Scribblings and scrawls of a hopeless romantic soul



i love her but her hands

Image result for working hands black and white unsplash

i love her but her hands—
from her graying hair to her calloused feet
my heart brims with love

but her hands bring me pain

hands the held our family together
hands that gathered woods to cook meals
hands that eased her son’s worry
hands that brushed her daughter’s hair

loving hands
selfless hands
working hands
praying hands

i love her but her hands
tell of stories that are too painful to read
veins detailing the days
she strained herself to fatigue

last night, i found another scar
from hands bearing the day’s hard work
she broke twenty extra coconut shells,
my mother said with pride

a look at those hands gave me pain

loving hands
selfless hands
working hands
praying hands

i never thought my mother’s hands were that small
some days they’re clasped forming a zipper of prayer
some days they’re clenched into a fist thrown in the air
a reminder of the empty promises of the present and past

i love her but her hands—
from her graying hair to her calloused feet
my heart brims with love

if only i could make those hands my own.


In response to dVerse’s Poetics: Beauty in Ugliness hosted by Mish who challenges us to  find the beauty in the ugly. Image by @nate_dumlao.

As I struggle to find a topic for a poem, an image kept on poking in my head. It was my mother’s hands. Aging as they are… and tired. I was raised by a family of farmers, generations deeply rooted in agriculture. Although I was not of much help in the rice field (if playing scarecrow as a child counts), I was exposed to copra making. I remember the sweat. The late nights spent working. I remember my parent’s tired eyes.

This piece, aside from finding beauty in the ugly, is a tribute to the coconut farmers in my country. In the face of politics and empty promises, I hope they find justice to their plight.

Head over here to join the prompt!


Field Experiment

Copyright-Sean Fallon

“Bye, Mom!” Troy shouted, sprinting towards the door.

“Love you!” she replied, shaking her head in disbelief.

Frankly, Melinda has started to sense that raising a fourteen-year old boy has gotten more challenging each day. Troy has grown to be impossibly enthusiastic, quick, inquisitive, and surprisingly experimental. Just this morning, for instance, he was carrying a jar full of batteries and was looking for more. She knew collecting is a great hobby because it’s unique. But batteries? Confused, she asked what the jar was for.

Troy then simply gave her a wide grin and said, “I’m making a mitochondria, Mom!”

Word Count: 100

In response to this week’s Friday Fictioneers prompt. Friday Fictioneers is a weekly writing challenge hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields where a photo is used as a prompt for a hundred-word piece of fiction. The photo prompt is a courtesy of Sean Fallon. Thank you!

P.S. For some strange reason, this photo reminds me of mitochondria. If there’s one thing that I never could forget from biology class, it is that mitochondria are known as the powerhouse of the cell. HA! I hope this story makes enough sense. 😀

Enjoy more stories here.

I love you still

Written for Inspiration Call: Describe This Scene & MicroPoetry Phrase Challenge

Trying to explain the silence
She stared at the kit
Two red lines of warning
Her hands suddenly shake

Trying to explain the silence
She screamed her heart out
Asked how could it happen
Cursed fate and luck

Trying to explain the silence
Tears rolled down her cheeks
Squeezed her princess tightly
Whispered, I love you still.

Photo credit: Jose Luis Pelaez, Inc./Blend Images/Corbis/Royalty Free Photos

The Gift

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Many years have passed since I left,

In search for a certain gift
As worthy as one’s tears of joy
As prized as one’s last breath

Only to find it in a woman,

An image of love in every inch
Her beauty is eternal like an old photograph
Her heart is pure like a unicorn’s, and

Many years have passed since I found,

The world’s most cherished gift
Unparalleled, priceless, and singular
A treasure. A joy. And I call her ‘Mom’

Just recently, my mom celebrated her birthday and I can’t help but think of her with today’s prompt. She’s always been a gift to me and to our family, well, all moms are.

So here goes my Day 2 entry. A poetry sashimi to all moms out there! 🙂 🙂

Prompt: Gift
Form: Acrostic
Device: Simile

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