To our Syrian children

You heard the bells,

And soon

Your tiny hands and tiny chin

Met the ground

And then you said,

Words beyond your grasp

Uttered in generations and

Generations passed

Echoes in the city

Echoes of words

You cannot grasp

Your tiny lips

That makes your sky wide smile

You whisper words you cannot grasp

Then a sound

More of a roar

Much louder than the bells

The booms and blasts,

And bellows heard throughout

You cannot grasp

And soon the air

Is thin, so thin

You cannot breathe

Your lungs they burn

                A colored dream

                Of red and ash

But you’re wide awake

                You’re standing there

You wail

You cry

Your eyes are swollen

Those big blue piercing eyes

Are bloodshot now

And one by one

No, by tens perhaps

Bodies drop

                On dirt and dust

And as you twitch

And lie with them

Those you played with

On rare calm morns

Their tiny hand you held

Their tiny lips you sang with

You twitched

And twitched

And twitched with them

                As if a dance

And when the pain

Cannot be bore

When you cry

But with tears no more

                The air escaped one final time

                You cannot hear the wails, you cannot feel the sore

You cannot hear no more

The words you cannot grasp

And they who killed you

They’ll fall on ground again

And say the words you haven’t grasped

                They have heard those words too much perhaps

                But they did not want to really grasped

Your blood was the price

Of blood owed by generations passed

You fail. You start again

When the sunrise decides to cover itself with monsoon clouds

And the birds of morning decides to sleep forever,

You should only light up a cigarette

And take that deep breath

And smile

That you see a day in a different palette

When the movie doesn’t end as you wished it to be

And when you hear the answers that you’re not looking for

You should throw your fist up the sky

To know that you’re not dreaming

That you’re living and still hoping

And when the castle crumbles, that one you built with blood and sleepless nights

You should close your eyes

And dream of a new one

With better walls and taller towers

And you should open your eyes

And learn from this failure

For the world will never turn for you

Nor the tides will part at your command

But thru your hands

And thru eyes

You hope, you dream, you fail

And you start again

Ang shota ko

Chubby ang shota ko
pero hot daddy ang dating

My bigote ang shota ko
nakakiliti...


Mahilig bumili ng Entertainment Magzine si shota
at halos 1/4 lang sa mga nandun ang kilala kong artista


OC ang shota ko
gusto nya lagi akong nagsislippers pag lumalabas ng kwarto
kasi yung aso ni landlady hindi house broken

Nakakatawa ang shota ko
minsan hihiga kami sa kama.. magkukwentuhan tapos tatawa lang ng tatawa
madalas dahil sa mababaw na usapan


Maalaga ang shota ko
hindi kakain yan hanggang hindi ako magising
kahit maging lunch na yung breakfast nya
para sabay kami


Understanding ang shota ko
minsan magrerequest ako na tawagan nya ko para magising
kasi mantika ako matulog
tapos ang record nya ay 86 missed calls...
(sorry)

Sweet ang shota ko
minsan ihahatid nya ako to work
kahit na alam kong sobrang galit sya sa traffic



Mahal ako ng shota ko
sa panahon na kailangan ko sya
lagi syang nandyan

para iyakan
para makipagtawanan
para tumulong
para magmahal


Mahal ako ng shota ko
at mahal na mahal ko din sya....


Labyu shota happy 16th! RAWR!