I heard of a coming death
Don’t really know how I am supposed to react
What to feel…
What to say?
Or should I say anything at all?

I heard of a coming death today
Hatred and anger annihilated…
Mixed with thin air altogether;
But the silhouette remained from afar
A distance that perhaps will never nigh.

I heard of a coming death hours ago
Same jarred plea of another chance…
A chance to savor just some more of life,
Same scribbled hope of tomorrow
Yet the winds at dusk took over.

I heard of a coming death
Pity enveloped me…
Suffocated my senses
But like a railway track
I cannot reconcile my feelings and reality.

I heard of a coming death today
It separated the pulse from the flesh…
It beheaded the ghost
Just so fear will come no more,
Yet it follows like a shadow.

I heard of a coming death hours ago
Like another nightmare of the past … awakened.
Inevitable.
No choice but of acceptance.
And be voracious of the NOW…

And when I saw death
It looked straight into my eyes
I looked back, too.
I saw them blank with the usual pride
Death stared into those two penetrating eyes.

I traveled.
I walked.
I ran.
I stumbled down,
But I rose.
  
I met happiness.
I met pain.
But above all,
I met you; who
Both gave me happiness
     and pain.
    
I laughed.   
I cried.
I loved.
I hated.
  
There was love; But
     there was hatred.
There was passion; But
     there was anger.
But above all,
     there was you; who
     both made me laugh
       and cry
     made me love
       and hate.

Dichotomies of life
I have known;
Man is born
     to rest and work
     to smile and cry
     to live and die
     to love and hate.

Now I walk.
I run.
I gather the pieces
     of shattered dreams
     of a bruised ego
     of a broken heart
     of an amputated spirit
     of an aching soul
Healing… Me!

For after pain
     forgiveness;
After tears
     laughter,
After hatred
     love
And after death 
     comes new life.
Building… a new Me!

I start my journey
     carrying a smile
     carrying strength
     carrying wisdom
     carrying hope
          hope that soon
          soon in this life
          I’d meet reality
              real laughters
              real joy
              real peace
              real love.

For I am new
And it’s all because of
You.

Intercom rings
          a favor was asked
          dragged my feet to the gate
          pulled my butt out the trike.

Guard smiled respectfully
          saw familiar pathways
          that same ground witness to my struggles
          where I set forth my dreams.

Held the glass-paned door
          heard the click
          same room but different faces
          the four corners echoed my voice.

Innocent looks stared altogether
          fifteen pairs of small hands tugging
          high-pitched cries saying “’Cher! ‘Cher!”
          then tears fell one by one.

A says ah as in "apple"
          E says eh as in "elf"
          pre-reading skills
          humbled my pride.

“Color the strawberry red.”
          Ready? “Up-down-up-down”
          colored stars are ego-boosters
          Theory of Reward by Pavlov.

Looked… it all began here
           my table still there
           beheld my pains of leaving
           old and torn but knowledge sprung endlessly.

The first gentle “Thank you, ‘Cher!”
           little voices reciting eagerly my fave poem “Smile”
           soft steps fading at the end of the day
           toothless grins as they sing:
                        “We are going, we are going
                        Now goodbye, now goodbye
                        See you all tomorrow
                        See you all tomorrow
                        Now goodbye, now goodbye!”

Then heard them saying:
          “Goodbye Teacher Marjo
          Goodbye classmates
          See you all tomorrow!”

Yes indeed… see you all tomorrow
          hope when that time comes
          the little hands that embraced me then
          will have the same warmth…
                        … of gratitude
                        … of respect
                        … of love.

Then I can say head high
          I’m fully contented!
          And perhaps that’ll be the realization
          of my wonderful dream…

Five o'clock
   He tossed and turned in bed
   … afraid to see the light of another day.

Six o'clock
   He forced himself up
   … anxious of his every move not to wake them up.

Seven o'clock
   He dragged his feet to the terminal
   … anticipation drawn all over him.

Eight o'clock
   He pulled his butt of the bus
   … eagerness is stronger now than fear.

Nine o'clock
   He slaved himself to work
   … devotion became his friend.

Ten o'clock
   He drove the food into his belly
   … rest for him was nothing.

Eleven o'clock
   He feasted his eyes with loads
   … conversation became his bestfriend.

Twelve o'clock
   He delighted his senses with their presence
   … laughter and tears, now strangers no more.

One o'clock
   He delivered nutrition into his system
   … break to him became an enemy.

Two o'clock
   He cherished every spirit in his tavern
   … his four corners were heaven to him.

Three o'clock
   He treasured each word entrusted to him
   … his ears and mouth were most precious.

Four o'clock
   He despised the nearing time
   … when he has to depart from his haven.

Five o'clock
   He walked a mile to another destination
   … where his heart will work miracles.

Six o'clock
   He struggled for one special soul
   … showered him with knowledge and skills he needs.

Seven o'clock
   He mustered his strength and patience
   … that he may not fail from this one last test.

Eight o'clock
   He entered his life-giving abode
   … before his sanity flows down the drain.

Nine o'clock
   He shared his last meal for the day
   … with the people closest to his heart.

Ten o'clock
   He played with little angels he grew in his womb
   … taught them wisdom and love to be their guide.

Eleven o'clock
   He lied there with two fragile bodies
   … from whom he draws much inspiration.

Twelve o'clock
   He stared across another pair of loving eyes
   … that held him with warmth and promise of forever.

One o'clock
   He was smiling with fulfillment
   … my animus contented with how his day drifted by.

Yes! Tomorrow will be another day
   … when the man in me wakes up at five o'clock.

I learn
   from the smell of dried leaves
   from the sight of blank sheets
   from the touch of wrinkled skin
   from the taste of spoiled wishes.

I learn
   from the silence of the wind
   from the roar of the tides
   from the turmoil of the clouds
   from the strength of the sun.

I learn
   from the hard work of the soil
   from the wealth of the ocean
   from the wages of the devoted
   from the truth of the unfortunate.

I learn
   from the shouts on the streets
   from the whispers of clandestine lovers
   from the hails of feigned churchgoers
   from the blood shed of warriors.

I learn
   from the most glamorous get-ups
   from the tattered of his sleeves
   from their make believed happiness
   from their victorious sighs.

I learn
   from the lowest of creatures
   from the proudest monsters
   from the most sublime feature
   from the scariest beast.

I learn
   from the look upon your face
   from the sadness in your stare
   from the joy on your lips
   from the droop upon your shoulder.

I learn
   from the unwritten essays he wrote
   from the muted songs she sang
   from the blank canvasses he painted
   from the unspoken love she conveyed.

I learn
   from the infancy of the old
   from the wickedness of evil
   from the humble dominance of good
   from the misunderstood language of man.

I learn
   from the humility in your entrance
   from the painfulness of your exit
   from the grandeur of your return
   from the faith that you will.

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.

A dozen pens
An array of bright colored features
Their tears creatively spilled love
Danced with strength & fear
Spoke a dozen happiness
Slashed the tranquility of peace
Healed the woundedness of grace.


A dozen pens
An array of dark stained beings
Their blood shed enlightenment
Crossed the hollowness of mortals
Conveyed a dozen cynicism
Paralyzed the greatness of valiance
Filled the emptiness of faith.


A dozen pens
An array of encapsulated truth
Their pride ridiculed humility
Laughed over the cries of oppression
Wrote a dozen prejudice
Silenced the whimpering of justice
Resurrected the crippledness of honor.


A dozen pens
An array of estranged creatures
Their poignance crumbled holied esteems
Chose between beauty & wisdom
Mimicked a dozen insecurities
Gagged the shouts of confidence
Pulsated nothing but I…


I am a dozen pens
I can be an array of bright colored features
I can be an array of dark stained beings
I can be an array of encapsulated truth
I can be an array of estranged creatures
Whatever that I am… is my choice.


I am a dozen pens
My tears can creatively spill love
My blood can shed forth enlightenment
My pride can ridicule the humble
My poignance can crumble the esteem of others
Whatever that I can… is my choice.


I am a dozen pens
I dance with strength & fear
I cross the hollowness of mortals
I laugh over the cries of the oppressed
I choose between beauty & wisdom
Whatever that I do… is my choice.


I am a dozen pens
I speak of happiness
I convey cynicism
I write about prejudice
I mimic insecurities of the world & I
Whatever that I impart… is my choice.


I am a dozen pens
I slash the tranquility of peace
I paralyze the greatness of valiance
I silence the whimpering of justice
I gag the shouts of confidence
Whatever that I execute… is my choice.


I am a dozen pens
I heal the wounded ness of grace
I fill the emptiness of faith
I resurrect the crippled of honor
I pulsate nothing but myself
I … is my choice.


I am a dozen pens
My thoughts can be an enemy or a friend
My words can be a dagger or a rose
My actions can be a curse or a blessing
I … can hurt or heal.


A dozen pens… I am.

Four walls
with the absence of
four doors
& 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.

They let the love radiate
without letting you
feel it.

I am a wanderer...
   my thoughts enter a warp zone of its own -
      a vagabond in distress...
         trying to search
         the meaning of my existence.
 
I am a wanderer...
   my heart straggle its way
      to a place called no where;
          yet, everywhere there seems I...
             seeking for dreams to come true.
 
 
I am a wanderer...
   my soul soaring high
                then plummeting beyond...
                   my tattered little life
                   -- that which I am trying to believe
                         a perfect story to be told.

I am a wanderer...
   my spirit always confronting
      the challenges of the universe...
      the pretty yet, vague masterpiece
         of the unknown source
            ... that same energy that carries
            my wandering thoughts
            my wandering heart
            my wandering soul
            my wandering spirit
   ... to rest and find peace
      in the nave of my very own being...
         I.

the father who stood by me; and
the father who left me wounded.

the Father accepted me as I am
... with all my imperfections
the sound of my distorted laughter
the pain in my cries of mourning
the loudness of my pride in times of distress
the rudeness in my voice everytime I complain; and
the vile words I utter in contradiction of His plans;
... with all my inabilities
the faintness of my voice when I wanna fight for my truth
the shortness of my hands when I reach out
the shallowness of my understanding when He speaks to me
the weakness of my love, and the cynicism in my faith
All these… loving me still.

while this father that the Father gave me as a gift became a pain
...instead of taking care of me
has broken me into bits of pieces
has shattered my dreams of completeness
has evoked incomparable hatred
has questioned my upbringing, when in fact, I grew in his absence;
... instead of sheltering me
has left me in the open groping for love
has brought me so much shadows haunting my childhood… my youth
has outlined my path with so much emptiness; and
has deprived me of the chance
the chance to love him despite of and in spite of
whatever difference there may exist in between
the chance to forgive him face to face
alive and breathing
not in a glass-covered casket
unresponding…

Yes! He left me
not just once or twice or thrice
but left me many times I can no longer remember
call it selective memory or forced amnesia;
but I can vividly recall as loud as my cry
as clear as my tears welling from my eyes
that this time, when he left
there is no chance of returning; and
he carried with him my luggage
of hurt
of loathe
of grief
All these…

loving him still!