This was unprecedented:
After so many years,
The three of us,
Spending time with each other,
The second time, actually,
But the first time in reality...
Doing things together
Whatever the weather
Amidst the flu epidemic
Only in our house endemic...

Diving through albums uncovered
Old cards and photographs, discovered
Events recalled with each page
Of those still alive but have aged
Even those in this world now gone
No more tears now, just pure fun...

Amazing!
My sisters and I,
All in our senior years.
The times have been kind to us,
The gravity of our burdens
Never capitalized on our appearances.
In all modesty,
In all honesty,
in the eyes of many,
And in my own eyes...
We have become lovelier,
In our own ways...
Wealthy in experiences,
With each line and wrinkle
Bearing witness to the wisdom
We carry
In our minds and in our hearts,
Adding more precious gemstones
To each of our invisible jeweled crowns.

Still very much honed, our senses...
Still clear, our memories,
Olden times in our lives,
Oftentimes, recounted...
Clear as glass,
Every detail,
Every date,
Specified,
Verified,
All true.

We faced, dealt with
The acid tests of life, we
Emerged triumphant.
There weren't dull moments,
For we learned to smile,
Come what may...

In and out we dined,
Laughed, and wined,
Sang our songs,
Told our stories,
Tried on our old outfits,
Gigglings of our youth
All relived,
All resurrected.
The three of us,
Up to having more wrinkles soon,
Laughing at the most trivial things.
The "Tres Hermanas,"
As we were fondly called,
Then, even now,
My two sisters,
Oblivious of their nearing departure,
For we were having unequaled fun,
From sunrise to sunset,
Even beyond bedtime hours,
Here, in our family house,
After a long, long time.


Sally

Copyright 2014
Rosalia Rosario A, Bayan

(a tribute to all mothers)


When loved ones go ahead of us,
people say, "They're home,
in a better place, safe from harm...."

When a child's life is cut short,
it is most often said, he, or she is "...better off that way
better dead... saved from hovering perils..."
and  more comforting words
spoken softly......repeatedly
to help us cope with loss, with sorrow.

But, a mother in pain...bereft...defiant.. still asks:
"Who are we to say, a child is safer,
away from his, or her mother's loving care?"
a mother's love knows no bounds,
she would keep watch, with a vulture's eyes
until her sick child makes it through the night
she would climb any mountain
brave all that would stand in her way
just to keep her child safe, happy and contented

The life of her child is all that matters to her.

A mother feels a stab on her chest      
when her child refuses her love and care
and chooses to stay away from home
how could a mother be inflicted with such immeasurable pain?    
she dies a thousand times
her suffering heart is soaked in tears
it comes to a point when she cries without tears,
because, she loves without questions asked
she loves without complaining
because,
a mother's love is unconditional
a mother's love is an ocean...unfathomable

A mother's grieving heart could sometimes be blind,
in denial...cold...stubborn, in her non-acceptance,
though weary, she appears to be indefatigable,
never surrenders
even as she tries to walk on the water
even as she tries to walk, amidst the crowd...

(December 24, 2014)



Sally


Copyright December 2014
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

It is not only on her birthday, and the day she left
i remember her everyday...without fail
her thoughts visit me when i rise in the morning
she hints to me what she'd do if she were in my shoes
at night, i whisper, "talk to me...in my sleep..."

in my dreams, our eyes seldom meet...she's younger now,  lovelier
always busy pruning her bougainvillas and dama de noche,
the usual scene....maybe, she's telling me this is how it's going to be
that everything would be okay, even when i, too, am gone.

it's like, she's just outside, tending her garden
it's like she's absent, just traveling, for a while.

in the minds of my children and grandchildren
my siblings and their families
her memories play on and on, like a record spinning on a turntable
she's a serenade...a classical piano piece that won't fade
my late mother...she's a song that will not die.



Sally
Copyright May 7, 2015
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

It was a twist of fate....
It was more than I could take....
Who would have  known of this tragic moment?
In a split second, I find myself in a strange scenario.
I want no more memories.....
Sadly, they're all that's left with me,
Mingling...with
Feelings unexpressed,
Words unspoken...
Things I kept to myself before,
They're all bottled up inside me,
I fear I might explode...
With every beat of my heart,
I am reminded of how I lost you...
The pain, the angst,
Will not just fade overnight...

So let me open my heart to you now,
Dear Anna......you were my first...
I love you and your siblings,
But right now is between you and me.
Somehow, I see
How tight I had held you then...
How your tiny hands I had kissed so often
Before I let you go.....I had to let you go...
I wasn't the one who raised you...
I wish I could turn back the times,
I wish I had been the one....
This knife cuts so deep, it crucifies me...
You kept saying goodbye
In more ways than I could remember....
But...I failed, to perceive the hidden truths
In your messages,
I will be sorry for the rest of my life...

I love you, Anna, how do I cope?
I have no more strength...
I am in panic, I have no more hope...
A different perspective now resides within me...
I can't face tomorrow, because you won't be there.
If I were given a choice,
I wouldn't wish to see another sunrise...

I feel the emptiness of your space, here and now...
But...something...keeps pricking my brain.
An idea that somehow, creates sparks in my mind...
A consoling thought, it kind of pats my heart...

The sweet little daughter you left behind?
It makes me smile, as
I see her now, going through your stuff,
On your bed, where you had left them all scattered...
She has taken over, she's now in your space...
A glimmer of hope, she will be...
To pull me through each, and
Every agonizing night...

I love you, I miss you, my dear Anna........

          (August 2013)

                 Sally        

        Copyright 2013
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

I Am Like My Mother

In more ways than one,
I am like my mother....
This stands before anything else:
My family is my priority
I preach to respect seniority
But, sometimes I go soft
Upon hearing pleas from little voices.

My life is replete with family albums,
Sturdy wood furnitures that have lived
Through the years, and most importantly,
Old family traditions my siblings and I
Learned from my mother.
I would prefer for these to be observed
By the succeeding generations,
Where love and kindness to others,
Table manners and saying graces are only
A few of those lessons most often stressed.

The children in my family,
Thy grew up the way I was raised.
Humility is practiced at an early age,
Where no child speaks when not spoken to,
And helping with  the chores is a must...
They are taught early on in their childhood
As soon as they are able to understand...
We have a God, our Creator,
To whom we should always be grateful to....
From Him comes all our countless blessings...

My sisters and I...
We are like a sorority.
Hopefully, the other women in my family
Would eventually realize,
There is an expectation
That my mother's ways should be kept going...
This, my sisters and I would make sure of.

Each morning, my mother would look around
The whole house and its boundaries,
With both her arms akimbo.
Now, it is I who does the surveying,
But, with my hands clasped behind me.
Front, back and sides of the house
All kinds of plants and trees surround...
I make sure they are all green and lush.
Fruit trees and flowering plants in the summer,
Several wild flowers do sprout all year round,
To grace our lives through all kinds of weather.

My mother and I, we had an implied agreement,
We didn't discuss it, never brought it up
In any family gatherings.
It just happened that I knew her so well.
Now that I'm older, I've never been so sure...
I am like my mother,
In more ways than one...

(Written August 28, 2013)


Sally

Copyright 2013
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

She is a rose...
of course,
It is but natural
she was born
with those thorns...
but thorned or otherwise
she rises in splendour
beauteous in every colour...
her petals, oh so fragrant
When dried, they are more redolent
especially when kept in a sachet...

She brightens our days with
the many colors and tones of her poetry.
some may be sad  outbursts,
reactions that could have been stirred
by daily circumstances...
others are gentle reflections,
it doesn't matter...
they are roses arranged in a vase,
or scattered
among a garden of flowers...
she  showers us with a variety
of her chosen thoughts for the day...
it is always a mystery,
she keeps us in suspense!

Thorns are an accepted part of her body
even when she tries to spare her fingers,
she gets pricked, just the same,
she  deals with the wound
as she would always do,
just as tests of life, like thorns,
are part and parcel of our daily lives...
she knows very well those roads to be taken
and those to be avoided...

On a stressful or gloomy day
when our spirits are clouded,
almost sagging towards the ground,
when under the weather
when restless or anxious, or
when needing solace,
the rose-y colors of her poetry
do their best to comfort us
some days they are red
other times, pinkish
other days they are yellow
or immaculately white,
peach-y, at times, seeming delicious
one may be tempted to have a bite...

Don't know how or why...but we
must not question these miracles of God...
time comes for a rose to be dormant...
during these winter moments in her life
she  lives, she exists in silence...but
underneath, her mind is so alive....

From deep inside, she writes,
she hears, she reads,
gathering pictures, words,
anything important in sight
wherever, whatever the source
her cloth-bound journal is always ready
to  record her new-found discovery
all pages would soon be consumed...
a new one to take its place, is presumed.

Petals may fall or pinched one by one,
her stem, may be left to stand on the ground
but strength is like second skin to this rose
she has risen above past thorny episodes
surely, she will rise above future ones,
if they come...
these days, she is in  some kind
of a wonderful state...
i pray she will always be that way.

she is a sturdy wall to lean on,
she is indomitable...
her stem may sway,
she may bend, but
she rarely snaps
she is a rose...and
will always be
a rose...

Her name is KELLY ROSE...


Sally

Copyright 2014
Rosalia Rosario A, Bayan

One day I sat by a stream,
The water still.
Like a mirror.

Seeing my reflection,
Reveling in my beauty.
Though it was only a mask.

Everyday I hide true feelings,
Unknown to those I love.
I fear for its surface,
The claws like daggers,
To my throat.

Gazing into the water,
I can see my face.
Eyes of Ashure haze.

From Right to Left,
Two completely different people.
Stare back at me.

What was once beautiful,
Is now hideous.
Beyond comparison.

Changed...
By the mask.
Known as *"Torn.."

A goddess..
Of beauty and desire.

Prideful,
Honored by her family.
Distinguished by her eyes.

Wings of a angel,
Fidelity of a thousand women.

A goddess,
Is within thee.

Beyond all,
Your beauty.