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But who else will have peace in their palm
When they lay it across
My ribs
At night.

Who else
As they slumber beneath
A blanket of freckles and
Dreaming eyelids,
Will whisper into the dark air
With a gentle cadence of breaths
The particular softness that cradles my heart
And lets me

Close my aching eyes

And rest.
A long night awaits
For an unforgettable dream
She cries herself to sleep
As the bad dreams creep
Inside that rattling head of hers.

The walls isolate her
Keeping them close
Suffocating the air
Bleeding hands try
Try to tear
Try to break
Try to bend
Try to
Try to
But no
No use.
i've been so uninspired lately
Look at the stars.
See how they never cease to
glow even on the darkest nights.

Be like those stars, child.

Look at the moon.
See how though it has no
light of its own it
refuses to leave you without bringing you some
light in the dark.

Be like the moon, child.
But most of all,

May you have the joy of your mother, for
her smile can light up a million black suns
and her laugh
can warm
even the coldest heart.

May you have her loathing for evil and
despise injustice like she does.
I hope you'll take up a sword and
fight for the truth alongside her, for
she fears no one
except
the only One who should be feared.

May you have the strength of your father
and walk with integrity like he does.
May you have his humble spirit,
his patient heart,
and his strong arm.

May you aim for excellence,
and shoot your arrows
straight and true.
I hope you learn to walk on waters
with a faith like your father's, and never
ever
look at
the threatening waves.

Look at the sky, child.
No, higher
       higher
       higher
because more than any other
I pray that you'll be


just like your Father.
A wedding gift for my P.E. coach. I hope his children have at least half the faith he does.
one fine sunny day today, and
i am chilling to my bones
when i am raring to be outdoors.
like a freshly painted image
i see through the bay window,
two wine-red butterflies
gracefully diving, while chasing each other
Above the lush grass-covered ground,
of our front garden,
passing beyond and below
purple and yellow orchid flowers.
then, upon the stem of a palm leaf
the birds are in a row, taking their time
watching butterflies go by.
Rising from a chair, my knees are
shaking a bit, feeling tied together....
Still in my pajamas,
I see my red-painted toes
Wonder why they are all folded so
i bend some more to feel them toes
Uh-oh....they're all so froze
another bout of popsicle toes.....


              Sally

       Copyright 2013
  Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
*....was having high fever the time I wrote this, cold toes and all, I suddenly
thought of one of my favorite songs by Michael Franks, "Popsicle Toes..."
It doesn't help to
think about things that have
journeyed down the long road of
never-coming-back-again.
No, it doesn't, but

it hurts to remember.
it hurts to forget.

sitting outside your room
on the floor
my insides twisting
my stomach lurching
your quick breathing

it hurts to remember.
it hurts to forget.

white walls
white halls
white face from all the
needles and tubes
trying to inject themselves in your system
they were supposed to make you feel better but
instead, you became their victim.

it hurts to remember.
it hurts to forget.

the last promises
the last kisses
the last touches
the last breaths

it hurts to remember.
it hurts to forget.

I am restless from
all this trying
to figure out which is best because

it hurts to remember,
but it also hurts to forget.
the landscape bathed
in an indigo blue shading
on this sunny bright day
So winter closed its fist
And got it stuck in the pump.
The plunger froze up a lump

In its throat, ice founding itself
Upon iron. The handle
Paralysed at an angle.

Then the twisting of wheat straw
into ropes, lapping them tight
Round stem and snout, then a light

That sent the pump up in a flame
It cooled, we lifted her latch,
Her entrance was wet, and she came.
It had been many years since I last visited....
I could smell the salt in the cold sea breeze
As it welcomed me and
Blew my hair all over my face.
I gathered my hair in a bun.
Thereupon, I caught sight of my surroundings...
A town, which  used to be a hub,
Has turned into a neglected, dying place,
Now rich with junk cars, old stores,
Abandoned warehouses,
Torn down wooden fences, old houses.....
Everything was old and unkempt,
Walls, broken glass doors and windows
Were marked, spray-painted with all sorts of
Writings, distorted faces, big and small letters,
In all styles, shapes and colors,
Whichever suited the vandals' tastes and moods.

It saddened me, for I knew so well...
This place had seen better days,
I had seen it full of life,
During my childhood days......
Days, when my siblings and I were
Forbidden to go beyond those breakwaters.
Crippled was I by my fear of the waters...still,
I longed to swim far beyond rows of big rocks
Where big ships were anchored, and
Colorful sailboats sailed along.....
Back and forth we ran, from sea to shore,
To see a starfish or  even a jellyfish,
Brought by the waves as they hit the sand.
We were content with knee-deep splashes
In that clear blue water, long ago uncorrupted,
Once so natural and undefiled,
Now, with traces of oil and all kinds of debris
All visible even from afar.....

I leaned on a wall, crestfallen.
I reflected on my life, and how
It paralleled with my hometown.
My heart and my mind
They have marked walls, too,
Wrapped with deception...
Wounded by betrayed trust....
Scarred by past experiences,
Sad and unpleasant ones.
And yet, here I was, standing on my two feet,
In front of this dying place,
Still alive, while my hometown
Had turned into a ghost town.

That moment,
I felt countless eyes staring  at me,
While a strong gust of wind blew,
Almost pushed me away from where I stood.
Like, it was begging me to go......
To leave my hometown alone,
And give my life a second chance....
But live it somewhere else.....

The cold sea breeze, once more
Brushed against my face,
Whispered to my ears
And pressed upon my mind,
Thoughts I had always resisted then.
Something was flowing inside me....
It was starting to fill my soul.

I straightened from where I leaned
And brushed away the dirt from my coat.
It was time to move on, time to go
I untied my long hair,
Let it fall on its own......and
Let it be blown by the wind.

.... Sally....


     Copyright 2013
      Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
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