Isaiah 43:18-19

The wind carries hopes someplace,

along with the riddled trees.

Songs and dances forlorn and muted.

Paper and ink idle and stubborn.

A season of change in the offing.

The fallen shall rise again.

I trust You with this newness,

fully and completely.

The past fraught with worries

now sees no light.

The death of a star feels like an eternity,

but I obey You.

Still, I cherish You.

I do truly love You.

My heart, mind, and soul

are one with You.

Letting go and forgetting.

The wilderness is paved with Your wonders.

Streams spring up in the wasteland.

I do not fear, for You are with me.

All The Great Things Above Me

The full moon casts the end and the beginning.

The river tamarind tree -- dead and slender -- 

beside the thriving pink bougainvillea

-- vibrant, flamboyant, frolicking with butterflies --

rises mightily like a distant castle.

So cold, the sea breeze leaves me shivering,

and I don't want any warmth.

I don't want to feel anything. 

The sky binds my countenance to it,

as if I am indebted to its chains.

Gazing at the eyes peppered

across the cloudless night, I see none.

I see tomorrow is never promised,

as murky as an aging vision,

thinning and fading.

Oh, how bright is the night

I am blinded not by this love.

The seed of this mystery

keeps on growing and growing

and sprouting all the more its greenness.

I listen to your voice from the far mountain,

to the strings I so long to hear.

My heart plunges to ache after ache.

I want to see your delicate face,

to stare at it, to adore the beauty that it is.

Oh, my love, this clarity from Heaven speaks out loud.

All the great things above me,

reassuring and comforting,

fill the spaces in my whole being.

The divine works enliven me fully.

The Sheets

I am one grateful man,

for the comfort you bring.

Softly and patiently,

you cover our nest

that I can only be free.

Beneath and in between,

roses spring across the yard.

How beautiful is this peace,

as unblemished as the cotton sky.

Your quietness is sheep,

yet the valor of king.

Beyond the rustle of the night,

your whispers soothe her to rest.

I am from the star,

a celestial rock,

watching over her.

I weep, I wish, I pray to be

with her in her sleep.

Her Strength

The smell of her dark hair leads me to a field of greens, reds, and pinks

Swaying with the sultriness of the wind, a balm to a battle-worn soul.

All the birds, never joyless, hum a familiar melody sent from a night sky decked with stars.

I feel her nearness as I close my eyes, holding my warm arm.

An image of her emerges -- faint sun's vibrant and most eloquent surprise.

On a morn of April, she dazzles, she dances, singing her heart out loud, ever childlike, yet she weeps.

She sobs in silence, in a vacuum of bruises and wounds.

My Maria, my life's rose, my heart aches with her.

Speechless tears sink in my every day, a suffering of being so far away from her.

The unforgiving seas and soaring mountains, so overwhelming we breakdown many a time.

But a magnetic string holds our universe together, an anchor we cling to.

Forever gracious and grateful, my dear Maria finds comfort in the promises of the Word.

Often does she remind me of that, truly a ray of light she is.

Her strength awakens me from slumber, pulling me out of the pit; she is strength.

I love her deeply, and the fragrant blooms and swinging birds are in the know.

Bigotry

The morality of a highbrow bigot can crucify a poor, barefaced soul in seconds.

The plebeian gets pounced on a slip -- to death -- profusely bleeding without being heard.

Reasons that don't cower in fear and apologies that bury the lowly alive six feet under blindingly shiny shoes, are a murmuring drone of a gnat within earshot.

An annoyance to be silenced, or to be stamped out by inutile tender hands -- pink and moisturized and manicured to high heavens, unsullied -- that have never met any kind of soil.

Why?

Because, again, bigot.

Safe Haven

Storm clouds loom over our scarlet cradle
- the feelings, the dreams, and the roads.
The distressed air knows its own battles;
stubborn and wild, it unleashes its might.

Birds perch on in abandoned, broken attics,
fraught with fear or coldness or hunger.
Never to leave until the tempest dies;
never to fly until the sun comes up.

Heavy, pounded, and loud, earth is soggy,
an incurable wound for hours,
or an infant enduring its complex wailing.
Souls wander not on a lark.

The night breaks its ribcage;
streaks of light unfold before your eyes,
pacing as a patient soldier.
And warm hands hold you tight.

Hardin sa Mang-uuma (A Farmer's Garden)

Your garden, peppered with your magical touch,
lies under capricious heavens and over silent, deep riverbeds.
It awaits the season of bloom, which cries of defaulted joy.
It is as patient as a vagrant crossing treeless lands, lost and parched and yellow.
It is, after all, a child without tantrums.

When it survives, you are the proud father.
When it grows, green and strong, you have found a pearl.
It wins every taste bud.
You can make yourself breakfast, lunch, and dinner.
It is selfless and giving.
Your garden, after all, is a forest, a nature with lungs.

Stones and Dust

Stones and dust faithfully rest
on the unassuming ground,
while coal-hued cloak,
dotted with minute flashes of light,
envelopes the stillness
caused by the shy sun.

In a manner scattered
over a large portion of the earth,
they stand, they lie, they roll,
they fly, they erupt, they wander.

Beneath the claimed sovereignty
of these flats, gateways, walls,
towers, bridges, and shelters,
are the uncharted mysteries plotted
like riddles of the great Sphinx.

I can't fathom the insides
of your will and freedom,
for you mind and render your own artistry.
I remain faithful to you.

Nocturnal Stroll

The heart and mind of the being
are back for good;
and all that are held captive
in scattered hopes
and more the kinetic dreams
whistle in uniform sounds
that become of the sea,
neverending.

The Plant

There you are my muse
in the nook of my soul,
looking out for my god
dressed in my faith and hope.

How the silence of your mien
perpetuates through my afternoon,
is to my indignation not;
it is the fuel stirring
my affair with solitude. 

I delight in your fine expression
-- coy, playful, full of conviction
yet unpredictable.

You carry the eyes
watered with spring and summer,
and direct which to mine;
and for that, so grateful I am.

Despite all the nuisances
dangling and screaming around,
you remain calm and steadfast,
only to breathe with me,
to sleep in our own pulses
and be swayed by our simple happiness.

I catch the phrases let out from your foliage
-- young, smiling, and still wading
in the ruffled air and storms.

I love you.

IQ + EQ

Well, who does not love a superior IQ?
It does wonders. 
We marvel at your pride.
But EQ can trample IQ down so easily.
It dares you to be true.
We toast at your being a human.
We realize.
We learn to fly.
We soar high as much as we kiss the ground.
IQ + EQ, ah, it is a long shot, sometimes.
Well, there is a mound of dust.
To sweep or to vacuum?
That is the second question.
Asthma, please go away.

Death of Friendship

Shimmering glow of vivid sky
Donned the everlasting amity.
In haste, rainbow unfolded its colors
To pursue a hope for eternity.
Yet, its ends began to banish,
Seemed dreams losing reality.
Blackened night merely marred life;
And death connived at a past.
Died and buried with pain,
Less hope, struggle ended.
Ever-soaring wings resolved in pity.
In a sad, damp cold plight we ended.

Faked by Will

Was in the doldrums by ardent guilt,
Severed by mind, will, the gloom,
Deceived not by charlatan dogma,
Courage stifled the hapless bucolic,
Only abysmal benightment deepened their sorrow,
Reckoned dogsbodies despised through arrogance,
Dulcet bells, maimed in silence,
Joie de vivre perturbed profoundly on the brink of prime;
Whisper of emaciated justice wandered, fear curtailed its span yet.
The spirit lost in supreme nowhere.
Darkness shrouded the mirror of truth.
To lie would construe nil of sanity, to be blind.
To be candid would evoke dullness and conscience.
Conscience, conscience, would scribble pertinacious statute.

Loving Day for Two

Celebrated through destiny,
Roses of vermillion, saffron, alabaster bloomed.
A paradise shaded by erudite hands,
Clouds rolled in perfect say,
Covering the delicate, jocund sun
Casting a shadow so pure,

Life bribed a perfect circle
For the two's trip to odyssey.
Stars, no way not.
The cradled field brightened,
Seemed sparkles at night's sky.
Sophisticated flame cherished,
This earth would endure a joy.

I am a Wizard in Varleim

The commonplace is Varleim,
Where wizards and hags abound;
I am a wizard destined
To live in Varleim in a forlorn castle there.

Ordinary earthly beings are forsaken,
Never brave their hearts in entering Varleim
For the supernatural will they be greeted?
And lose their senses and die.

But humans with powers uncertain,
In this kind of place be permitted,
For the craft among my fellas
Allow him to be enslaved and later be one.

Varleim looks quite eerie;
Creations and sky as thou can say
Are evil, mutated, disgusted.
Thou see nothing but black and night.

The way to my castle, take a wooden drawbridge
Over a boiling magma from a volcano, Erebus the Mighty;
Thou trot, it creaks, sweat cools down thy body;
Steam bursts in a sudden, don't panic thou will fall be cooked.

Step on its soil, be prudent.
Underneath it is soft and heating water;
If thou are heavy and weighted,
It drowns and plunges thou, be buried, breathing is not easy.

Cacicti animus is the species
Of the thorny plants surrounding my castle;
Cactus is thy word,
They're all similar, though ours is black and moves obviously.

It's hard on thy part perambulating,
It kills thou in no time;
Recklessness causes thy fate,
On my soil death brings thou to the unknown.

Finally, if thou reap luck,
On thy very eyes ascends my castle towering;
Fear braces thy shoulders and tremble.
Thou are needing to go back, but the bridge has been drawn and the risk be taken back.

All black compared to charcoal except the sole light up.
It's my lamp in the laboratory,
Where I experiment to formulate the spells
Used to draw away the foes.

Beings wanting to explore high upward,
Dare throw dreams into ashes,
For it costs life
Upon breaking the rules I have declared.

I have an assistant,
He's a chimaera in thy world.
But in Varleim, he's but common;
For many years in this castle we live.

Sariba is his name,
Half-dog, half-horse,
With built of a mare and head that of a dog,
Together we cast spells.

Thy mind concludes am trash evil;
My castle turns thou to a distant light,
With the black, cacicti animus, a monster;
Nonetheless, Varleim speaks, "It's the rose among the thorns."

I am a wizard sophisticated,
Separated from the good for am good;
Assigned to do witchcraft in Varleim, the dark,
Tasked to defend the good against the surrounding powers of darkness
Am about to win!

(a poem inspired by HARRY POTTER)

Mama Sang the Lullaby

The empty space resided in my unknowing mind.
But a smile left a trace of joy in my face
that would banish the hardships from
the day of toil to end.
Who caused that so? My Mama.

Mama sang her favorite lullaby,
which used to be Grandma's.
The night willfully accompanied her with
the power of chant; in my crib, I swallowed
my dream deep down to a somnolent path.

Mama sings the lullaby.
Hoping jealousy not be borne,
I escape and hide behind the walls.
"Mama, could you sing that to me?"
And tears begin to fall as
my juvenile brother sleeps so tight.

Sorrow...Death...Life...Sorrow

In a remote earth, I blinded my eyes.
On a distant narrow, black shore, I dreamed of nil.
In the day, I saw none but doom.
On a vast field, in solitude I stood.
In a deserted chamber, I cried 'til I fell.
On the river, I hoped be drowned.
In the wilderness, wanderer I was.
On Everest's apex, I gasped out of hunger.
In a blackhole, I plunged to hell.
In the shadows, I trembled.
In the mist, I chilled.
In sickness, I lay flat on dry-matted foliage.
On my death, I live back.

The Love Unspoken

A ray of light flashes on my face.
Your presence secures a dazzling gaze.
Adorned by the sweet scent of perfume,
Comely you may seem.

But solitude and sorrow reign
Fear consorts with doubt.
Caged in the struggle of silence
The most artless love of a lad
Reticent lest knowledge would cast desperation,
Beyond guilt as yet unspoken.

Something's Changed When You Told Me This

I never thought you have this feeling
That hearts only are dealing;
It's only you I know a friend
Whom I can share with and depend on;
Yet, I can't resist the words you told,
They rang my ear somewhat like a bell;
Something's really changed when you told me this,
And that's what I wonder, is this a heart's tease?

The Rule of Chastity

If one deserves love,
he frees and unsolicits hate.
If one deserves hate,
love does he not know.

If one deserves respect,
his sobriety despises arrogance.
If one deserves disbelief,
people see him with no reputation.

If one deserves trust,
he is an admirer of fidelity.
If one deserves betrayal,
marred is the value of relationship.

If one deserves praise,
his talents does he not overlook.
If one deserves criticism,
it justifies mediocrity or vulgarity.

If one deserves you,
he greatly needs your love.
If one deserves help,
it is now you have to extend.