Hapunan

Pumipintig ang sintido ng babaeng nakaupo sa may pasilyo
Bitbit ang kakapiranggot na kita mula sa buong maghapon
Tinatapik-tapik lamang ang ulo,
Nagbabakasakaling mawala ang kirot
Inuulit ang dasal na kinabisado simula pa noon

Aba, Ginoong Maria napupuno ka ng grasya

Sa iilang barya pa, mapupuno na ang kanyang bulsa
Makauuwi na’t makapaghahain ng hapunan
Malugod na pagsasaluhan ng dalawang pamilya
Sa babaeng nakaupo at sa panganay niyang binatilyo

Sa tulong ng patuloy na pamamalimos
Ng inang iniwan ang lahat sa kahapon
Matapang na hinaharap ang takbo ng panahon
Mag-aantanda ng krus, sisimulan ang pagpapasalamat

Ang Panginoon ay sumasaiyo

Isang buong araw na naman ang natapos
Nairaos kahit papaano ang anim na musmos at ang magsing-irog

Bukod kang pinagpala sa babaeng lahat

Pumipintig ang sintido ng babaeng nakaupo sa may pasilyo
Bitbit ang kakapiranggot na kita mula sa buong maghapon

At pinagpala naman
Ang ‘yong anak na si Hesus


Santa Maria, Ina ng Diyos
Ipanalangin mo kaming makasalanan
Ngayon at kung kami’y mamamatay
Amen

Serenity

Everything seems beautiful at a certain point.

Moments differ for each person. Even if both share one experience at the exact same time, the mind registers a unique kind of memory.

There’s that fine line that separates the reflection the eyes see and the way the heart responds. One may feel happy when a smile breaks the monotony of the day, but shatters the moment for another.

Random Reflection of a Busy Panda Bear

Love and Everything in Between– A possibly eye-catching title for a blog post. More clicks, more chances of having new readers, but those don’t matter. This is a random bit of my thoughts to kill the time while waiting for my next class. So, if anyone is interested in reading through this, better have a lot of patience to bring along.

For a couple of weeks, I have been bombarded with too many love posts, heartbreak stories, hugot lines, sudden phone calls from a friend crying over a guy, and many other love-related incidents. This year sure has a lot of the thump-thump of a beating lovebird heart spectacle more than over the last two decades of my life. Maybe it’s because I haven’t been too familiar with the topic when I was younger or that my social circle has simply been exposed to too many sweets, sugary words, and an illusion of romantic circus of a media-centered community.

Love

What is love?

There are seven billion people around the world, including you and me. Put the numbers aside, find a common multiple and bring those together. You’ll get over 3.5 billion pairs regardless of age, gender, race, and many other social standards or classifications.

Many of those pairs live and die without knowing each other. That means whoever you got paired with (in that imaginary computation I did) may never see you or even hear a word about your existence. So, how does this define love? It doesn’t, sort of. I simply want to waste some words and spaces to let me move to the next topic. Please bear with me.

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Cluttered

Every time I try to be honest 
All the things I planned come to an end
With a single line of luck in one hand
No one knows what strikes me inside

Poems reflect who I am
But most of the time it shows who I wish I was
The only means where I am true
Tends to cover up the reality I dwell in 

Broken lines, 

rhyming words,

stories shared, 

LIFE uncovered

Endless means,
Limited space

Dreams and thoughts all collide.

Being Free

Every now and then, this little girl sees through my eyes, beyond my mind, beyond my soul. She tries to delve into the deepest, darkest, most treasured memories, and feelings I have kept to myself for so long. She doesn’t think of anything to spare me from the pain that every move creates. She doesn’t care. She never would.

All she understands is the need to break free. All that was left in her heart were shattered glasses of faith, love, and lost dreams.

The good thing is, this scenario doesn’t happen that often.

Sometimes it comes in the time of solitude.
Sometimes in my sleep.
Sometimes when I am at the pinnacle of happiness.
She gives me a spark of hope,
a sense of humanity,
a reminder of reality,
a savior of my sanity.
Every time she appears, I smile…
because…

I see myself in her EYES…
and
every tear that drops
serves as a step
to my freedom
from life’s lowest
point of survival.

Startled

With the lack of time, my mind can’t seem to function.
Will the heart to write be enough to make things right?
Stupidity is my ever failure and friend
But is it enough to give myself the identity I dread?

Writing lines is not enough
Especially when you do not have the time
Wish I could have the chance
To witness the strength I never had


Another old poem I saved in my google drive

LAME

What if you intentionally cut your fingers one by one every time you lose sight of your love?

Some people may call it an obsession but you see it as an expression.

Some people see it as weird and freaky but you consider it as a release of overflowing emotions.

Some people feel sad for you but you only show relief and an immeasurable sight of happiness.

Some people express signs of concern but you don’t care.


You never did…

because for only two more fingers away, you’ll be prepared to face the fate eternity.


Away from your love.

Away from people.

Away from this world.


All of this though you see as… 

LAME


Some forgotten poems written by my college self

I Am Here

I live under your bed but you never took time to look.
I know your secrets, every dream, every fear.
My body is swollen, guts all gone.
Nails starting to fall, I cannot take it anymore.
Step out of your bed! I want everything back.

I know it hurts to leave,

But that is how it goes.

Fear not my dear,

Because fear lives within us all. 

Remedy

The world is on top of my table, with all the greasy spots of forgotten memories; a lot of flavorful events and a couple of porcelain plates, which in the end turns out to be a fake. Just like the smiling faces around my place.

Every second ticks like there is no tomorrow. Every minute eats up all the remaining air that I can breathe. Every hour kills the hope that remains in my heart.

Still…

        that is an understatement.

Nobody can tell what I am thinking. In the first place, nobody even cares. I too cannot see their life stories. I too DO NOT CARE.

All I see are the fake smiles of my neighbors, the hidden grudge of my so called friends, the jealousy of my colleagues, the unwanted greeting from strangers, and the wavering care of life.

Sadness, happiness, sorrow, hope, pain, relief, grief, and exaltation. All are contained in the small, wounded, yet strong walls of my heart. Some say that was too much. Some may argue that was not enough. Some questions, still some would not mind. Some may even say none of it was true.

Still, nobody’s comments are important because none of them are part of my life.

    But who are they?

       Who own those smiling faces I see?

    Who spoke those words that hindered my growth, my faith, and my desires?

They are not only a few but they are…

       YOU.

               Yes, you.

        YOU are one of them.