What we had in the past–had me seething in rage,
Smoldering our memories as they glow into bright orange,
Flames of love has gone out and fiery coal of hate remained.
And I sluggishly burn every part of you off my brain.
But just when I thought everything has turned to ash,
I saw you in the crowd and the breeze lashed,
The embers of our love has crackled back into life,
Melting away the hatred and tears as they fall on the fire.


The Redeemer

Life was a blank piece of parchment,

Till God reached out for the quill in the pavement.

He wrote our story with meticulous statements,

So good of him for a bunch of wonderful moments.

God adds more color in it for more excitement,

He let gaunt stuff engulf us for a moment,

And see if we’ll still hang on to him while we lament,

He’ll never ever leave in every predicament…

As our story unfolds quickly,

God made it more quirky,

All these–made it definitely hazy,

But that’s how he would know if we’re flimsy.

He then stopped for a while,

Let the blank ink blot in the white…

Let the crimson blood drop with a sigh;

But certainly joins us whenever we cry.

As soon as he sees, we seem to be lost,

In a desert, feeling so cross,

He’ll let us drink the entire oasis for no cost,

And pull us out of that hell, in a coin’s toss.

As soon as we proved our faith was strong enough,

He’ll give us the quill without a bluff,

The pen of life will soon lie on our palm,

To write our own ending in sync with God’s Psalm.



Debris of the crumbled columns were everywhere…the pieces of a once beautiful edifice lie on the ground…Despite the wreckage, it’s evident that the architecture of the structures that once stood there were astounding. Glints of gold shine among the wreck as the sun’s rays strike them… There’s no chaos more beautiful than this one. The perfect ratios, the symmetry, the stability, the magnificence, the grandness, the foundation—nobody would have imagined such perfection to sink into oblivion. Dust and smoke filled the air…exaggerating the havoc. An acrid smell hung loosely in the air—burnt flesh…blood…the putrefying smell of death itself… It might have been Rome…the ruins of a rich empire makes it look like Rome…

From a distance, you’ll see a shadow…You’d need to squint to be able to see—a slow-moving-figure engulfed in smoke and dust and soot. Everything else is lifeless…and the moving figure looks just as lifeless as everything else…almost like an apparition…a mirage…but IT is alive. (it’s more appropriate to use IT instead of he/she because IT looks more like a pair of clothes dancing through the breeze than a human being). The shadow took numerous steps…even from a distance they seemed agonizing…The shadow endured them…nonetheless… IT might have been a Roman…the bravery and strength and will of Romans throughout the history and stories and myths makes IT look like a Roman…

There were guttural cries echoing…exasperating sighs filling the voidness…sounds of small stones crushing beneath someone’s feet—the only signs of life from IT…The figure got closer…walking away from the chaos. Alas! IT is a girl!!! She might have been a Gladiator…no, she doesn’t have the armor, or the shield, or the sword, or anything else…she doesn’t even have the energy to walk and it’s a miracle how she mustered to take those steps…She’s a walking-bruises-and-wounds…each one looks more painful than the other. Still, I can tell…she is a gladiator…a champion of her people…a champion in her own little ways…

As soon as she left that beautiful mess where she was found…she started to blend in. There is indeed something beautiful that can spring from the ruins…In her own little actions, she never lose the ‘Gladiator’ blood in her veins…She doesn’t need a colosseum…or a skilled warrior and killer as her opponent…or the roaring cheer of heartless people…She only needs her animal-like fighting spirit…She’s a predator refusing to be a prey… She’s a prey acting like a predator…

Her life is a long, unending combat…She emerges from her daily battles wounded but never defeated…She made a mental list of all her plans and dreams—all of which has a corresponding fight she has to win…all of which is a level higher and harder than the previous one…But, she’s a Gladiator…she’d rather get killed fighting…than doing nothing at all…She’d rather be the ‘show’, rather than sitting and sinking and blending with the crowd to just watch it. She became obsessed of it—not the battles…but the victories…She wanted more…she couldn’t stop now…not ever.

She has to tackle the drudgeries single-handedly and throw them to the ground like a weightless rag doll. She has to dodge the blows and strike the unseen opponent…She gets thrown to the ground so many times…and getting up is always harder than the last one… But she is a Gladiator. She’ll keep on standing up even if she’s getting beaten up to a pulp…

Sometimes, it gets to her…You know, a life-long combat is exhausting even for a fighter…even if she happened to defeat her opponent today…it will resurface again tomorrow. How can you fight an immortal?— a darkness that never dies…a negativity that never leaves… She’s unstoppable though…She’s addicted to victories that even when she can no longer think straight, it fills her brains…She’s restless…She’s fixated on attaining her next dreams…

She took off her helmet, she removed her armour, she threw her shield down, she put down her sword…She stood on the battlefield as bare and as bold as she could ever be…she exposed her vulnerability…her flesh inviting arrows and blows…She’s fearless…or that’s what she wants people to see her at least…She held her head up, just like what a warrior should…

She bolted…she ran towards the enemy as she pretended that she’s not shaking in fear…exhausted beyond words…She ran faster…and she pretended that there’s nothing within her but that animal fighting spirit…She ran faster—faster than she ever had—towards her enemy…and before the collision, she shouted…no, scratch that, “I”…I shouted… I AM A GLADIATOR…I AM ‘THAT’ GLADIATOR…from the ruins… and into the ruins… and the ruin itself…I AM HER.



There she is–peering into the clouds,
Her radiant beauty beaming from above…
A lonesome goddess who shines without Love,
Even without any companion she will thrive.

As darkness creeps to life, a solitaire travels,
Numerous phases of faces–uncontestably hard not to marvel…
Embraced each of her changes, every night a new one to unravel…
Slowly taking her time until she’s full enough to dazzle.

Shackled into the skies, she sits with elegant grace,
Flaunting her ethereal loveliness for every soul to gaze,
Deep craters cover her and still nothing could get her fazed,
She embraced her imperfection and it has set her ablaze.

An ever-changing, burning ball, floating from afar,
Powerful enough to pull the oceans from shore to shore,
Binded with mysteries down to her very core,
I couldn’t help but stare at this goddess even more.

And down below, I am admiring her, shivering on the chilly night,
How darkness engulfed her but the stars made her crown is a sight,
I was reaching out to her with eyes shut, as I pray with all my might,
To be like her–alone, evolving, imperfect but zealous enough to fight.



Clear Out

Written by Carol J Forrester

I’ve been decluttering my heart recently, prising open the hidden parts I’d forgotten existed. But inside there are faces I don’t want to look at again. Over the years they have changed, lost any softness they once held, become darker, gaunter, crueler now the games have stopped. They are the ones I couldn’t let go of. Tucked away in secret spaces, their claws dug in too deep for me to do anything but move them around like knick-knacks, from the window, to the dresser, to the cupboard under the stairs. They have gathered dust but never left. Now when I look, I see they have shrunk in size and their talons don’t hold the same grip. They are easier to peel away, like plasters left on past a scar healing. They simply fall off, used and worn out.

Every Moment in Between…

Every night as you lie down, you fool yourself that tomorrow will be better…

Every morning as you get up, you pretend that it’s an opportunity to make everything anew…

But every moment in between, you wonder how much longer will you be able to make this cycle go on…

How many more nights and mornings will you spend fooling yourself that you can make it?

How do you escape from feelings that consume you?

Sometimes I wonder how my heart could keep up with all the emotions I feel all at once…with all the feelings surging through me…
I wonder how i could manage to endure the intensity of each…the extremity…
One heartbeat it was all exhilarating feeling, and then on the next it was a complete melancholy…it was different on every beat and it was intense every time…
Everything is a climax… every moment is a peak… every action has an automatic reaction… and it exhausts the hell out of me…

How do you escape from feelings that consume you?