The love I limited
Posted by gege at 9:02 PM
Posted by gege at 10:18 AM
And when the spell is gone,
When the magic of the moment vanishes,
And the heat, the ardor of going through the fire
Leaves nothing but the memory of embers,
When the river of tears dries up,
Leaving a bed cracked and arid,
When the season of the storm
Has turned into the parch of summer,
When the quake leaves no more tremors,
And the sea has calmed down
Except for the currents down in the deep,
When the piercing pain
Has become a numb ache,
When the anger and the hurt
Have been wiped out from a calloused heart,
By the need to heal and move on,
When the scab has disappeared
Leaving a hint of a scar,
Barely visible, except to the eyes of those who know.
When the desperation of threatened love
Turns back into the complacency of security,
When the chase is over,
And the battle ends with the compromise of a ceasefire,
When the fight fades into a sigh,
When the mundane sets in
And we once more become fixtures
Nailed, hitched, anchored,
Easy, willing, accessible property,
Clad in a house dress,
Wrapped in layers of everyday dust,
A nagging presence,
Been there, done that,
And ennui becomes a comfort,
And comfort becomes a curse,
Just waiting for the next upheaval,
Bracing for a storm
That we miss
But we wish would never come.
Posted by gege at 7:56 AM
Don't we all
Forgive our lovers
Soon to be lovers
We turn a blind eye
To their flaws
See halos where others don't
And allow the haze to hide the horns
Blemishes apparent to them
Invisible to our clouded vision
There's comfort in our prejudices
Solace in our imagination
We don our tinted glasses
To blur the blotches of a frail character
We camouflage crimes
We squint, we blink, we look away
We deny, we justify, we glossify
Because to burst the bubble of belief
Would be too hard to bear
Uncoupling too far from comfort
To be lonely is to be lost
Because identity is never isolated
And to belong is worth the price of oblivion
Better to stay imprisoned in our illusions
Better to remain ensconced
In our cocoon of conveniences
Our sentinel of sentimental attachments
This fortress of fog is our haven
To be cushioned in clouds is bliss
Because superheroes are dead
And what use are our armors
If they're far and not entwined around us
To protect our tender hearts and egos
Because saints are up in heaven
So we kiss the feet of the ones beside us
We put our blinders on
For the eternal ecstasy of
For the luxury of lust
The privilege of pairing
For a lifetime supply of kisses and caresses
After all, who else could endure
Who else could dismiss the lapses
But the one who loves the most
The one who knows the deepest reasons
The one who sees the hidden motives
The one who's already given to the point of bleeding
Because maybe it's all damn worth it
Maybe the end will justify the pains
And in the meantime we hide our minds in shadows
And drench our hearts in numbing potions
And fog up our goggles and reinforce our helmets
And we stay and we love to the point of blindness and amnesia
And in return
We become heroes too
Objects of adoration
Beloved beneficiaries of gratitude
Saints saving sinners with imagined halos
Loved with and without conditions
And we too are forgiven
Our sins concealed under comforters
Our faults forgotten too
Our freckled pockmarked faces filtered
By eyes beholden, tinted, shaded, blinded
By hearts held captive by time, tide, and the turbulence of togetherness
Don't we all?
Posted by gege at 7:13 PM
Restless, listless, like ants are crawling under my skin
Anxious, aching; feelings simmering into a boil
Disconcerted, agitated; the pea under my bed is growing
Seething, bleeding; finding words to paint the color of my angst
Posted by gege at 6:20 PM
Posted by gege at 3:17 PM
Debris,flotsam, jetsam, garbage, wreckage, floating trash,
Corrugated metal folded like paper, a book destroyed, all junk.
Carcasses of trees, shards of glass, iron rods, a refrigerator door, a hand,
A shoe without its pair, unidentifiable things, soggy rubber, clothes off somebody's back,
Dogs, cattle, pigs that could not swim, a child's plush toy, a bench, a lucky charm,
Somebody's father, a neighbor, a stranger from another village, a lot of stuff.
What used to be a roof, a student's backpack, now all useless crap.
Uprooted crops not ready for harvest, a teenager not ready to die,
Shanty dweller, man, woman, child, elder, sister, enemy, friend, someone's lover,
She who lived in a concrete house, he who had two cars, they who had none,
Business man, kanto boy, tambay, police man, priest, a convicted thug,
The village gossip, the righteous one, the one reviled, and one well liked.
Residue of a life that was
Remnants of days that now seem so long ago
Of that quiet time before the storm
Wreckage of families, separated, decimated,
Bodies of children who escaped their parents' grasp,
Corpses never given a chance to say goodbye,
Drifting to the sea,
Washed away from home,
Swept away, then gone.
The angry water did not choose.
The storm surge had no favorites.
The howling force of the wind did not discriminate.
Yolanda was blind; she took without regard to who or what.
The fury vengeance of mother earth simply struck everything on its path.
Everything, everyone was equal, all fair game.
It wasn't the clever nor the richer who survived.
Not the braver, the stronger, nor one more deserving to die.
Just whoever, whatever, whichever.
Random and impersonal as can be; they're all debris.
She struck, swept, smacked,
Stole, swiped, slayed.
And then just as abruptly, she left.
And in her stillness, the shock.
The deafening stillness after the roaring waves.
And the last struggling leaf fell on the littered ground,
Waking up those who did not die.
And they stirred, and they moved, and they searched
Through the debris, the flotsam, and the jetsam
Searching for hope, for nanay, for kuya, for remains of life.
Debris, detritus, sludge, scrap, and crud
Cover the earth for miles around.
Under the garbage, signs of life.
Under the rubble, somebody rises.
Behind the glazed eyes too tired to weep,
Remnants of a heart ready to fight,
To eat, to lash back, to survive, to fight for what's left behind,
To move on, to forgive, to forget, to flee,
To find a new place, a new reason, a new season, a new cause,
Amid the debris, the vestiges, the leftover matter, yes, hope remains.
Posted by gege at 10:37 AM