To all the Robins.


He jumped from the 22nd floor and landed head first,
hands clenched,
eyes closed,
wearing the only pajamas that reminded him of home.

His last call was a plea to a friend to come over and share a bottle of beer with him.
“Sorry I have something else planned tonight” was the friend’s only reply.

There was no letters, no final messages, no broken things.
Only unopened bottles and haunting silence.
No one really knew.

But we knew, aren’t we?

We count other people’s failures like freckles on their face.
Laugh at her deformed ears,
her weight,
their loneliness,
We mock her on the way she stutters and smiled at his defeat.
We stared like spectators from a glass cage,
whispered as if uttering a curse.
And you say, “how sad it is to live like you.”

“.. to live like you…”

Aren’t we all but damn murderers?


Published by

Jona Alday

A corporate slave who finds joy in motivating and leading people but ultimately yearns for weekends and plotted vacation leaves. An Engineering graduate who HATES Math. An acrophobic who conquers mountains. A lover of sleepy towns, dawn, poetry, pancit canton and cats.

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