I Am Buraot

First Part of a Series

I wasn’t keen on reacting to satirical pieces made by journalists as long as it is made with class. A joke sometimes creates something more meaningful than just a dose of laughter. It is art imitating life and thus the creator had nothing to do but become the messenger of what he or she sees.

It is the collective burden of the readers and the society as a whole to distinctively see the social irony that was wrapped in silly soliloquy. Continue Reading…

I came from the realms of the undead.

I am still conscious of my being, but just can’t seem to move, say anything nor do anything. I haven’t seen the brightness of day for quite sometime.

Personally displacing myself from the sunny south, I had come to a chilly state, a welcoming and albeit a refreshing change of environment.

But roaming the new city every night, night after night, took whatever strength I had left in my decaying corpse.

Each morning, just when I’m about to glimpse the very first ray of the mighty sun, I could feel my very own weakness. Such a pathetic vulnerability. It was my personal cue to head back to my conveniently unmarked desolate crypt in the northwest. Continue Reading…