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Franz Bartolome Aug 2016
It was just an ordinary day
A day intended for him to play
The day is beautiful, he have been told by the sun
He can run here and then, and have some fun

Then somewhere, came a loud sound
His ears rung, as he fell on the ground
Everything has fallen, has fallen down
The smoke blind his eyes, in an ocean of bricks he was drowned

There was pain, there was pain,
And he felt it within his bones again and again
It was a bomb, it had been a bomb
Leaving him shocked, shocked, and terribly numb

He was carried later,
On a crowd where they just watch him suffer
Why are they staring? He asked
Why are the camera lights flashing, is it a must?
Why are they around, he wonder
Shouldn't they be helping him -- where's mother?

Where is she? Where is dad?
Why is this have to be so bad?
Have he done something wrong?
Why the explosion  has become his song?

Is this the beautiful life he was promised?
A life where war and bombs and spilling bloods were cherished?
Is this the beautiful world he was told?
Is this the once upon a time in a story book beginning to unfold?

With broken chin,
Blood kissed skin
Dust combed hair
People who waits recognition to care –
Is this the world he was told to be loving and fair?

His eyes sparkle with that of the explosion,
His lips quiver of that of a lifetime destruction
Five years old, five years old, was his age
He's the five years old boy, forever mark with one of life's cruellest rage.

Help, yes -- lend a helping hand
To save more innocence everywhere on the land
This isn't their war, their lives shouldn't be sacrificed, -- the young ones
Let's be human, just for always, just for a thousand once.

- Franz Bartolome Poetry
This is for Omran -- and for all the kids whose lives were affected by the bombing circumstances in certain places around the globe. You will be healed, kids. In time.
Franz Bartolome Jul 2016
I wouldn't dare to look someone straight in the eyes for a moment before. Because they would see something, some place, some figments of memory stored in me.  A certain feeling, and if one would really look closely—someone’s face.

They would see how empty I was inside, and how convincingly full I am on the outside, and how I mastered the art of pretention.
They would see how I wanted for someone like them to want me.
They would see that beyond this lifeless, cold pair of eyes were a thousand rainbows of unchased dreams and a sky filled with unrealistic dreams. How I wanted to be wanted. And above all;
how I want to be found.

They would see the fears I have withheld through the years,
The emotions I have keep to tuck inside me whenever I am blinded that they are there

The sparks of sadness I hide
The truth I have made to abide

Most people would look away, and tried to unseen what they have seen, and smile awkwardly and move on with their lives. And when that moment of detachment happens, even if it were in a blink of an eye, everything would be gone. The magic, if there was any. The connection, if I have made any. Even the sense of being there would be gone. Even the coldness. Even the warmth.
And even me. I would be gone as well.

Once someone retracts from staring back at me, and so does I.
There is nothing more painful than the idea of someone to avoiding their visions away from yours.
It’s like avoiding their lives with yours.
Some people would say miracles doesn’t at all happen, but I believe they do, somehow.

And that’s when someone look back right at me and actually, stay.
Franz Bartolome Jun 2016
One day, we'll  finally
fall in love with what we have been,
with who we have been.
One day we'll be finally
see beyond our flaws,
And see what we have not seen.
One day we'll say those three words,
and we'll finally mean it;
One day we'll be found, and we'll be forever lost in the idea of it.

Just one, special day apart from today,
we'll walk the same road once again
Our feets sore from a long walk,
our maps leads to one another.

It may not be today,
or in the depths of tonight
it may be not the next day after,
Or the years after that.
Or even after this lifetime that we had.
It just have to be one day.
And I'll hold on to that day.
That one day, when we don't have to wish for that one day.
And things will happen.
And you and I, will happen.

One day.
Franz Bartolome Jun 2016
Being okay is not something you can just achieve overnight, or over a day, or even over a week. It's not something you rush, it's something that takes time, an uncertain length of time.

It would take you on some sort of uncertain journey knowing yourself, like knowing what makes you not okay today, or what makes you feel alright again the next day.

You will really never know when will you be completely okay, that's the truth; but the good thing here is this: you have all the time in world to finally be.

You have all the time for yourself to use it, to take the chance to  finally learn how to say "I'm not okay." at times you're not. Denying the truth to yourself won't help, accepting it and embracing it, would. You have to treasure that downfall moment, everyday; every weekend, in a midst of everything.
You have to do something about it, and what's more to create something from it, of all people; for yourself.

It can be a messy puzzle to fix, it can be a long process to be done with, but remember this:  It's okay to work on being okay, it's okay to find out what would work for you or what would not;

than to fret and work on nothing at all.
Just a thought
Franz Bartolome Jun 2016
I have words  for everyone.
I have words for the broken,
For the ones who were left behind.
For the dreamers, the wanderers,
the seekers, for the risk taker.
I have words for the ones who have been lost, have been found, have been heared, or have been just a sound.
For those that were loved,
for those who were unloved.

The missed, the unmissed.
for the feelings that still exists,
for the lips that were still unkissed.
I have words for everyone,
old and young
for everything;
Spoken or sung,
for every feeling,
relating, revealing.

Yet at  the end of the day,
After all the game,  after all the play
After all the come and go,
After all the high and low
and after all the rain, after a rainbow
I'd love to have someone who'll have few real sweet words for me, as much as I have thousands for the world itself.

Write about me once. Just once. And I, beautifully,  will write about
you forever.
Franz Bartolome Jun 2016
We were the seasons,
and you happen to be the rain,
I happen to be the open leaf on its roots, waiting for you in vain

My umbrella's not broken,
yet I'll shut if off
To feel your moist within my skin,
having you falling so soft
To welcome you within my lips,
within my cheeks,
for I have missed you all
those lonely, summer weeks

We were the the seasons,
and you happen to be the rain,
I'll let you fall,
I'll let you wet my shirt and
leave some stain
As long as you'll let me feel you
You, and your underlying, falling pain.
Franz Bartolome Jun 2016
Don't change me,
into something I'm not.

It's like treating yesterday
as if I never existed there,
It's like treating past like it
never shaped the person I am today

I am not an unsolved puzzle,
I am not those lights that switches;
I am a sculpture at work.
An endless fusion of hues;
A lip that holds a thousand
secretive clues

It may be a long work before I can be appreciated by many or not,
Or before I could be perfected,
be firm into my shapes,
be sultry in my mixtures.

but this I tell you, you will soon see the best part in absorbing me; above all the
colors life had splashed on me.

An endless rainbow of me.
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