. . .
that which has a secret inside itself . . .

which is :
that exhilaration that is serene and untouchable . . .

that self contained God-like feeling
that is completely independent of all of the chances and changes of life

. . . . Joy . . .

Sometimes, a faint crack appears,
and threatens a fragile surface.

that space between two sides,
two forces...is never an easy spot.

Standing there long moments
figuring out the mending
the patching up
the giving of light to minds,
darkened by rage and confusion;
spreading your arms wide
to convince, to encourage,
so both sides may soften...reach out
to each other...to diffuse tension,
to melt the ice that freezes good
energy, to let the warmth invade,
and make the connection last.

Ahh, the process is so tiresome
at times...enthusiasm is numbed.

When aging limbs grow weaker,
it becomes wearisome to repair
creviced connections, to be a bridge
for those who prefer to be apart.

Sometimes, it's best
to let islands remain islands.
they may be better off isolated,
at peace when they're on their own.


sally b

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
    March 26, 2023

I think I saw a ghost today.
I’ve moved away,
but there you were,
standing on the corner,
waiting to cross the street.

I thought you were dead —
but unfortunately,
you’re healthy and well.
I thought you’d fall apart
after I left.

In the end,
I think you were just afraid
of my intensity.
You said you’d love me forever,
and the next day
you didn’t love me at all.
A one-night love.

Just know —
every night,
I stand on my balcony
As Juliet
and whisper things
to the moonlit night,
to the city wind,
so it can carry those caresses
back to you.

I’ll be the ghost
haunting you.

I’m tired of romances.
Maybe I’m just tired of myself.

From now on, I’ll write
free, light,
and unchained.

I’ve spent too long
reading,
rereading,
thinking I needed more time.
Fool.
Idiot.

Pleased to meet you.

As a woman,
I can be as many as I choose.
I can tell as many stories as I want.
And God help those
who don’t want to listen—
it won’t be easy to stop me now.

Light.
Darkness.
Prose.
And poetry.
All in one body.
Amen.

But I’m tired of romances—
or maybe
of happy endings.

It’s never been like that.
It never will be.

Stop fooling yourselves—
the bad boy doesn’t end up
with the good girl.
We like the contrast,
that’s why we read those stories.

The truth?
The bad boy ends up with the foolish girl—
and she’s not just foolish,
she’s twisted enough
to crave his filthy mouth
and his alpha swagger.

My heart was free

like a bird in the wild

you trapped it in your

prison of love

      and

when the prison

felt like home

you let it out.

Now it is lost

like the caged bird

set free —

no more caged

yet, never free.

sleep was the only sanctuary, was a
flower on the water, was the moonlit
ripples as night gathered her stars and her
promises, her indigos and golds.
i wasn't sure where the images would
take me, i could not surrender to them,
or they to me, my soul wrapped memories
into clouds, drifted with them and the
sadness that was the poetry today was
a song with so many myriads of water.
the water that filled with longing,
the water that poured into love.

This world is mine for the taking, make me king
Eminem

they rehearsed invincible smiles till the sun went down
dressing up in their finest for the banquet
pageantry and glamour innovate the stones of hatred
we are having the hors d’oeuvres of great nations
unbound myths are complimenting the foliage
striving for a better world with clinked glasses
few faces are sweetened by glee, others by awkwardness
here come the tech giants, the cogniac
aren't we enjoying ourselves in the flattery of folly
earnestly the world is splitting itself
rendering incommensurable  realities
unstoppable

You prostrate,
Fold your hands,
Bring tears to your eyes,
And ask for forgiveness  from
Allah,
And yet, you are not prepared to forgive your fellow human being.
18/9/2025