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Posts Tagged ‘angst’

Some say love is never about speed but a slow

unfurling of beauty- gentle and unhurried.

That makes the difference between the passing

of time and the crafting of masterpiece-

not everyone is interested reading about angst.

 

And you fail to notice that everyone’s engaged

to their own brand of narcissism- they maintain

to survive and keep up one’s reputation.

 

And if you think that poets spend their lives

holed up in their four cornered walls and a window

looking in from the world changing night and day.

Self-absorbed about  feelings or digging of the past

and wanting for love that they never have.

 

Or won’t have.

 

Some say about exiles to another country

or to another time or another space would

make people stalk on your mysticism.

Or the lyricism of recording things-

one have chosen to leave behind.

 

You can be exiled even without a room.

That is easy- while you walk around nonchalant

and pretend you didn’t carry anything.

You must know how heavy it is to bring

one line of a poem and to bravely express it.

 

Who says poetry is a dying art? I say otherwise.

For centuries, poets mined gold, toiling the minds

of men and keep them going on despite travails.

Ranting about their lost loves, lost paradise

or lost keys of their hearts.

Or lost childhood. Or lost future.

 

Art that was losing chances and losing hope.

That made poems became songs sung out loud.

It became pieces of conversation. In the streets.

And in the way people speak. To sell. To buy

affection and things people would want

and impress people whom they would want

to belong with. But this will never be.

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How long would you hide your true feelings?

You wish to say something but the words swerved

to its opposite direction-sugarcoating the angst

frothing bittersweet at your mouth verbalizing

 

euphemism.

 

Say what you really mean.  Look me

in the eye and cut through your razor

sharp, spine-tingling voice into my face.

Don’t let me read between the lines.

 

Just to make your point mark deep

into the recesses of my consciousness.

Leave me bleeding. You’re the best

pretender that I have seen.

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"When in our lifetime it seems difficult, always say never give up."

I had the chance to visit a friend for their house blessing whose new house I have designed by hand sketches last May.  I am so happy and proud seeing her satisfied and fulfilled by the outcome as she told me that God has answered her prayers for this one.  And here comes the contradiction.  I may see my client’s satisfaction towards realization of their dreams but I am left in awe how my own dreams vanished on the surface.   

I, having no real properties to boast of, no house to improve on, no personal wealth or huge bank accounts to keep, left here sharing other people’s vision for the future.  What I have of me, are responsibilities to help my family knee-deep in debts, maintaining expenses for food and monthly bills such as rent, telephone and the utilities.  With a newly-wed brother who is jobless and having a new baby to feed; and the three kids my sister left for Dubai whose irresponsible husband had another wife.  And my going gets tougher day by day.

Life is a bitter sweet song. And each of us has its own equal share of unhappy events. I never blame these circumstances to other people. But I must have felt that I am predestined to take upon me this role as  a fulcrum for balance.   I am but just a man who have my own set of  dreams to push.  A set of aspirations that I keep tucked in my mind along this life’s rugged path.  And I don’t know where I could see my Howard’s End so sooner than  I can think of.

I have never felt so disappointed as before whenever I read stories on dailies wherein a medical graduate-topnotcher who chose to be a nurse to look for a greener pasture abroad, only to be duped by a recruiter promising them a better life and opportunities for career growth. The malady gets even stronger as I observe our government and intellectual people, powerless and inutile, to take necessary action to elevate our present country’s situation out of the growing bondages of poverty, unemployment and  self-serving opprtunities for only the  few and the privileged. 

I have sensed that its either we accept it or not, it is a senseless struggle.  And it doesn’t make sense dying in the streets protesting where our government cannot be summoned to answer its own wrongdoing.  It doesn’t make sense at all, pinning our hopes that our condition will ever be lifted up.  It is a plain moral and social decay we are now experiencing here.  Where the educated are self- destructing its own belief system and abandoning its long held sense of nationalism and sacrifice for the country. And I am one of them.

And if promises of better life can only be translated into muted words of anguish and hopelessness, I would never stop uttering it to the high heavens.  As our education had led us into a trap of make believe. And it is like a burning ladder into oblivion of only surviving in this self proclaimed game of chance and luck among millions, hoping to land a single decent paying job.

Maybe I cease to hope. That things can be altered in one’s lifetime. I have been one of the many faceless and nameless strangers who had given up. On this country.  On this circumstances.  Who will depart and never will come back. Maybe I can blame it on the weatherman, where sunshine never stops here.  Only rain.

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