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Posts Tagged ‘shout’

My thoughts are as directionless

as the moths seeking for warmth.

The fire within crackles

sending cinders to my realm.

My mantra of calm are as restless

as the grasshopper hopping

to some isolated and jotted

islands of images, dark-

that painterly abstraction.

Jarring and savage.

 

Some questions will burn tonight.

And answers will die on my bed.

 

I, like a squirming maggot

will never break it out.

My wings  would never ride

the wind like the butterfly.

The ants are climbing

this white walled kingdom.

The night owl squeals a secret.

While the lizard is ready

to pounce for vengeance.

 

That’s what is left of me.

An spectator to the scenes which

I could not connect in a thread.

Bare. Hope. Chance

snapping some strings

and shout eureka. I found it.

 

How shall I fill the blanks

that never beg for words?

Naked. Lying here like a piece

of shit and this suicidal poem.

Eccentricity finds no reason,

dangerous and hangs its limit.

That yielding point.

 

Sanity is a false shelter where

no one wants to be intruder

and break down the door.

Open wide discovering

another neck is lingering

asleep forever in dreams.

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We were among those hundred innocent feet

wheeling through the clouds of dusts.  So close

that someone shouted to stop the angry phalanx

from advancing the gates. We were young bloods then.

Brave as a collective force ululating vignettes

about homeless families, starving peasants,

weak indigents, landless tribes,

friends of disappeared and the exiled.

 

We stand like a hundred innocent moths

circling fearlessly around the flame. Ready

to extinguish our fates  for one day of glory.

The cups ready to be filled with the bitter

after-taste of seeking the truth on the matter

of state.  Of politics. Of international affairs.

We stomp them shamelessly beneath our sandals.

We ripped them off from our tattered jeans.

We print them on the plainness of black shirts.

That justice of the land is not blind and should prevail.

 

We debated doctrines. We fight about logic.

We push our pens. We clasp our fists.

We join the caravan. We live our days

marching  vigorous  in the streets chanting

the aged texts  on mass struggles by the red book.

Burning  effigies.  Donning the placards.

We abhor dictatorship. We hated imperialism.

Like waterbombs spouting heavily against our faces.

Like the many teargases  hurled against our defences.

 

We bled when the police beat us out of the line.

Isolated  when we are thrown into prison cells.

Humiliated when subjected into torture chambers.

Discriminated when hunted down in the mountains.

We rise and made each part of our bodies as weapons.

Our  mouths  without strained voices.

Our  eyes  without biases.

Our  ears without prejudice.

Our fists without cowardice.

Our hearts without fear.

 

This is our revolution against the world order.

And the phoenix will rise again and again

among the many moths that have died.

Resurrected and will never be silenced.

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In this little alley connecting me to civilization,  vivid reality of how hard it is to earn greets like a sunshine each morning.  Here, the walking merchants are given a minute or two of strutting their spiels and bravura of salesmanship.  Their high-pitched and sometimes animated voices lingers accross the vicinity of the alley enough to catch attention. "Kung boses ang puhunan", as the old saying goes.  It goes perfectly fit for them.

I am fascinated to observe how these walking merchants industriously and painstakingly bring along their wares and produce each morning without fail. I would always wait for Manong who sells puto & kutsinta.  For Kuya, who sells taho.  And Ate who sells merienda in the afternoon siesta. Many of them, have made me "suki" whenever they sell seasonal fruits and vegetables, fish, shrimps, shellfish, and crabs.

I am not usually the type of person who goes to market and the sight of walking merchants is a relief in itself. Most of the time, our daily food source are often being supplied by them. I didn’t have to go out and walk a hundred meters just to roam the marketplace and be greeted by the swarming flies and the pungent odor. 

I am being inspired by them in a way.   If selling is the only thing that they can do, well, they have excelled in it and earn something for their family.  If people can only see how capable they are to make a living. How in the simpleness of their daily routine as merchants manage to smile and crack a joke.  That is something for a bonus.

As a seasoned charmer, they know how to maintain their customers. An extra line in the weighing scale. An extra scoop for a glass to fill. A discount to round off a bill. Even this simple, they have learn the art of persuasion and make a decent profit out of it.

I don’t believe that even in this cash-strapped times, there is nothing that can be done.  Look at the walking merchants, they rise early in the morning and sleeps late at night to ensure that on the next day the wares and produce will be ready for an expectant buyer such as I am.  So there is no reason for people to be a perennial "tambay" just waiting for dollar remittances  from their love ones working abroad. Unfortunately, many of us had become, most especially the males.

If I only had been given the chance to roam the streets and sell dried fish, I will do it.  Because in it, maybe I have learned more of the value of money and how to make it grow.  Maybe I have learned how the money will work for me, not me working for the money.  Maybe I have learned the ropes of being a businessman and knows how to take risk in any aspect of my life.  How to spot an opportunity and creatively start from there as a vehicle for living  more successfully.

If there are lessons we need to learn from a typical Chinese businessman, is this very good sense of managing a business.  Keeping those centavo profits and make them grow and to input them as a fresh capital.  Unlike our idea of having a business which usually end up just like  a shortlived affair. We tend to waste away money on splurges and unwise spendings after we collected profit.

This early, I am advocating to my nephews and nieces the importance of learning the value of money. How they should strive hard and work for the things that they would want for themselves later on.  And make them rely only to themselves by hardwork and perseverance, if they would want to pursue great things in their life. 

There is nothing shameful about selling. There is nothing shameful about working a simpler job. It would be more happier to hear somebody who worked as an excellent tradesman rather than seeing somebody on TV amassing millions as a corrupt politician. 

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