Let Time Decides…

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bits of chronicled garbage
pile of filthy trash
scattered all around the area
hills and mounds of unborn agenda
feel like sweeping it all clean
burning them all, where do i begin

dried leaves of an abandoned great summers
messy crumpled and unused bonds of papers
electric fans’ blades resting at the far corner
diplomas of heroes hanging in a lazy cluster

litters of menthol cold candy wrappers
empty boxes of bath soaps used by actors
immaculate run-down panty shields under the bed
damaged and forsaken biscuit boxes left for dead

golden counts of unused tooth brushes smudged by time
under the kitchen cabinet hiding from a crime
carved cockroach bite on destitute boxes of English pasta
dozens old magazines fossilized by a forgotten era

now a fallen iron these rusty guns on the floor
these might have killed a thousand and a lot more
these killing bullets of yore should have exploded then
so nothing from the past could be used for the present

these olden things of ancient times, these stuffs and belongings
garbage for others, a memory for some, a treasure for the keepers
stories behind them were not known to many
let time decides their future, their saga, their continuing story…





I close my eyes

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when i close my eyes
i see a lot
what i hear
what i dream
what i discern

more than i could figure out
the candle light in the dark
is Hope seeking to be pursued
more than anyone could feel
seeing behind the walls
the matters of the troubled past...

when i close my eyes
the right path appears
the footprints that i follow
the shadow that i chase
are the blessed route to trail...

when i close my eyes
the truth comes adrift
what's in my heart
are treasures that i keep
are goodness that i outreach...

closing my eyes
things are seen and noticed
when to draw conclusions
weigh a lot of doubts
decisions are folded...

when i close my eyes
i'm opening a book
an experience appearing to my mind
vividly,exploring the world
scouring the sea and sky
in a quest that will come to be...


I was a child…

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I knocked at your door
I heard a voice
I knocked once more
'Till the voice flee

Outside the house
A playful young crowd
To be with them
They called me

Playing was a child's hour
With fellow children 
With the neighborhood
An hour became forgetting

I remembered you
You were sick in bed
Not able to get up
But I can't go inside

The door was locked
The key I can't find
Knocked, knocked, I did
The silence listened

Neighbors lend a hand
'Till the you no more
Angels lifted you
I was a child...

I cried for you
'Till today, Mama
Missing our yester years
I was a child...

And today, I raised
A loving family
Right virtues you taught
Kept them with me

Now, a man of today
Treading the path you've learned
The right one for me, since
I was a child... 

 


For us to weave…

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i don't care what it is aptly called
a muscular organ and it certainly beats 
one hundred thousand times in a day
pumping blood throughout the whole body

roughly the size of a large fist
four chambers, two lower, two upper
right atrium and right ventricle
same with the left,to many, it's a puzzle

why the throbbing is so terribly fast
when i hear your lovely stupid name
it beats  horribly in full speed
same surname as yours as i read

when i hear laughter thinking it's yours
giggling is too much when it surprisingly occurs 
your face i see when i thought of a similar smile 
swiftly it goes to neutral and hopefully mild

your anger makes this heart palpitate
shortness of breath and the struggle is so great
need to be calm to drive this heart at peace
stress and anxiety need to be freed and released

this heart needs love and someone to care  
to brighten up the night and jubilation to share
i only have a heart and honesty to give 
you have truth and honor for us to weave...  

Will You Marry Me?…

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something is obscure i know not what
some kind of learning believed to be a fact
buried and concealed like a hermit almost unseen
like a naked body in view but the soul is hidden     

pages of events  of the olden past
secrets unrevealed that's touted to last
in the cupboards of heralded beats of shouts
quivering truth silenced by fear not to let it out

but when is the right time to betray the wraps
peel the cover don't let the time to lapse
what has been tightened has to be unlocked
and let the whole world rejoice, clap,clap,clap

let me kneel my love in front of you
and deliver this message while it's not due
it's been a long time that i wanted this to be free
i love you my love, i ask, "Will you marry me?"  




I Heard Music, A Different kind…

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My fingers kept tapping the keys
I would begin, stop, begin again
My mind would dictate what I write
The sentences would not be right
But I continued to tap the keys 
And I heard slow music escaping 
the sharpness of my consciousness
The sleepy me, now tapping the keys
With one finger like dipping into a sauce
'Till I dropped my head on the table
losing consciousness but, I heard music
A different kind, but soft........
So soft I got drowned into it until a hand
Tapped my back and a voice got into my ear,

"You're in Heaven My son. You had
a heart attack and didn't survived."
I didn't survive? How come? But I heard you
talking to me. We're talking to each other.
Besides, I'm too young to... to be attacked 
by a....heart attack? But I'm not bulging fat, 
I'm so thin and too young to be dead!
"My son, wake up! You're late!" Late, what?
"It's your funeral, wake up and get yourself
ready.You'll have to be in your coffin in an
hour.The priest is coming." 

How would I end this story? I'm so sleepy.
I better transfer to my bed than here at the
table. Hhmmm. I can sleep soundly on my bed.
I better go to sleep now. I'll dream
the ending of my dream...story..... BBzzzzz!    

STREAMING lines in bed…





Philippine sunset at the Visayan Sea
at the verge of early sleeping
it always rains
minding will cut a breath
unattached naked wings flying... 

golden droplets on the sleepy ground
bouncing sideways up and down
feathered hippos defining a chance
marching backwards with wooden guns...

sounds antiquated  newer trumpets
biting tongues  butterflies twisted
heavy bodies can't make a gentle stand
paper and pens behaved like sleepy drunks...

shaking fingers damaged brain
orange and green ink lightly stained
flying alphabets in colored prism
worn-out nets catching words in pain...

nails and cannons as fighting pairs
convincing precision shooting without fear
gallantly fighting like old tortoises
written words are placed in exact places...

columns and lines are deadly ready
marching on to a much needed victory
pasted thoughts are now on snowy paper
sunrise will hear the final chapter...

lazy bodies sitting on the bed
awakened thoughts are rich not dead 
clear beautiful lines are instead written 
not to fade away not easily forgotten...

            --o0o--
    



 

Tony A. comments on “What’s the meaning of my dreams”

Is it unusual to make a post out of a comment from a confidant? This concerns about the images during my sleep. I am a little bit distracted about the causes of those images . Why that kind of images in succession was created in my mind as I was at rest.

Last week, I wrote about my dreams and at the last part of the post I ask if there’s anyone who can interpret scenes in my dream. Tony A. was the one who made an “in-depth analysis” of my dream. He replied intelligently about the images that appeared in my dreams. He acted like a psychiatrist, scientist, and a fortune teller at the same time. (smiles) But thanks to him, he was right. His interpretation was exactly what I was thinking everyday after all these months of the pandemic. Here’s the portion from my post last week for those who were not able to read the part:

Scene 1 :

The queue was long and people were conversing with each other and overheard this. “What’s the job you’re applying for?” I was puzzled to be in that queue, lining for a job interview. ………I heard it. “He’s too gentle for the job.” I got more confused and clueless about the whole thing.

Scene 2 :

In that space of nothingness, I met my brother-in-law on a bike while I was waiting for a ride. I don’t know where I was going to. With my knapsack strapped on my back, I saw his face. He was a little bit concerned where I was going.

Tony A. :

Here is Tony A.’s analysis :

“The queue outside the church represents the work and social connections of the society you live in. The ‘too gentle’ advice is you accepting you don’t fit into the pattern. The link with your brother -in-law shows you have a desire to travel and leave your present environment but have no definite plans -hence the look of concern on his face.”

I find his dissection of the scenes correct. The interpretation was precise. In anticipation of my desire to return to the big city was a big obstacle for me since I keep on worrying when it would be possible. Since the first lockdown in the country was imposed, I have already spent months in the province. And that’s what I’ve been thinking of. In addition, I really miss travelling inside and outside the country. One trip has already been cancelled due to this virus pandemic.

Tony A. nailed it.

Thank you, Tony A.

–o0o–

Scars, visible and hidden

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Every wound results in some degree of scarring, even minor lesions leave scars on our skin. Scars range from deep pit, angular, and wavelike appearance. They are a natural part of the body’s biological process of wound repair in the skin and other tissues.

When you see a person with a scar, what would you feel? Will you be saddened if you’ll know his story behind it? Will you squirm in sympathy and pity him for his scar and make you feel like a guilt-ridden person who caused some visible marks to others?

The person who owns it has a story to tell that he survived the ordeal that resulted it. That story may be a good one for him or it might be bad. Whoever owns a scar, certainly have a tale to be told.

People who have scars visible to the eyes have links to their pasts. Their stories, whether grim and horrible that resulted from accidents and comforting ones that resulted from medical operations are clearly evidences of survival. They survive their crisis.

Emotional pains also leave scars in us. Pains that were buried in the hearts too deep to remember and reminisce. Those scars exhibited toughness. That’s the reason why we got through it and that made us who we are. Life has failed to break us apart but it left some reminders that we triumphed over defeat.

Am I wrong to say, that the scars that dig deepest in our hearts are induced by our loved ones. We are the most injured when they are the cause of the injury. It is sometimes too unbearable that remembering those episodes bring back the past dramas of yesterdays and yesteryears.

Our hearts and minds recorded sagas of unfaithfulness, disobedience that resulted in tragic tales in our lives. Old romances gone sour because of infidelities. Monetary needs that ended in tragedies and other matters that lead to unsavory unseen scars.

Hearts are homes of hidden scars. They hold stories which are too painful to tell.

Scars are there in our living hearts. They are the residual effects that lingered once hearts are bruised and battered. Visible and hidden scars are the living testaments that we made it through the dark and survive the abyss of adventures we call LIFE. –o0o–