midnight crisis

eyes closing for a moment
brings me to a wide river
flocked by gray pigeons
gliding on the still surface
the midsummer sun
burns my skin as i
sit on a rock that looked like
a broken tv set
i could hear the cricket's song
and the ants' march
beneath the tall grass
they are so noisy
i taste the air
and it's dry
dry like the tranquil winds of the sandstorm
i breathe
and the smell overwhelms me
the scent of flowerless pasture
killed recently by the harsh sunlight

but a mosquito bites my neck
and i'm back in front of my monitor

i have a lot of work to do

Scribble

monotony
-Ulansigaw

The clock is ticking

ticking

as the voices and chalkdust dissolve
into nothingness.
The sun drying up the air
as the clock ticks
second after second
each passing like a game of golf
that I watched, eyes half-closed
in the gray of summer,
or like a moment in a jeepney
filled to the brim
while the driver waits for another to come in.

Still the clock ticks

ticking

ticking

So I scribble
scratching my pen on the paper,
connecting dots and dashes
each curve making a screeching sound;
a sound of solace.

But the clock still ticks
pulling my sight into void.
The clock ticks and ticks
lullabying

me

to

sleep.

---A scribble in my creative writing class. Still a rough draft though.