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Posts Tagged ‘forgiveness’

 

That sober news in between sobs of my mother

fades in wispy notes from the other line.

Finally awaited- the bombs have dropped.

 

I suspect the sunset will turn

into dead stars this evening

while the cold wind languishes

as the last remembrance.

My heart in its faint nervous beat

became cadences of urgency,

free at last from its cages.

 

I begin to imagine throngs of flower wreaths

to a coffin and a flag, draped across its whitened sheen.

I can see forlorn faces, those sincere sad acquaintances

whisper their nice condolences, those sweet anecdotes

about the man and his lifeless body. I imagine

his image in me, my uneasy composure.

 

I fill my lungs with air and heave a sigh of relief.

The burden of many years in denial, disowned

of what has become of a child as this.

 

I forgot. Where I keep and hidden deep

the face of the patriarch of the house

and his kingdom he ruled with an iron fist

that broke many of my unspoken dreams.

I do not know what it will become-

when the news is a bullet that penetrated

like a shrapnel misplaced in empty despair.

 

But no, maybe, I wished for it before.

A king who rules will die eventually

long enough when the rules I will break,

torn at the door away from his grasp.

And I, a son, whose life had been buried

out of father’s love to its silent cemetery.

Lived each day in the absence of his ghost,

forgiveness I lay in his memory I lost.

 

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All room’s full tonight

for restless thoughts,

will you make another?

Something resides too long

without paying any rent

unwilling to go. I try

 

to push the windows

shut from the memory

of the altar. Forgiveness

is the name knocking

at my door, I would not

let it in, at a price.

 

You know, it’s hard

to clean up the mess

of those nightly visitors.

Thinking about comfort

and the high maintenance

of keeping life in order.

 

Welcome.

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No hero’s welcome.

No grand parade.

Is waiting for the door left ajar.

Only its creaking sound

breaks the silence. And the breathing air

of some familiar spirits. I am once-

a familiar visitor in this house.

 

All that remains are lifeless forms

who have patiently waited here

Am I? Like a hermit crab

occupying this once solitary shell.

Called to embrace the shadows again.

Recapturing the lost and faded

photographs and memories

of the distant past. Forgive me.

 

For I came back not to rebuild

your imperiously alienating walls

I have suffered to endure. The magnanimity

of this abode, on which I failed

to contain the tension. Conquering

the many days and the years living

in the fear that haunted me. As I

have walked away to seek my own.

 

Yesterday will be torn into relevant bits

and pieces. As mementos and snapshots

I will keep them at bay. Never again would

memories imprison me into its walls

like ancient ghosts wailing, begging

to bring them back to their immortality.

 

I will clear away the cobwebs.

I will swept away the dust, making room

on these lonely spaces. I came back.

To cleanse this home of its sad sequences.

I will peel away the white sheets

that has covered the flaws, the lapses,

and the many inconsistencies in our lives-

we are ashamed to show. But instead,

we kept hidden for so long.

 

I will open the windows, taking in

the sunshine and the country air

and hope- as its constant companion.

Savoring the remaining days

choosing to be happy. A pilgrim

transforming this house into a habitation.

The dappled lightness of my being.

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We have cried together, seeing

the pages of our lives torn into pieces.

And how we knitted to rebuild it,

and washed them like dirty linens

in the laundry. Just like a potter

we build and sculpt in us

a new mold of the world

we never knew existed.

 

We exchanged our boxes

of secrets and a set of keys.

 

We swore by the heart. And

made a vow that we would keep

them locked and tightly sealed.

That we would be keeping each

other’s stories, only to ourselves

and no one else. And for the longest

possible time, it  has come to a point,

a reckoning. The seal of promise

had been broken.

 

Unlocking my box and spilling

the foam of words into little teardrops-

they fall like brimstones and fire

from the night sky, now. And the moon

must have hidden its face turning

into red, in anger and in shame. Bleeding

in the agony of a broken promise.

An impending death to a friendship.

 

Still, I am keeping my silence, thinking deeply

if it is worth to hide your keys in my pocket?

If keeping your box tightly sealed, or at once,

let them out in the open, will exact revenge?

While my flesh quivered at the thought

of why would you dare crossing the line,

betraying my trust. While my bones splintered

at the thought that I would dearly want you

squirm in your own bloodbath, redeeming self.

 

But I decided not to. 

 

Letting the ghost of your betrayal haunt you down

into your grave. A tormented soul, wandering

the dark halls searching for some kind of atonement.

Asking forgiveness.

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No string quartet.

No conductor to signal the baton.

No orchestra to anticipate my usual swoon

of randomly plucked staccato

alternating octaves

like a mad man in Vienna.

 

Alone in the stage,

I would linger

unvigorous in vibrato,

punctuating this sadness

in glissando. A solo part- how I wish

to serenade the muse. Longing

to tell her story in music-

under the sweet  delicate pitch

sorrow of Cremona.

 

The episodes, I have written on

mellow notes, resonant harmony-

bowing cello. Passionately

romancing my fingers to the smoothness

of her nape, the ebony board. While

sitting on a chair, I am a young lover

in blue, embracing memories.

 

My gentle touch travels

her body,  her maple waist

to her bridge, her sensual curves.

Choreographed my movements

spiked to her gravity. My slow breath

became whispers reverberating,

counter-pointing her lucid melody.          

 

I chose to be soft rather than loud,

my cello swooning treble of a tenor-

overwhelmed by a mezzo-soprano.

Quenching beneath this segmented,

disjointed and abruptly shifted

monotony of a lifetime

asking for her forgiveness. 

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 “Once you have given your bottom dollar, better things come your way.” I once read about the story of a man who had gone to a theater at Grand Ole Opry. After the show, he had gone to the backstage and ask a famous actor for an autograph.  He had no paper to write on.  So what he did, he pulled the last dollar bill from his wallet, and there he let the stage actor sign on it. 

It became his most priceless possession.  A dollar bill with an autograph of a famous stage actor.  The man, even if he is struggling with money, treasured this dollar bill until he met a young man who at that time came to the city for work that will only start in three days.  The young man penniless as he is, ask to borrow some money from him. 

The man remembered his last dollar.  After some thought, he decided to give it to the young man.  After some days, a windfall of fortune came to the man.  He was hired to a job that pays well and give him the opportunity to save money.

This story has something to do with us.  The blessings that we receive is a stewardship of God’s providence and that is to be shared with others.  This principle is nothing different to the idea of channelling God’s blessing as a way of passing the blessing. Giving it forward without expecting in return.

On the other hand, my take on this subject goes like this. Each one of us had been tested by times if we are able to respond to someone needing our assistance or help, in an unexpected time or circumstance. 

In these times, gone are those days of selfless giving.  Most of us, keep our hands tightly closed, and think that our key to survival is to keep something for ourselves.

The same is true on the following; pride, forgiveness, ego, etc.  All the things in us that is very hard for us to let go.  All the things in us that became very hard for us to release.

Each of us have the “bottom dollar”.  And the principle of true giving is still the same as before.  It is just up to us if we believe that it is really better to give than to receive.  Because to those who selflessly give, more shall be given.

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