"...from dust thou art..."

It was one peaceful evening we were having,
ruined by a message; distasteful and disturbing,
a misunderstanding? no, never had been..
.but it had always been the easy way out...
it was an overflow of misunderstood courage...
someone  shouldn't have had the face,
but really had the chutzpah to reach out...
one that stood up to the last moment
to gird, to break, to wreck.....and won...
to be...to feel they belong,
this, could be allowed no longer...
this must...has got to stop...

here comes the CLOAK of non-acceptance,
it quickly spreads overhead,
but repugnance PERFORATES!

to be duped anew,
ah, brings back to life old hatred,
for those who think they know better,
but never again, to swim in bad blood...
feelings to be repeatedly exploited,
this, can no longer be allowed....
this...has got to stop...

ashes that were hidden,
ashes that were forbidden,
ashes i didn't feel like seeing
an urn of ashes i firmly refused to hold,
ashes i firmly refused to be anywhere near me.
and now, they suddenly ask,
where to take the forsaken urn?
they can just pollute the river
let the ashes flow with the current...
or, be indifferently blown by the wind
atop a mountain...
for God's sake, why not just buy a vault for the urn?
give the ashes the much-needed peace it longed for..
and let those who were once denied and deprived,
have their own share of much needed peace...

ashes may be carried away
by the sea or the wind---
but there's only one known place:
to the ground we all go,
cremated or otherwise...
so, why fuss on where the ashes should go?
"From dust thou art, and unto dust thou shalt return."


   Sally
Copyright 2014
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan


Biblical quote, from Genesis 3:19*'
"Dust thou art, and unto dust thou shalt return."

Still awake at half past midnight
Thanking God, there are no snore-y sounds tonight.
Up in the sky, above the dark horizon
there's  an ivory circle that peeks
from outside the window.
A perfectly round moon proudly shines on me...
Sends one's mind to a journey,
to a magical world called poetry
Where I am now seated comfortably ..
but why am I back to what keeps me awake at night?
Stealing precious hours of sleep...
etched in my mind...it surely is...
A face that has invaded my whole person
A name that can never be disregarded
or deleted...
Lines, words keep leaping
Out of my brain,
Urging me to record them all
In my head and on paper...
I reach for pen and paper,
wait, wait...I sense a distraction,
A diversion...
In the dark, I take a glimpse
shifting my eyes
towards the sky,
admiring the glow,
concentrating,
shocking myself further,
for, from my lips,
a tune suddenly burst forth:

"I see the moon and
The moon sees me
God bless the moon
And God bless me
Please let the light
That shines on me
Shine on the one I love..."

A kid's song, from long ago,
a fervent prayer it has become,
begging the One above...
a plea, for the one I love....

Not at all a distraction.....
For it has set free my good intention...

(March 16, 2014)

Sally

Copyright 2014
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan


*I was a child last night, just scribbling, drawing moons, toying with words, lines and unfinished poems...
......not very deep thoughts from a playful child, on a playful night, but enjoyed every moment of it......

woven and webbed in but words,
our profits are handsome,
kindness, tenderness,
the gold coins minted internal,
that
overflow up above from
deeply hidden,
earthen-vaulted,
unchambered hearts

sovereign wealth sharing,
one country of two,
income equality,
now worded beyond just two mortals,
t'is my duty charged
and discharged,
to both hide~disguise and
expose,
how the treasure grows

alpha-bet oxygen-increased,
ever larger,
for now,
the cellular-total
the divided parts,
far exceed the original whole

these profits,
are but the
gotten gains
of mere dreamers,
that the night sweeper
shall remove, replace

scheduled near midnight,
easy taken, like daily dust
once fallen, and now used,
no longer available,
for writing poems
on the floor

but the atmosphere be
nugget laden, bejeweled motes,
freshly fallen dew to drink,
snow to inscribe with ungloved fingertips,
fresh foolscap,
upon to decorate
with letters of many tongues
new letters rearranged,
the dreamt profits
of which
are only realized
when shared