I am a Poet

I am a poet.

My hands shake in ecstasy

upon the sight of

pens and blank sheets scattered

about carelessly on my desk.

I am a poet.

My forehead in its wrinkled

state impress wealth

of reflection, inspired by

the magnificence of nature.

I am a poet.

My blood streams passion in

every heartbeat;

words flow in my thoughts like a

river finding its way to the sea.

I am a poet.

My adrenaline rush through

raptured veins as my

senses amuse themselves with

the lavish colors of my hurt.

I am a poet.

My creative archetype

groove with festive thumps

as silence bounce about in

rhythmic union with my laughter.

I am a poet…

by virtue of who I am

and what I feel as

I seek of an avenue,

I write my life space with faith

and ardor of a craftsman

that indeed I am

a POET.

 ©Marjo Josue

BOX

Four walls

with the absence of

four doors

and four windows.

Four choices

with the absence of

the will to choose.

Be asleep

stay awake

be fuckin’ bored

or be dead.

Either of those ways

you still have to be confined.

They let the knowledge stream

without letting you

question it.

They let the music be heard

without letting you

dance to its beat

or dare sing

to its melody.

They let the love radiate

without letting you

feel it

or savor it.

And after a while

you get used to the

four walls.

And you stop searching for

the four doors and windows.

And you stop searching for answers

though you still exemplify the

faculties of the existing.

You breathe, you eat

you seemingly smile;

You bite your tongue

you poke your eyes.

But pain becomes

a stranger

to the senses.

And it is at this time

you would realize

you are dead

and confined.

©Marjo Josue

Happiness In Love... Found

Daylight penetrated

my shadowy life;

Rays of hope

came like prophets,

Angels descended for the good news

proclaiming love … found!

But doubt hovered

My heart filled with fear

for the doomed value of my youth

and the principles I broke;

for the love found for eternity

that shed light to this

abandoned spirit.

I may have bridged over sorrow

and crossed the darkness of tunnels,

I may have fought the inevitable

and lost the stupid game they call love;

But then again, I hoped

and my prayer was granted,

He accepted this scorned soul

and embraced the beleaguered woman in me.

Then vows were made

But hey! Were they from Heaven?

Do I deserve happiness?

Do I deserve love?

Do I deserve him?

He may be the one.

He has to be the one.

Deep in this wounded heart

stream a music that was searching

for the right note to be struck,

so love would radiate

from the unknown crypt

where I once hid

from the selfishness of my prey.

Now the chains were broken,

the burden was lifted up;

The love I was once just yearning for

conquered the fear that blinded me

and has brought me home

from that of which I thought

was my sarcophagus

of no return.

And now I have known

what real happiness is.

Yes! It’s in the arms of my husband.

It’s in the warmth of his embrace.

It’s in the song of his silence.

It’s in the melody of his voice.

It’s in the solitude I have found in his gaze.

It’s in the music of his laughter.

It’s in the joy of his love.

Yes! It’s in this man

that I have found happiness in love

at last.

©Marjo Josue

Happiness in Love

Darkness, caves,

Light, valleys and plains;

Where does this road lead me?

Rain poured, unexpectedly,

flood came, drowning my soul;

my heart pounding

eyes blurred with tears.

My mind traveling

way back…

Am I wrong?

Meeting love.

Meeting hatred.

Yet, chose to love again?

I came across sorrow in happiness,

I felt pain in love,

But I never learned!

Now, I wallow in misery… again.

Was it I?

Was it you?

Wasn’t it right for us?

I tried to understand

I know you gave your best, too.

Perhaps it was love.

Perhaps it wasn’t.

Or still, time wasn’t right

that you and I would be.

Wandering… I came to a stop,

“Do I love you?”

I listened…

“I’m no longer sure

as I was before.”

Was it because of pride?

I don’t know.

Then I let go.

Disguising myself,

I smile.

I laugh.

Thinking.

Oh! We really would never be!

Asking myself:

When would happiness

be real happiness

not pain clothe in joy;

When will love

be endless and true love?

Only heaven knows!

Hoping. Wishing.

praying hard, too.

That in the right time

in a right place

with the right person

I’ll find happiness in love.

©Marjo Josue

Looking Through the Throes of Death

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!

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

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.

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)