I haven't written nor read poems for the longest time for a lot of hidden reasons. So, I never imagined writing another one out of boredom and being awake in the wee hours.

I left it untitled but here it is anyway:


The night is long and so are the words
Just like the novels about warriors and lords
Suddenly in the bleak of the night I am here, scribbling
The words I've kept which I should be saying.

I think you're incomparable; for you have shown me the real person that you are.
You know how to say "Okay, I'll shut up now" and still mean it.
You give me options (in case I'd chicken out) but then I know, I've made up my mind and planned it.
While we're both bookworms, I somehow like the way you disagree with my choice and I don't frown.
That's because you know how to say "hey, to each his own"

You do make me cry. But it's not out of anger or disappointment but of laughter.
I like spending conversations with you that lasts for hours
That I wish the night won't end.
Those talks never dared to bore me
Not even a bit.

Funny but, there are times I tell myself
I wish I could hear you sing too.
Probably, Seasons of Love
And I promise, I won't give you an evil laugh
If the tune would ever get messed up.

I like you even with the little things.
Out of shallowness, you once said I was heaven sent.
I can remember you telling me that...for it was also in March just two years back
At that time I was hoping you'd cut that snottiness some slack.

And you once said, "I want to be like Dr.Seuss"
I came and left unable to ask why you hate adieus

I guess I once said I think I have almost everything in my hand; except for that someone.
I tried to say it just for fun;
But then jokes are half meant just as well.
And I remember when someone told you this on that night that fell.
She told me you said, we can never can tell.

Mushy, all right. Pardon me. That's what you get from being up and awake in the early hours. And while I am writing stuff like this, and even got a little lecture about sestina (though I'm a bit familiar about it) courtesy of my seatmate-slash-office mate Carlos yesterday morning, I don't like to take it seriously like how I did back in college when I was still an editor where I was able to scribble 117 poems in four years, lest I'd be going through Sylvia Plath Effect.