Posts Tagged ‘learn’

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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We have to spend our whole life getting up

each morning and see the many suns

rising courageous from the horizon.

A simple life- who knows when to retire

at night time and hug long-time companions

called pillows and dreaming dreams.


There are episodes here, which send ripples

into our seemingly monotonous existence

everyday. And we have to wage battles

with boredom and her sisters- called mediocrity

and irrelevance. But not all were lost.

Somebody needs to learn how to befriend them.


Some may think that something was lacking,

but perhaps in the company of silence we find

orbs of thoughts in the usual grind of days

like the fowls of the air having simple cares.

Season after season. Day after day. Aged

but content to the simple things that matter.


The small country talks over the weather

and life in the farm begins with asking folks

how the young are doing these days at school.

The familiar warmth of seeing old friends at a gathering.

The joy of witnessing someone else’s milestones.


The farewells and well wishes when someone

is leaving our own little places to discover

the bigness of things. There goes a little prayer

and a hope that nothing is wrong when one decides

to stay and carry on doing their tasks each day.


We might spend our whole life thinking it’s good after all, 

though it has never been easy and there are rough times.


But it will never stop us believing that peace within

is the only dwelling place, our enduring shelter

when the day comes that we will never be able

to witness the sun and it has forgotten to rise.


In the darkness, we hope our soul in its own little spaces

can see the moon and stars light up the evening sky.

While the wind whispers- all is well, we’ll be calm as the sea.

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Here, in the box are things that you left me.

It’s been years I kept them hidden under

my bed. Should I throw it away? A burden


that I should burn it aflame with the world

like this tongue of hatred growing each day.

Oh sadness, it lingers through days like rain.


I have learned to befriend loneliness. I am

a castaway and a stranger to my own skin.

Chained to asking myself of what, why or how-


I build myself a wall of defense in silence

shielding me from these ghosts of abandon

and fear. Believing I have moved on but no.


I ran away as fast as I could in circles

until the soles of my feet bleed in despair.

I hated you and I should tell you that, now.


The blue light to my cigarette starts another

round of stinging away this loneliness

floating in loops through the night’s surreal air.


The beads begin forming in my mugs of beer

unknowingly- which of those are my sweat or tears-

blurred in the sad memory that you left me.


Remind me of things in that box of dreams,

by the time I know it, smashed to the floor

again. Made me satisfied to learn emptiness.

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My child, grow as you would hope to be.


I am here, washing the dirty linen

and the soiled clothes thinking of you.

Who can tell? That the world in the future,

its circumstances be better. But I pray

that you may have the strength to face

each day with courage and dignity-

of choosing what is true and honest.

Defending what is right over wrong,

uncompromising to the virtues that I

am going to teach you. Please listen.


I am not the best and I am not perfect.


And I dream for you my child, a life anew.

Realizing the chance to fulfill the purposes

destined for you. Keeping steer of the pitfalls

I have done. Make a difference of your own.

Striving the very best that you can.

Standing up for what you believe in.

Though you may fall, there will always be

a chance to pick yourself up, to stand again.


Never quit. Never fear. God be with you.


And I hope you learn from my mistakes.

The misjudgment I did when I was

once a child like you. Growing up too.

Through my adulthood, deciding to love

another being and brought you along

amidst the pain, the hurt and the turmoil.

May it be- your life like these soap suds

clearing away the dirty traces of my past,

vanishing all the fears that I had before.


Starting the days wearing clean clothes.

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Look at me.

A corporate soldier.

Working wounded

in the company of men-

wolves in sheep’s clothing.

Deceiving as snakes.

Cunning as sharks.


And here, the desk became

my war machine. Riding

in the engines of my brain.

Words and strategies wielding

like speeding bullets, as weapons.


I must learn the art of combat.


And it’s going to rain today.

But not of the sky.

But with paper planes

piling up in my incoming tray,

touching down like flies.


The cubicle is a battleground.


I need a saving grace, ejecting

from this capsuled seat. When

life signals on a high wire-

blinking signs of warning.

Maneuvering survival,

evading a free fall.

Beating the deadline.


I’m burned out.

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Newspaper reading is a habit that I never had given up since I was young.  I would recall my father, would let us read a news article and ask us how we understood what we have read.  My younger brother and sister would often cry, if they cannot utter their explanation in English while I, as the eldest in the brood would try to pick and match English words along with my mental reasoning in Tagalog.

I would always remember how my father would always bring along newspaper after work so that he can continue reading at home.  And I remember how he clipped Supreme Court articles from Inquirer and compiled them in an envelope.  Maybe because he always wanted to be a lawyer before but because of poverty he was not able to pursue it, and instead he joined the army to become a soldier.

I would always remember the first time I have written a long letter in English, when my father edited the grammar and the spelling in red ink. Oh, I was so ashamed to find that my efforts then, are not good enough for him. But the many instances of correcting my English composition never stops with my father, even up to the time I was about to join a school organ in high school. 

I have a set of poems that I secretly hid underneath the center table, that he found by chance.  By the time, I was about to pull it out and insert my new poem, I was filled with rage to find out that he checked them again and edited my poems in red ink.

I contested to him that poetry is not totally structured like a normal prose and a poet has this poetic license to creatively fashion out the words in imagery. And I also told him, that my writings are for my own personal consumption and he is not supposed to meddle with it. That was the time when my father stops correcting me in the aspects of my writing in English. That was the time, that I have thought that I can be so independent within my own judgement. 

But now, as I was reading a newspaper, the English dictionary is always beside me. Why? My vocabulary had suffered so much and the way I compose my articulations in English are way behind to improving. It’s dismally predictable.  Whenever I am contemplating, I have realized that my attitude is somewhat like that of the child before and had never grown up on life. The point that I have stop learning new things and accepting mistakes had crippled me to grow more.

As I am writing this, I am teary eyed to know, that the world has left me behind among the shadows.  And this fear of being rejected and corrected by people has pushed me deeper to this abyss of self-pity.

I am one of those who had refused to learn.  That is why, only a handful of people is ever willing to teach a person like me who still got so much to learn on life.  Learning does not necessarily come from people who had this so academically  inclined nature but true learning comes from people who are willing to share and expect nothing in return.  And I was hoping, that they will not see me as a person filled with pride but a person who strive to be teached and trained more and more.

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