We smile,
we cry,
we blame.
We gain,
we lose,
we blame.
We soar,
we fall,
we blame.
We prepare,
we miss,
we blame.
We strive,
we fail,
we blame.
Blame to the left,
blame to the right,
still, nothing isn't made right.
Friday, November 6, 2009
Pu... lintek ka!
Daig mo pa ang multo ng nakaraan
Pagka’t sa mundo ko’y ayaw mong lumisan
Sa pusod man ng katahimikan ng kanayunan
O sa gitna ng ingay ng kalunsuran
Mukha mo’y namamataan
Sa mga establisyimento sa kabayanan,
Naroroon ang bakas ng iyong katauhan
Maging sa mga aklat at kwaderno sa eskwela,
Anyo mo’y nakatatak na.
Nauumay na ako sa’yong mukha.
Hindi ka naman bayani,
Lalong di ka santong dapat pag-ukulan ng pagtangi
Ngunit ang katotohana’y tinalo mo pa’ng bayani
Pagkat ngalan mo’y nakatatak sa mga bagay sa paligid
Ngalan mo’ng pinababango ng pilit
Naglilingkod ka nang lubos, palabas mo sa marami
Ngunit kabaita’y noong kelan lamang tumindi
At ngayon, ilang kalsada na ba ang kahit maayos pa’y ipinakumpuni?
Ilang gusali na ang ipinamadali? Ilang tulong na ang naipamahagi?
Para lamang masabing ideyal ka at mabuti.
Iba na nga naman ang nagagawa ng ambisyon.
Gagawin lahat makamit lamang ang pinakaaasam na posisyon.
Pagka’t sa mundo ko’y ayaw mong lumisan
Sa pusod man ng katahimikan ng kanayunan
O sa gitna ng ingay ng kalunsuran
Mukha mo’y namamataan
Sa mga establisyimento sa kabayanan,
Naroroon ang bakas ng iyong katauhan
Maging sa mga aklat at kwaderno sa eskwela,
Anyo mo’y nakatatak na.
Nauumay na ako sa’yong mukha.
Hindi ka naman bayani,
Lalong di ka santong dapat pag-ukulan ng pagtangi
Ngunit ang katotohana’y tinalo mo pa’ng bayani
Pagkat ngalan mo’y nakatatak sa mga bagay sa paligid
Ngalan mo’ng pinababango ng pilit
Naglilingkod ka nang lubos, palabas mo sa marami
Ngunit kabaita’y noong kelan lamang tumindi
At ngayon, ilang kalsada na ba ang kahit maayos pa’y ipinakumpuni?
Ilang gusali na ang ipinamadali? Ilang tulong na ang naipamahagi?
Para lamang masabing ideyal ka at mabuti.
Iba na nga naman ang nagagawa ng ambisyon.
Gagawin lahat makamit lamang ang pinakaaasam na posisyon.
A struggle for a single piece
I have been trying to write this damn piece for more than five hours but still, I cannot totally concentrate. My head is a pot of loam and my thoughts of him is a seed planted on it, rapidly sprouting. I am so anxious. It might grow into a tree so soon.
I am squeezing blood out of stone. But no matter how cluttered my mind is right now, I still have to write. So, I remain sitting on this ice-cold floor, trying to write a single word, two words, three, and so on.
In front of me, while scribbling, is a mountain of crumpled papers resting above the pink floral bed cover. The bed serves as my table. It is before an abused cream wall. In fairness, the wall itself does not obviously look like a victim of my insanity. In fact, the oversized red flower and blue butterfly drawn on it just look alright. Although, according to my best friend, it could have been better if I just used paint instead of oil pastels.
Cloud Strife is staring at me. He is approximately 45 degrees away from the normal. I can also feel Hay-Lin and Mario’s penetrating glances from my right. But when I try to turn my head to them, my eyes just starts to ache because I notice that I haven’t fixed yet the mini ukay-ukay inside the partly opened closet also on my right. In my left are some disorganized pillows and an unfolded blanket. Just above them is a large pink dream catcher which gracefully dances with the lit lamp shade as the wind blows.
My ears are no longer hurting. The rain drops finally stopped performing the Tap Dance above the roof which is just about a meter and a half away from my head since this room of mine is located at the attic. I can hear nothing but Enya’s heavenly music, my number one tranquilizer. It is “Book of Days” that is being played at this very moment. A warm feeling rises to my heart as every note of its melody is being hit. I can also feel the clouds inside my brain gradually disappearing.
It is almost five in the morning but I am not yet sleepy. Black coffee is really an effective drowse fighter. Its rich aroma is in the air and in my tongue are still some traces of its bitterness. But good thing, I am no longer as bitter as it. The wind is blowing again but this time, colder. My entire body starts to freeze.
Finally, I have already written enough. The pen seems to write by itself while I am still partly unconscious. I am almost done and for sure, as soon as I completely finish this, my head will be entirely filled with thoughts of him again. But I should not surrender. I should find some other ways to get him out of my head. I should not be distracted for a tower of readings and reviewers are still waiting for me as it stands firmly just a few inches away from my back with a book on its very top which the cover reads “Prism.”
****
(A descriptive essay for my Eng1 subject under Ms. Ica Fernandez)
I am squeezing blood out of stone. But no matter how cluttered my mind is right now, I still have to write. So, I remain sitting on this ice-cold floor, trying to write a single word, two words, three, and so on.
In front of me, while scribbling, is a mountain of crumpled papers resting above the pink floral bed cover. The bed serves as my table. It is before an abused cream wall. In fairness, the wall itself does not obviously look like a victim of my insanity. In fact, the oversized red flower and blue butterfly drawn on it just look alright. Although, according to my best friend, it could have been better if I just used paint instead of oil pastels.
Cloud Strife is staring at me. He is approximately 45 degrees away from the normal. I can also feel Hay-Lin and Mario’s penetrating glances from my right. But when I try to turn my head to them, my eyes just starts to ache because I notice that I haven’t fixed yet the mini ukay-ukay inside the partly opened closet also on my right. In my left are some disorganized pillows and an unfolded blanket. Just above them is a large pink dream catcher which gracefully dances with the lit lamp shade as the wind blows.
My ears are no longer hurting. The rain drops finally stopped performing the Tap Dance above the roof which is just about a meter and a half away from my head since this room of mine is located at the attic. I can hear nothing but Enya’s heavenly music, my number one tranquilizer. It is “Book of Days” that is being played at this very moment. A warm feeling rises to my heart as every note of its melody is being hit. I can also feel the clouds inside my brain gradually disappearing.
It is almost five in the morning but I am not yet sleepy. Black coffee is really an effective drowse fighter. Its rich aroma is in the air and in my tongue are still some traces of its bitterness. But good thing, I am no longer as bitter as it. The wind is blowing again but this time, colder. My entire body starts to freeze.
Finally, I have already written enough. The pen seems to write by itself while I am still partly unconscious. I am almost done and for sure, as soon as I completely finish this, my head will be entirely filled with thoughts of him again. But I should not surrender. I should find some other ways to get him out of my head. I should not be distracted for a tower of readings and reviewers are still waiting for me as it stands firmly just a few inches away from my back with a book on its very top which the cover reads “Prism.”
****
(A descriptive essay for my Eng1 subject under Ms. Ica Fernandez)
Thursday, September 10, 2009
memory
It was once a happy song
It always made me smile
It pushes me to dance
Until velvet hugs the skies
It was once a candy
It made my days so sweet
It makes me giggle
Until heaven starts to dim
It was once a nice story
It made my mornings bright
It makes me wanna laugh
Until night eats the day alive
It was once a reality
Now, nothing but memory.
It always made me smile
It pushes me to dance
Until velvet hugs the skies
It was once a candy
It made my days so sweet
It makes me giggle
Until heaven starts to dim
It was once a nice story
It made my mornings bright
It makes me wanna laugh
Until night eats the day alive
It was once a reality
Now, nothing but memory.
Love is...
Love is neither bitter nor sweet
But a mixture of both; therefore, bittersweet
Love can lift you up to the heaven
And it can drag you too, to the hell
Love is not as ideal as they always tell.
Love is learned not instantly felt
And as time passes by, it can be unlearned
If not truly valued by a lover’s heart,
It may vanish like the scent of fart.
Love, at all instances, is not really permanent.
Love is not always worth fighting for
Sometimes you give up everything just to have it all
But as you go reaching for its very meat,
You’ll find out it’s just a hoax, playing with wit…
Love is not always genuine as you thought it to be.
Love does not always wait, it sometimes get tired
And if too much abused, it may also die
When hindrances are there in their full forces
Hearts surrender if they lack courage
Love, not all the time, conquers all.
Love is absurd, love is unkind
It easily crushes some humans’ hearts.
Love is unfair, love is traumatic
Love is just a silly game, often a lie.
But love makes humans truly humans.
Thursday, August 6, 2009
walkout. walkout. walkout.
The surrounding's red but there is no blood
flags and banners are in trend, they burn with shouts
everyone is hot, everyone is in the mood for chants
each walked out of their classes just to join the march
Chacha is not what the people need now
it won't feed neither empty brains nor empty stomachs
even won't it heal wounds that almost decay
as well as those sicknesses that drag some into their death beds
Barricades and fire trucks, no they they can't stop us!
even the heavy rain, it can never cease the fire in our angry hearts
though it will take us a serious price to pay, we care not
for this fight is for everyone, this fight is for everyone!
flags and banners are in trend, they burn with shouts
everyone is hot, everyone is in the mood for chants
each walked out of their classes just to join the march
Chacha is not what the people need now
it won't feed neither empty brains nor empty stomachs
even won't it heal wounds that almost decay
as well as those sicknesses that drag some into their death beds
Barricades and fire trucks, no they they can't stop us!
even the heavy rain, it can never cease the fire in our angry hearts
though it will take us a serious price to pay, we care not
for this fight is for everyone, this fight is for everyone!
alaala at ulan
Kasabay ng paghalik ng sa aking pisngi
ng tilamsik ng ulang ayaw papigil
at ng pagyakap sa akin ng simoy ng hanging
sa lamig ay walang pagtitimpi
ay ang pilit na panunumbalik ng alaalang pilit
pa rin sa pag-ukilkil sa pagal kong isip
Sapagkat sa tuwing bubuhos ang ulan
alaala ko’y sadyang ikaw lamang
nagugunita ko parati ang nakaraan,
nakaraang kailanma’y din a mababalikan
Oo, sa bawat pagbuhos ng ulan
alaala ko’y ikaw lamang
ang iyong pagtinding sa gitna ng pagluha ng kalangitan
habang sa aking pagdating ay nakaabang,
walang ibang mithi kundi ako’y ikulong nang tuluyan
sa ‘yong bisig na ayaw patuldok sa kasabikan
Maglalaho nang tuluyan ang pagmamahalan,
payong na ating sinukuban, masisira sa katagalan
ngunit bubuhos pa ring muli’t muli ang ulan
at paulit-ulit kong masasariwa ang nakaraan.
ng tilamsik ng ulang ayaw papigil
at ng pagyakap sa akin ng simoy ng hanging
sa lamig ay walang pagtitimpi
ay ang pilit na panunumbalik ng alaalang pilit
pa rin sa pag-ukilkil sa pagal kong isip
Sapagkat sa tuwing bubuhos ang ulan
alaala ko’y sadyang ikaw lamang
nagugunita ko parati ang nakaraan,
nakaraang kailanma’y din a mababalikan
Oo, sa bawat pagbuhos ng ulan
alaala ko’y ikaw lamang
ang iyong pagtinding sa gitna ng pagluha ng kalangitan
habang sa aking pagdating ay nakaabang,
walang ibang mithi kundi ako’y ikulong nang tuluyan
sa ‘yong bisig na ayaw patuldok sa kasabikan
Maglalaho nang tuluyan ang pagmamahalan,
payong na ating sinukuban, masisira sa katagalan
ngunit bubuhos pa ring muli’t muli ang ulan
at paulit-ulit kong masasariwa ang nakaraan.
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