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Posts Tagged ‘moments’

The storm had passed

and left pellet marks of rain

to my parched earth. An afterglow

radiating and pulsating

 

with warmth of whispers

and silent promises

about the sea of softness

under the night clouds.

 

Like the shepherd moon

it clings in the presence of moments,

of minutes and hours, sweet

love talk by the angels of youth.

 

Words, words I have to rinse away

thereafter- extinguish this flame.

Long before the dawn breaks

the transience of tenderness.

 

My intimate surrender.

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There’s a suitcase in the hall.

And emptiness will soon occupy it.

Something which kept me immobile,

quite undecided to test the wind

or its aged leafless trees outside

 

where the silent pavement beckons

and my own shadow as a companion.

How should I, in the permanence of seasons

would not be keen to grasp the clues

that promises were never made to last?

 

I thought I could be strong enough.

I thought I would not have a glimpse

of that leathery box which collected

my yesterday’s dust of missed chances

that dried up in the passing of years.

 

I thought I could forget the barrenness

of autumn’s leaving another space

which I tried to fill with the leaves of days.

Un-withered, but soon became faded letters

that I will be keeping in this humble suitcase.

 

Memories of old coming back to me now.

I will turn the knob to open another door,

and walk into another painful journey

of beginnings. Never ending days catching

the falling leaves as remnants of moments.

 

And when the falling snow in the winter comes

and rest on the branches of those leafless trees,

like the way I carry the weight of my suitcase.

I will try picking up the pieces again and slowly

survive another night without the moon nor the stars.

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The past are days

like pages in a book.

On the first few pages

you can’t figure out

what the story is all about. 

 

Prologue.

 

“There is a man struggling

to find his place in this world.

Had his share of hits and misses.

Of crossroads where-

it is hard to decide

which road to walk into, and

on which doors to knock.

Afraid, that somebody may not

be there to turn the knob.

And open up.”

 

If only, these eyes can pause reading

and stop for a while at these words

that almost made me yawn and sleep.

Insignificant hours of keeping on.

Hoping this story will not lead

into another unhappy ending.

 

“Why do we have to be serious

all the time?”

 

Don’t ask me. It’s your problem.

The questions still left

hanging in there, moments.

When pages stood unclear,

incomplete with the sentence.

Waiting for somebody

to knock the door. I’ll open up.

 

“Is that all?  Is that all?

Is that all there is to wait

and it all boils down to this?”

 

Tempted to return to the first few pages.

Back to the parts when I remember

breaking down halfway through a paragraph.

As if not knowing how did it start

somebody talking to me. It should have

been better not to have read at all.

No clues from the beginning.

 

And the countdown to the hours

remains. Finish reading parts

on the last chapter- I confront.

Today- no happy ending.

 

 

Epilogue.

 

“And fear creeps in like a mirror

he have to face everyday.

There was a time when he need

to jump into the pond of uncertainty.

Searching the man in his reality,

faced with nagging bouts of questions-

What’s next? What’s on the other side?

What’s the  future?”

 

I can’t figure out.

What this story is all about. 

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As I would keep my path

clear

of grass growths.

I will find a way

leaving a trail.

 

And watch

the sky touching earth.

The feathered wings

of my angel

on the horizon.

 

I hope.

I would keep my footsteps

slow.

To observe

some familiar things.

 

I used to see

in my many quiet mornings

in the clearing.

 

I would follow

the sun beams.

Over the veil

of the fog.

 

As it lingers

above the field

of windflowers.

 

I will gather some fallen twigs.

Some fallen leaves.

In a jar.  Keeping moments

 

for potpourri. I am breathing in-

my home in the prairie.

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I was searching through the friends list on my Friendster, when suddenly a name came accross my mind.  Yeah, I was looking for this friend for so long and now I am typing her name on the blank spaces anticipating that the search engines will come up with some positive results. Voila!! There she goes. She is all, well, right there in front of my eyes.

I read through her profile page and there I go clicking my way through her photographs.  Satisfied of what I have seen. I glanced through her friends list and to my surprise, she managed to keep track of almost all our classmates in grade school. For eighteen long years, I have tried to veer away for possible contact, I must confess. I just have this gut feel that my grade school life should be shelved like a book. Because I felt, it must end there.  Right there at the graduation night.

But tonight, my mind wanders back in time, and in disbelief on how we managed to age wonderfully through the years up to our primes. Some have proudly become mothers and fathers. Some still remained single like me.  Some are on the other side of the world.  Some have chosen to stay back in our hometown. But regardless of what each of us has eventually have become and have been to, the truth of the matter is, we will always be classmates.

That is one connection that binds us all.  That is one connection that transcends above social status, lifestyle preferences, idealogies, and religious differences. What matters, is that we came to know  an essential part of each other during those old school days.  That there are some things that had remained unchanged. Within. And that is what worth holding on.

And I am glad to reminisce those times. Those silly times, that you would rather forget, but you can’t. Puppy loves, crushes and the like. Bullying, crying games and spanking from teacher moments. Cramming for periodical exams, copying of assignments before classes begin and all sorts of cheating. Those mid-afternoon games we used to play like tumbang preso, patintero, chinese garter, hide and seek etc.

Ah, you would always remember the noisiest, the silent ones, the nerdy types (I think I am), the beauty queens and kings of the class. The tallest, the shortest, the fairest, the brainiest, the smartest and the laziest. And who would forget the one being assigned to list down the noisy and troublesome in the class, the class president? And the sergeant-at-arms in tow?

The morning cleaning times. The flag ceremonies.  The drum and bugle practices. The choir. The calisthenics.  The recess time, anyone? Oh, how about the district meet. The sports meet. The demo week. The Linggo ng Wika. The Christmas parties.  The Boyscout and Girlscout camping. And most of all, the recognition day.  Oh, I almost forgot the slumbooks, the songhits and of the spiders hidden on some yellow matchboxes.

I must admit, I enjoy most of the time climbing star-apple trees and perched among its branches like a monkey observing other school girls and school boys who either play in school grounds or just seating on concrete benches poring over some notes. And my memory of the grade school never ends with wonderment. Did I really have gone through that?  What a joy to be so young! Such an enjoyment! And who would believe that we are so far-away from being those silly school girls and school boys from what we are today?

I regret to have said that my grade school life should be shelved like a book.  I felt that  there is a need for a time that this book will be inevitably opened. And each of us who had became part of the book, should step forward into the light and give it some life.  Possibly,  to begin writing some new chapters on the book, about lasting friendship among us.  Definitely.  Definitely some of our paths will yet cross again. We’ll see.

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