Slowly, I unlocked my steps
pressing my sores to the murky ground
pain becomes almost unbearable
will there be nails and thorns
a hole ready to engulf me
or a shroud trying to cover an unbreathing spirit?
Slowly, I shut my ears to hear nothing
including the raspy tremble of my fear
unwilling that I am close to a whisper
I said, “Am I Job’s reincarnation?”
my thoughts muttered underneath its breath,
“No. God isn’t that so hard.”
Slowly, I blocked my senses with a mantra,
“I would die an honorable woman.”
Then I fancied the oat cells scramble through my veins
like rebel troupes killing every innocent soul
leaving bomb shells that will detonateanytime soon.
Fiercely.
Slowly, I began to dread the silence
I was waiting for my soles to be pricked
or a thick cloud of darkness to embrace me
angry mavericks extricating my last ounce of oxygen
my thoughts dwindle in stupor for an explosion
but there was none.
“Am I still alive?”
My lungs inhaled the pollution of this city
then I exhaled a rant, “Off the hook!”
That’s when I realized I am inside a bus home
slept over half-way reading about Death by Jagad Guru
Siddhaswarupananda Paramahamsa.
Cancer killed my mother. I fear that the same oat cells would bring me to my grave. Ah, death!
Saturday, August 9, 2008
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Wild Boar
triumphant, I gave two creatures life
hoping that they impart to the world
the real meaning of their valued existence
like what Jesus did
driving bad spirits into the herd
hoping that they impart to the world
the real meaning of their valued existence
like what Jesus did
driving bad spirits into the herd
Waterlily
floating, freedom to be
loving the water that cleanses what is physical
purifying it in return
symbiosis
the science of co-existing
and the essence of living
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Cubicle
A lad with so many dreams
“I wanna graduate,” he says,
“just give me a chance.”
A future withdrawn.
A heart-broken mother
“My daughter is pregnant.
My son was given no chance.”
Chose guidelines over pity.
Young lady with a pretty face
“I did no wrong,” she claims
“my friends are no goons.”
Cursed the system.
A proud mom I believe
“They cannot touch my daughter.
Negotiate with my lawyer.”
Did justice prevail?
An emotionally traumatized boy
“My parents are in Italy.
Spent vacation there last summer.”
Walked away from reality.
A pained grandmother
“My grandson ran away.
He might have gone to his mother.”
Sheltering a wounded child.
Two energetic freshies
“He hit me hard,” one says.
“You hit back harder,” said the other.
Repairing a broken pride.
One of the two came back
“Please don’t tell my father.
He will hurt me for sure.”
A displaced aggression.
A teeny-bopper craving for love
"I don't give a damn," she whispers,
"Nobody cares anyway." Tears fell.
Pretensions and denial.
An experimenting youngster
“I am not what they claim I am.
I didn’t even say those words.”
Trying to cover a jarred note.
A trusting mother
“I am not after what others think of.
But if it’s proven, he must go.”
Credibility heads on.
All these and more in two months time
an everyday drama unfolds
emotions break free
inside my cubicle.
Posted August 2, 2007 in CABAnata
“I wanna graduate,” he says,
“just give me a chance.”
A future withdrawn.
A heart-broken mother
“My daughter is pregnant.
My son was given no chance.”
Chose guidelines over pity.
Young lady with a pretty face
“I did no wrong,” she claims
“my friends are no goons.”
Cursed the system.
A proud mom I believe
“They cannot touch my daughter.
Negotiate with my lawyer.”
Did justice prevail?
An emotionally traumatized boy
“My parents are in Italy.
Spent vacation there last summer.”
Walked away from reality.
A pained grandmother
“My grandson ran away.
He might have gone to his mother.”
Sheltering a wounded child.
Two energetic freshies
“He hit me hard,” one says.
“You hit back harder,” said the other.
Repairing a broken pride.
One of the two came back
“Please don’t tell my father.
He will hurt me for sure.”
A displaced aggression.
A teeny-bopper craving for love
"I don't give a damn," she whispers,
"Nobody cares anyway." Tears fell.
Pretensions and denial.
An experimenting youngster
“I am not what they claim I am.
I didn’t even say those words.”
Trying to cover a jarred note.
A trusting mother
“I am not after what others think of.
But if it’s proven, he must go.”
Credibility heads on.
All these and more in two months time
an everyday drama unfolds
emotions break free
inside my cubicle.
Posted August 2, 2007 in CABAnata
Monday, March 10, 2008
Rocking Chair
Rocking chair
I sat on your lap
sweetly, you carry me
comforting my fear
from that hairy monster
grandpop created in my mind.
Rocking chair
I cling to your arm
slowly, you lull me to sleep
soothing my tiredness
from that enjoyable play
I shared with some friends.
Rocking chair
I lay my head on your breast
caringly, you hug me
calming my senses
from the draining hours in school
I spent in my own excellence.
Rocking chair
I rest my body unto you
softly, you wrap your warmth around me
easing my scorned heart
broken by some cruel beings
I met and trusted and loved.
Rocking chair
I lean my exhausted thoughts to you
with sensitivity, you understand me
relieving my weariness
from the demands of my work
I devote myself to.
Rocking chair
I now run my fingers to your skin
old and rickety you may seem
a touch of you still alleviates my burden
from the strains of this world we live in
where together we have aged with.
I sat on your lap
sweetly, you carry me
comforting my fear
from that hairy monster
grandpop created in my mind.
Rocking chair
I cling to your arm
slowly, you lull me to sleep
soothing my tiredness
from that enjoyable play
I shared with some friends.
Rocking chair
I lay my head on your breast
caringly, you hug me
calming my senses
from the draining hours in school
I spent in my own excellence.
Rocking chair
I rest my body unto you
softly, you wrap your warmth around me
easing my scorned heart
broken by some cruel beings
I met and trusted and loved.
Rocking chair
I lean my exhausted thoughts to you
with sensitivity, you understand me
relieving my weariness
from the demands of my work
I devote myself to.
Rocking chair
I now run my fingers to your skin
old and rickety you may seem
a touch of you still alleviates my burden
from the strains of this world we live in
where together we have aged with.
Memories flowed upon the sight of granny's old rickety rocking chair when I visited her last weekend. Cried a bit. So much memories. Now it's kept in the stock room, where granny can rock no more. (reposted)
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