for years mainly because the busy pace of city life has seized me. And like in the rest of the Philippines, people have left our hometown for greener pastures. However, that town is still home to my earliest memories, and in those memories remain things beyond explanation.

When We Fell


I have forgotten when and how
I came to love you so.
I wonder if it matters now,
If I should care to know.

This love wherein we fell, my dear,
Feels threateningly deep
For someone who has come to fear
Loving with whom I sleep.

Ah, but what woe it is to wake
Without seeing you smile;
What sorrow it would cause to break
This bond that’s so worthwhile.

We’ve known each other for so long,
It’s just too hard to tell–
And yet, somehow, it feels so wrong
To pinpoint when we fell.

Maybe it was the first climax
Or the clear afterglow,
Or far earlier in flashbacks,
When you I came to know.

Then again, do all these matter
Now that I’m loving you?
To know the start, will I never
Have to fear losing you?

You smile and say I need not fret,
And that you cherish me.
You only hope I don’t forget
That, right now, you love me.

So I say, this I’m certain of,
Our love is true for now.
As long as there’s a sky above,
Let’s make this last somehow.

Visions of You


Laughing eyes peppered with
Starlight and mischief.
Lips that kill me when they smile
And awe me still when they don’t.

Moonlight on your forehead,
Firelight on your cheek,
Neck as graceful as the waves
That tease my patient shore.

A noble chest whose rise and fall
Synchronize with peaceful dreams
While your eyelashes rest upon
Proud cheeks in repose.

A thin cloth draped over your hip;
Hair sprayed on the pillows.

Naked limbs wading in
The water of the night.

A pale arm raised,
Long digit beckons
For me to close the gap between us.
Once near enough,
I realize
I merely chase these visions.

Visions of you that fill my dreams
And my reality.
Visions of which I am cured
When I feel you close to me.


Hi! I know it has been entire months since I wrote anything here. It’s just that I’ve never really produced anything worthy of putting here.

For now, I’m opening something more relatively personal–an ask.fm account! Yay! If you’re not familiar with it, you just ask me a question and I’ll answer it. Of course, I have discretion over which questions to answer. Check it out below and ask me something


The Farce in the House of Phillips (Part One)


In the world of metaphors, there lives a young man named Richard Young who has seen at least eighteen summers. His parents made sure he had everything necessary to grow into a fine, well-educated gentleman. He has impeccable manners, is eloquent, virtuous and witty, but fairly impatient. Despite this, for some cruel reason, fate has cursed our young man to never be taken seriously by his elders. And so, Richard now wishes to prove himself to the world.

Now, Richard lives in the House of Phillips. It is a poorly-maintained estate, the owners of which allow wealthier nobles to grab whatever they could from the would-have-been beautiful house with imaginary recompense. This puts the House of Phillips in debt and poverty, and its inhabitants in misery save for the head family. The staff are used to this oppressive hierarchy. Their misery has reduced their perception so much, that they could only follow their masters’ lead. This kind of blind following is what makes them valuable servants however, and the House of Phillips would send its people to other nobles so they could earn money for the estate. It was in the midst of this system that Richard was born. His parents were part of the servants sent to serve wealthier nobles, thus his more refined upbringing as compared to the other servants of the House of Phillips.

Also living in the House of Phillips is a slave named Masa. Masa is as miserable as the rest of the blokes in the lower crust of the House’s hierarchy. Being a slave, Masa is not paid for labor, and is the most frequently and severely abused of all. Despite her masters’ maltreatment, Masa serves the estate with the utmost loyalty and the hardest of work. She was born a slave to the House of Phillips, has served the estate all her life, and perhaps, never dared know any better beyond her masters’ orders.

To be continued…



It has been another long and lonely day, beloved,
Made all the worse without you.
The skies were gray,
The rain has wept its roaring tears all day.

Tonight, the stars refuse to shine,
The moon has cowered too.
Each passing hour is a gloomy blur–
My soul is lost without you!

The songs we sung in laughter, dear,
I now sing all in tears;
The steps I took alongside yours are now
Filled with doubts and fears.

Only your arrival can lift this wretch
From the pit in which he fell–
This pit which your departure dug,
And has become my prison cell.

If I scream “I love you” at the skies,
Will you hear me wherever you are?
Or should I whisper it through tears
Upon a shooting star?

Come back to me so I can make you feel
How much I burn for you.
Come back to me, only you can heal
This heart that’s aching so.

I will wait and wait and wait, my love,
And I will search for you,
So I can keep you in my arms–
I am yours, forever true!

To My Lenore


You must have grown, Lenore, by now into a golden-headed lady
With moonlit skin and freckled nose and supple lips of cherry.
How old were we? Thirteen? Fourteen? Though young, we were never too merry.
But you were mine, Lenore, and I admit I wasn’t ready
To receive and give so pure a love but so filled with melancholy.
Lenore, with my coldness you must have been utterly lonely.
But now, Lenore, I love you back. Or at least, I love your memory.
For you were the only one who wished the very best for me.

Both of our souls, Lenore, were dark; but our hearts remained so pure and true.
And death, sweet death, was our sole wish–an eternal rest long due.
You loved me enough to wish me death. I could not do the same for you.
For I felt little for you then, but now dear, I feel anew–
Lenore, I feel to seek and love you is the only right thing to do.
But however you are right now, Lenore dear, I do not know.
Have you changed so much or have you remained my Lenore? I have no clue.
All I know is that I must go back in time to love you so.

Lenore, I remember my lovers when all is good and oh-so bright;
But when all is dark, Lenore, you are the only one who’s right.
Because now that I have grown, Lenore, I see past the world’s blinding light
You’re my future and my past, Lenore, the only thing in sight.

Writing is NOT so painful! 

The Communion of Deviants


From Kink Karnival Philippines. July 30, 2016|Photo by Mal Columbretis

Welcome, little darling who has found our dim nest.
Here, we crack all shells open and here we exist.
Emerging from the shadows of the normal fantasist,
Is this communion of deviants; this aberrant tryst.

The foundation of our congregation is submission and seduction,
Passion, domination, and utter satisfaction,
Where bondage is freedom and punishment bliss,
And where slaves and their masters are never amiss.

Everything is beautiful and mysterious and dark,
Like a nightmarish dream that would sure leave a mark
On your skin, on your soul, on your mind and your heart;
And long it shall linger, this unholy art.

For as long as there is normalcy and the commonplace,
Us eccentrics will always exist with a face
Masked by expectations of the pious and good
To hide the existence of this unorthodox brood.

The Discreet Office Break


Edifices towering and reaching up the sky,
With the clouds ghosting round their tops.
Below lies the city clamor
Muted by the glass wall from which I watch.

Detached from them like in a dream,
My eyes keep wandering towards these scenes.
And in a trance I would then fall
But rise from it far too soon.

It seems that I am encapsulated
In a different reality
Of numbers, letters, wires and beeps–
All things outside, I’ve left behind,
Uncertain of return.

Glorious it is to be sat here,
Idling my hours away.
Working my mind to uselessness
Come the end of the day.

My “personal personal” blog!

Hi everyone! I was inactive because I was occupied lately and cannot find the time to write poetry. I just thought that if I put anything else aside from poems in here, it would disrupt the flow of “Waves Without Sounds” (get it? “the flow of waves? haha)

Anyway, I made a separate blog for my other more personal nonsense. Please check it out and follow here!

The Ghost Hunter


There are people in my periphery,
When I turn to look, I see no one.
Someone casts their shadow close to me,
When I greet them, it fades away.

I hear voices chattering,
But when I follow them,
They only lead to hollow halls
Where only wind is whispering.

Somebody dashes across my path,
And footsteps fall behind me,
But when I seek them, they disappear
As if they are afraid of me.

Though flesh and blood, I roam these halls
As lonely as these forgotten souls.
Without fear or hate, or intent of malice,
I’ve come to search for restless ghosts.

I only wish to communicate and ask
About the world beyond our own
But like the rest of the world, these haunters seem
To leave me on my own.