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Archive for the ‘Social Commentary’ Category

I had some beers the night before.

She left me with a dark cloud

hang in there, just hang in there-

swing like a pendulum.

Of clocks pulling, pushing

and shoving the minutes

and the hours’ languor

of transient bedsheets

into mundane abeyance.

 

Then, in a morning rush

I’ll slip on my pants

in disbelief dismissing thoughts

of a terrible one night stand.

Zapping my way through

crowded streets with people

who puts on their masks-

their prim and proper quietude.

 

I serenade my way to the desk

letting the dirty fingers

behave and do the 9 to 5 walk

within this cubicle wonderland.

That non-reversible jargon

to earn a living or making a living.

Day job, night life.

 

I need some bucks to spare

doing my rounds again.

Prancing in the moonlight,

kissing strangers of the wild.

Until I find myself waking up

on the wrong side of the world.

Start the day as if nothing happens

last night. I only keep the job.

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I look at the numbers wishing and hoping

the sun will eclipse now, anytime soon

to kill boredom and dread afflicting souls

shoving imaginary hands of tyranny

strangling the life in humans.

 

I see squares in blank paper,

in blank screens contained in a box

with four corners I can’t retreat nor surrender

to the establishment who pays the rent.

Whose only consolation is a shape on the wall-

 

you call window with a view of the outside,

leaves from trees hissing and teasing

about the monotony of the lines.

Too much lines I followed and treaded

on a high wire. In surreal silence

 

like years and ages etched into my face.

It filled the pillow of dreams each night

I imagined that I won’t bow down

to that desk anymore. Slaved to wait

the longest minutes I run until it’s time to go.

 

I dreamt that there’ll be no more squares

but orbs and circles beyond the hours.

No more visions of clocks slowing seconds

and inner screams burning out at its grip.

Only time, a ticking bomb for a meltdown.

 

10 hours

as if they own me.

Dead line.

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You are once a stranger

and I trusted no one, until

you intrude my world.

And I regret letting you in.

 

I allow you to change some

of my usual routines, I thought

there’s a universe unknown

to me, a seemingly cold sphere.

 

I disentangled my defences.

You decoded a mystery.

Castles of steel foddered

by wordsmiths of belief.

 

My mind’s a map while you roam

outside, driving its secret streets

chasing phantasm and it throbs

like sleepless butterfly.

 

And jealousy just hits me.

You are a beautiful dream

I should’ve let escape my grasp-

a curse clasped with my hands.

 

You can share a meal.

You can share a bed.

You can let somebody else

touch you in eleven minutes.

 

You can be part of the city

in its thrilling rendezvous

with strangers becoming

your friends and soon, lovers.

 

I need to understand why

I should not restrain your eyes

from seeing another beauty

when everything starts-

 

And everything ends.

To know it when nothing’s

supposed to end a choice

to be free pursuing happiness.

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I do not know

if modesty reciprocates economy,

if morality stands a chance,

let me think now.

 

The shape of your dress

suggests

the promise of contours

of valleys and hills,

rolled into

that voluptuous ridge

your cleavage reveals.

 

Your beauty maintained

on night creams

and anti-aging gels

to appear lighter

and paler. You dab

some talcum

or face powder

to shine

like a nacreous  pearl.

 

You glisten like marvel

of an immaculate gold

in the mirror. While

your perfume leaves

a scent to mesmerize

and hypnotize

on every man’s desire

lost in the art

of your seduction.

 

Your lips is an illusion

of an inner sanctum.

A prized conquest-

euphoria. Only the voyeur

dares to enter,

and touch without guilt,

and tickle

on every man’s fantasy-

its forbidden pleasure.

 

Your body as a trade

makes a woman’s secret

hard to accentuate

without showing,

without shedding

some skin,

some naked truth,

some coveted assets.

 

Like a midnight nymph,

hoping for some man

with happy hours to spare

to shape a dream.

But you know- like others,

he will not stay.

Longer before

the day breaks.

 

You, among the many

became one of every man’s

warm bodies to breed.

And it isn’t going to last,

no promises made.

As soon as his lust fades,

he runs away

taking the shimmer

from your moon.

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Wood scars fray the edges of a sanity-

house paint color gave up its loyalty

to the surface weathered by seasons.

I am a man who leans against the backdrop

of grafittis’ with vivid emotions of discontent.

About an aching hand, bloodied by history

wrapped in white bandages soaked

in spiritual rhetoric. It didn’t stop

the bitter flow.  This hemorrhage. 

While bullets of sunlight streams within

dark passages to freedom fighting,

floating clouds above charred ruins.

The innocence held captive

in the hopes of winning

a logical war for a bitter peace.

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No amount of words can bridge

the distance of years in silence-

because the sun hides its face

like the way a tyke, fatherless

and left out into the world

to fend for himself. Alone.

 

Someone has to refuse

to become the victim anymore.

You knock some doors

and it is locked. You are not

welcome there. And a hand

is restrained to touch his own

 

shadow or an image reflected

a life mirrored in water.

Disowned molting who just

learned its first flight

and give ambled wings

to shattered dreams.

 

Of the smell of gunpowder.

The handprints on paperbills

and the bitter taste of wine.

None of which represents

your true bone stripped of flesh.

An animal with no redemption-

heartless and chained.

 

You will refuse to let the past

define you of who you will become.

 

And you begin the journey

to a place of faceless and nameless

strangers. You will exist

as though you just have lived

and strip down the shadow

as an old clothing. Naked and free

shimmering like a newborn child.

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They are silent, yes, they are silent.

I imagine them talking on corners

sounding like the bees ready to sting.

And the beehive is ripe and heavy

with gossip running over like honey.

 

The audience, they lined up like stones-

incensed hot coals ready to be casted

and thrown at statues and pillars

breaking under the weight of judgment.

 

They are silent, yes, they are silent.

A mockery of sorts, they like the show.

Shadow puppets will scream and whistle.

They are victims to a phantom in a circus

and worship the magician with words.

 

I wish the sword will tangle with tongues,

lacerate the innards and spill the beans.

I wish the fish will bite the bait

and see the hook clasp hard the mouth

to stop fishy things from overflowing.

 

They are silent, yes, they are silent.

The blind is not actually blind

but open eyes would like to see illusions.

They have ears but do not want to hear

truth as sharp at its double edges.

 

Applause will fly like white doves

for the trick and the disguise deceives

the gullible and naivete. Silent ones

whose ignorance excuses no one.

They are silent, yes, they are silent.

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