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Eden Tucay Aug 2016
With a rounded eyes and not too tall,    
Like a dark blueberry that fall              
With a curly hair but not too small,      
Like a futile shell that installed.            

Covered with refined green in aerial,
Blushed with light blue in terrestrial,
Clear drifting water of mineral,
Like real golden grain of cereal.

Swept by reminishing the mem’ries,
When captured by other countries,
Impaled by their nasty activ’ties,
Hallowed the heart of the ladies.

Our cheeks with drops of rain in disguised,
While deserting the place of mice,
Grudging our father and to demise,
Our land with invaluable price.

You can see us in the wild maze none,
Co’z the land in our palm was gone,
When they killed her one and only son,
All of his dreams were left undone.

Product of knave they infuse to us,
Iniquity they laced on us,
They slapped us in front of the mass,
“Where is justice”, we simply asked.

Why are we surpassing these sorrows?
… because of our **** black color?
You bang us with your fatuous harrow!
Do you think our minds are narrow?

Be dauntless and wield your dignity,
In spite of their brutality!
Cultivate the solidarity
In your poor personality!
I wrote this poem when I was in 1st year college.
Eden Tucay Aug 2016
Pressure is not a pressure unless you treat it as a challenge. In every situation, you have the power to choose on what angle you will look on.
Eden Tucay Aug 2016
If you're a leader and you don't have plan to prosper for your subordinates, you should go to an island and build your own empire...but off course you know that's not possible, because you can't be on top without anyone below.
So try to look down sometimes and show some gratitude.
Eden Tucay Aug 2016
Saying thank you, please, excuse me or sorry are form of manners. You need to wear it all the time. Else, you're **** dude!
Eden Tucay Aug 2016
Be creative in using your time. There's a lot of things to do. There is no dull moment. If you let boredom to your head, you will just get mad and you will loose competence. And then you will sum up yourself that you're useless...and then you will become useless indeed. Because what the mind conceives, the body achieves.
Eden Tucay Aug 2016
3 To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:

2 A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;

3 A time to ****, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up;

4 A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance;

5 A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;

6 A time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away;

7 A time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;

8 A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace.
This is my favorite Bible passage...
Eden Tucay Aug 2016
Where does my pen go?
I can’t find it in the pocket of my cold-faded jeans.
I used to have it when I was in college mingling with the intellectuals that try to find a good post in society.
Where is it now?

I have something to write on my hand size booklet.
Where does it go?

On a bus, I feel I’m pressing toward the sunset all day since it’s cloudy.
Here come the raindrops.
It finally touches my glass window.
I have more time to think on since travel would take few hours.
Have I slept?

I think I let it that way.
Too many words to utter but kept inside.
Then I’ll need to write it down.

Where does my pen go?
Years have become stitches in my mouth.
Ten thousand words to consolidate in a phrase. Can’t write it down.
I think my right hands can no longer connect with my fast aggressive left mind.
Stiches, more stiches to zip the words in my pocket.

My window started to moist.
Rain, let it rain.
The fog enters on a small hole.
I guess it clogs out the burden.

It melts the spirit of selfishness and now I wanna wield my pen and dance with it.
Still don’t have it.
As my finger walks through my glass window, I know I can write it down.
There it says “VOW YMC”.
Voice Out What Your Mind Conveys.
3am, out in a bus.

— The End —