The Way We Were Not




The walks we had at Normandy,
where the beauty
of coastlines,
of half-timbered houses,
of grazing cattle,
of Mont-St-Michael–
were all not enough,
to take our eyes
away from each other.
The Gondola rides we had in Venice,
where an ardent gondolier
serenaded us
of La Vie En Rose;
of La Mer;
of L’Hymne a L’Mour-
and yet none of his French repertoire,
was romantic enough,
to have our ears turning pink
for the murmurs we exchanged,
for the kisses we stole
and our rendezvous
‘neath and top the blanket
before and thereafter.

The snorkel we had in Maui,
where dancing dolphins;
where startled sea turtles,
where coral–pillowing crabs,
were not entertaining enough,
to stop us
from playing under bluewaters
as we teased and chased
one another.

The gazing we had at Empire State Building,
where the 360 panoramic view of New York City,
nor the stars,
were of grandeur enough,
to keep our hands on the binoculars,
as we fondly held each other.


The glories of once in a lifetime romance,
they were all
so heart-piercing to remember;
and too soul-haunting to forget.



But hey,
those were not
the way we were.

For those dreams,
were not
what we used to share.

Like Luther,
we just dreamed a dream.
No one cared.


A Thing of the Past

A Thousand Winters



A fading symphony
once playing
before the brightest stars;

A falling floret
once blooming
from million miles afar;

A dying wick
once flickering
in the darkest nights;

A dripping crimson
once flowing endlessly
as a vector of life and dreams. . .

. . . now nothing
but scattered fragments
of forgotten wishes–
sunk six-feet down under
the lake of broken vows
for a thousand winters.

A Home Is Not a House


A House Is Not a Home.jpg

For it’s not about big rooms and heavy doors
of different locks and knobs–
neither the security they bring–
but the lightheartedness
that comes with
solace and peace.

For it’s not about walls and beams,
which seem to be
formidable sources of strength–
yet inevitably degrade over time;
But it’s about the sense of belonging
that guarantees
true stability.

For it’s not about furnitures and appliances,
or anything that provide luxury;
But what matters,
is the humility of the households
who happily embrace
shared responsibilities.

“A house” indeed,
“is not a home-”
for it’s never about the woods and bricks
of which it is built;
but the love and dreams
of which
it is filled.

To Live or To Die For


by Aina P. Balagtas

There are battles in the greenest fields

and in the bluest seas;

corpses soak in bloods of their own–

to men of dignity and valor

they belong.

There are battles in the wildest forests

and in the most sacred skies;

destitute remains unidentified

noble souls soar to heaven

mightier than the mightiest eagles fly.

But, the toughest battles

are fought hard in a hell deep inside

by medal-less warriors defeated by rotten pride–

fatalities of truth–

buried alive.