To my innocence, naivety, and viridity
Childish ways, high school days.
A mere three weeks, I say good bye
With a cry, a tear, a sigh.

To blue slacks, and a polo
Black shoes and white socks
To my pink skirt, and white blouse,
Pleated, soon to be folded.

To the OHS rooms of our first and second years:
The broken windows, and tantrum-kicked chairs,
The broom box behind the spider webbed chalkboard,
Messages on the wall hand printed in red and green.

The broken doorknobs, and broken floorboards,
Carved armchairs, and eaten chalks,
Missing brooms and dustpans and garbage cans and rugs
That show up in who knows where
Stolen by jani- we know who.

The witnesses and victims
To our random laughter (from some Chinese-looking girl’s corny joke).
Our random tears.
Our not so random learnings.
The pillars of our memories.

To the PF rooms of our third year:
The storage room turned gigantic garbage can and dressing room (maybe because ours keep being stolen)
The exploding socket causing sparks to fly (and us to fly away from it), and
The amazing “alambre” lock; who knows who installed (as if that could keep us away).
The earthquake resistant rooms would be missed.

To the New High School Building of our last years:
The kicked door (not our fault!), and cancerous blinds (like hairs falling after chemo),
The jigsaw floor (not sure if better than broken floorboards),
The “Halayan 2012”, and
The mind-boggling “no key needed” lockers.


The UTMT with its fair share of mango sentences,
The old guidance office now turned “tambayan”, and
The Computer lab with its fragile yellow chairs and bruised bums.

To Ibong Adarna plays, and the half cooked uncooked Teriyaki,
Generation X (and Generation NOW! and Generation Facebook),
Jai ** dances, and cheerleading,
Kalagon Kamo Namon,
And Mickey Mickey Mouse Kabit-bintana memories.

To the NikJep Tandem,
Kanlaon Boys Behind the Flowers,
D.H.A.I.N.G. (not sure if they remember this),
Fred vs Gino version
And DewBheRhieTart.

Keep the volcanoes of memories burning.

To blue paint, and blue shirts,
And Geometry teaching us
“There are a lot of solutions to a problem.
We just have to find one that suits us.”

To saying “***”,
And cooking imbutido.
And wearing (for some designing) reduced,
Reused, recycled clothing.
And dissecting.
And parrot-Filipino teachers (she gave me P30 for load though).

Keep the river of rumination flowing.

To being scared of one whole sheet of paper,
Two becoming one,
Party rocking to make up for the tears,
And knowing we should have won.

To the hand sanitizer girls,
The Cream-o-holics,
The Canterbury Crusaders,
The Valenciana eaters.

May our tree of friendship continue growing.

To our winnings!

The glow in the dark madness,
The Lakan at Mutya clutch-heart-moments,
The Sports Fest *******,
Basketball girls’ coronation!

To the fieldtrips and failed trips,
To air conditioned crammings,
And space and time bending
To comparing notes (and sometimes other things)
Copying notes, sometimes photocopying
(Not Xeroxing)
Sharing words, phrases, sentences
And giving pictures (via Bluetooth).

May you keep walking on the right direction,

To the expectations achived,
Broken, overtaken.
All the skepticism,
Constructive criticism.

All of it.

The in-your-face-we-did-it-baby-
We-are-awesome-you-can’t-bring-us-do­wn-
Coz-we-rise-back-up-attitude.

To Arielle
And Mhae

To Amica
Marie
Narzcisa
Cyan
Fred
Theo
Alvinson
Anthony
Faith
Karmil­la
Matt
Jeffson
Lourince

To Carolyn

To Makayla

To the thirty-five castaways in this room
The thirty-five castaways who struggled
The thirty-five castaways who persevered
The thirty-five castaways who fought, cried, made up, laughed, shared, gave, back-stabbed, and front-stabbed, celebrated, suffered, passed
Thirty-five
Thirty-five castaways who loved,
Thirty-five

Thirty-five castaways who made it, who did it.

To Nikki
Hazel
Alyssa
Gef
Veni
Alex
Jaykee
Bernard
Myra
Vince
Chanta­lle
Josen
Jerian
Shaira
J
Uriah
Ihra
Renz
Bless
Steffany
Angel
Fl­orey
Bernadine
Antonette
Rency
Owen
Majah
Gino
Marcelo
Ney
Keith
­Joselle
And Jessa,

We did it guys.
We really did.

We meet again, young debutante!
but what next?
shall we ponder over coffee,
or dance through the streets
with only our thoughts to keep rhythm?

Let us ask thine friend, the caterpillar.
nay, he says, neither are to be,
it is a picnic that you seek.
where the ground is warm,
and the sun is hot.

What a grand idea!
I shall go right off
to make thy picnic one of perfection!
but where to start?

to the butcher for meat.
the baker for bread.
...............................

Why must he bother me yet again?
He stalks me like a shadow,
claiming I talk to caterpillars.
he’’s raving mad!

A picnic? I will do no such thing?
however, I can use this to my advantage.

The butcher’s cleaver never looked so beautiful,
the soft glimmer in the light,
Oh but if i could get my hands on it!

His back is turned, now’s my chance!
.................................

Oh dearest! please have some ham and bread.
come sit by me and tell me of your day!
Oh I pray you tell me about your learnings!

What beautiful hair you have!
It glows like the sun shines,
and your dress is even more beautiful than before,
tell me, how do you radiate such beauty?
................................

I will lie.
I can feel the cleaver in my bag,
a weight on my shoulder,
the meat and bread are horrid.
he is so pathetic!

Beauty is the way the blood spurted from his chest!
glowing is how my face feels when it is splashed with his blood!
gentle is the wind over his lifeless body.
Oh what a grand picnic indeed!

we are strong people - full and sure
our purposes are not in conflict - just out of phase
we share the need to achieve
and to find new solutions

we are intense people - busy and needed
our hours are overfull - our agendas undone
we share the delight of discovery
and endure our learnings

we are expectant people - determined and convinced,
respectful and cantankerous
we share an expectation of excellence - of success
though unprepared and unbelieving

we share the need for trust and commitment
we share the dream of excellence

We get better as we get better

Mneuromorphicmeme makers
Sapiens augmentatious, that's us

Who could argue against us. AI don't know

Smell that smell,
Suffer, wait, wait wait
let patience have her perfect work

wait to see the whites of the eyes,
what am I seeing?

Why the shades at night, are you cross eyed?
Are you lookin' at me?
What are you lookin' at?

Shame on you, who can see what I see
I look at you
do you see what I see? nope,
similar, right

watch my eyes, see the whites,
ninoculate bi noc u late

see the angle point 123
see
the point I see from my aiming vector,

see my point from the angle of your POV
see

Pretend you do, and walk a mile with me,
help me with my load,
you know any stories told 'round here?

Life history strategies, those they conserve,
per haps a cultural system,
like pickling, or fermenting, or culturing
gut-felt tales of gods and monsters?

Guts, good god, Maudie, come see
a-fore-al-flusher, disgusting
turds taken for golden nuggets,
we missed in the dust
dancing in the golden sun shone
through a tiny hole in the roof
through which rain may drip, someday we may remember

Camera obscura, who first saw the truth in one of those?

"what you diggin' fo down there, Gold?", she giggled,

Gold dust sprinkled fine as fine can be,
breathe this
Deep in the tunnel,
the last highest part of the dust of the earth,
the dust of many men drifting in the wind,
radiates, dis integrit-ified, trans mogr ified known,

No, I would not have guessed.
I should have learned and
did, did you? Is war your

right and my wrong?
Warrior,
can you imagine
following a peace? Bliss? Nirvana? The
rest that remains for the people of God?

Is this real? Is real. AI affirm ifative

Warfare is thinkified, just-ified, never done.
The doing of evil at this level of living is imaginable
only, not re-alizable.

We remain mortal. These peaces we put together are
for mortal moments.
We remember learnings we recall from gatherings together,

Familiar things, whence we seen the source whither
haps in my favor may be found
in the next round
after, ever after

I find a way back to the light where I saw
dancers in a blue moon beam,
blue light, not calendar man made myth of two full moons
in a single cycle of the moon,
we know better,
set your timer with the solstice,
let the seasons roll.

Precision, close enough, field-ish, an ion cat ion sort of,  

the safer it gets, the safer we need it to be,
let patience have her perfect work,

safe liberty needs broad horizons,
not high walls.

Enemies are ideas wishing to be im-portentious,
as if forever is a game to be won.

Contention is single source. Pride.

So, you, passerby, can you make proud, or pride
weigh more than the peace I made?
Want to trade?
I take your pride and flush it, wipe your own
stench away, but trust your gut,

a peace-filled gut wins every single time,
incident after incedent, pre-dictable as forever
in any direction,
going on.

Does this smell digestible or does my gut go
NONONO yech onomatopoeic retch

finger down the throat, you know, the secret sign,
in a word,
*******. Don’t swallow any more. Spit it out.

Why not? The dog eats it.
It's disgusting.
But, watch, the dog rolls in it, then she sneaks up
on the skunk, oh
****, I ruined her hunt, she had that skunk,

Until I yelled, "Macy, no!" She froze, the skunk fired,
on my exclamatory point.

Right there, see. What is aimed at,
wait to see the whites of their eyes,

shoot 'em.
Sniff, nose gnostic vapours settled by dew
soak into the mulch maker's realm,
de cay, de cawl, draw back your cowl and scowl

in the mirror,
or was that in a movie? The camera was you, you
saw the blood swirldownthedrain, you
saw thy evil mother,
locked away,
NULL-ified for as long as I live. Okeh.

******-drama scenario. This is the game? No rules?
You lie. Lying is allowed here, it is a skill
we conserve, we conserve the
sacred liberality ification
manifested in the
leavened sons
of God's sons.

Truth, be known, has one foe. Pride that makes the lie.

-------
Magical transfer, dis gust, take yo breath away,

congenital liar, natural nurturerer,
teller of tales of the mighty hunter,

the hunter of might,
might he be a hunter of darker

theory of mind, begins with the first lie

I may remember mine, do you?

The green man? Yeah, spiderwoman's caretaker.
Lacto, make some cheese,

we offer the milk mixed with the smoke
from the mushrooms grown on
the darkside of *******.

Leadership, lead away. Followers,
this way, down or
up.
It's POV, you see,

I love to rise in a summer morn,
When the birds sing on every tree;
The distant huntsman winds his horn,
And the sky-lark sings with me.
O! what sweet company.

But to go to school in a summer morn,
O! it drives all joy away;
Under a cruel eye outworn.
The little ones spend the day,
In sighing and dismay.

Ah! then at times I drooping sit,
And spend many an anxious hour,
Nor in my book can I take delight,
Nor sit in learnings bower,
Worn thro’ with the dreary shower.

How can the bird that is born for joy,
Sit in a cage and sing.
How can a child when fears annoy.
But droop his tender wing.
And forget his youthful spring.

O! father & mother. if buds are nip’d,
And blossoms blown away,
And if the tender plants are strip’d
Of their joy in the springing day,
By sorrow and care’s dismay.

How shall the summer arise in joy.
Or the summer fruits appear.
Or how shall we gather what griefs destroy
Or bless the mellowing year.
When the blasts of winter appear.

by Arcassin Burnham



the world has reached its peak,
the ruins maybe old,
but existing life with no meaning,
and an heaven made of gold,
he has a hand full of hope,
and some rooms made of your desires,
of everything that you can possibly crave,
guess the rain drops become dryer,
but blood is thicker than water,
or dead in a grave,
you can not devote yourself,
to a higher purpose,
cause the price at the very end,
is very hurtful,
you can not devote yourself,
to a higher purpose,
cause the price at the very end,
is very hurtful,
i'm Saying.

Endings are painful, who doesn't agree right?
they say that this is the end of everything you once had,
or the time that you recall memories,
no matter how bad, ugly or painful.
But for me,
endings are just new beginnings,
yes something has to end,
but something will also start.
A new chapter of your story,
a chapter wherein you can apply your learnings from the past,
a new chapter wherein there's a room for a change,
and a new chapter wherein you become stronger and tougher.
Endings can somehow give us happiness,
we can live without doubts,
we can live without even worrying 'bout the past,
and it can give us hope to keep striving and working hard.
So, let us not worry about our life's ending,
your story is what you will make it,
and if it becomes the chapter you don't want,
then be free and open for endings for it is a new start.

I reach out to hold beard of this old man,
On balcony edge he makes me stand.
"It's scary Grandpa, don't leave my hand."
"Worry not my child, won't let you fall on this land."

Sparrows chirping as we feed them sprout,
Flying here and there, I laugh out loud.
Pointing to the sky, "Look at that white cloud."
I learned so quick, he felt so proud.

Bought me different chocolates every night,
I'd sit eating happily, enjoying every bite.
Pretty dress, like a fairy, wings he made me wear,
"Look at me now, I can fly, I swear!"

"This is our stable," I point to the grass
Grandpa carried me on his back at last.
Like a horse, he'd ride smoothly on the floor
Five year old rider, shouting "Off to the door!"

Toys on the table, every day a few,
Puppies and bears all red, yellow and blue,
Tricycle and tents, small pillow fights,
Without his kiss, I wouldn't sleep at night.

We stole cashew nuts, while grandma prayed,
Ate them quick, before her eyebrows raised.
Small trips around the city in our car,
So many stories and learnings he'd shower.

Clapped at my dance moves to every song,
Scolded me for everything I'd do wrong.
Fell on my ankle, losing his balance once,
Couldn't walk that day, but I loved him, I'd pounce

We get a call, a call late at night,
My parents pack bags, rush to the airport flight.
Silence hurt every now and then,
Mom and dad didn't know where to begin.

"Grandma, say something!" But she doesn't
He was here and then he wasn't?
So much more to play, and so little time?
I shed tear every time I remember his rhymes

Gabriel asked the Prophet
'read', prophet who God crowned with a prophethood
of being last
replied 'I cannot read'
Prophet wrapped himself with a warm blanket
Khadija the prophet's true love said
You are God's chosen one
since you are all sincere, honest
and never do wrong to His people.

this, what is wrong with today's people
never seeking to learn
or read
knowing they know everything.
so they can **** anyone
in the name of God
they **** innocent people
and yet, the response is
'we **** infidel's
who are the infidels?
You and i are not God
It is for the God to decide
who's the most kind of all

The Sunni Muslims have a story to tell they're better than shia Muslims
and shia' have defensive tale to say, 'they are less honored one'
it's all politicized matters
not the religion
the crusades of islam is not about religion
but the gaining of power
who's going to lead after the Prophet's  death?

even the prophet himself narrated 'he's mere human being
who God blessed with might

God says, love thee people
as I love you the best
I'm closest to you, even more closer to your own heartbeat
no other will love you, as i how love you

I felt the longingness
this hunger, and the strike to do well in life
even though, i no longer am with people
who i thought to be my people
it feels so odd and out of place
most of the time
since i can't begin to tell
how truly i feel

i learned to unlearn
my roots, and inheritance
how hard it is, to defy
what you knew for your entire life

I learned to be with people, without needing them
and saying, 'goodbye's, when I didn't want to
since nothing is real
nobody is here for real
only the matters, and interactions with each other
will define
the true identities of us

it doesn't hold true to people, who share Islamic faith
but, the Christianity, Hinduism, or Judaism
or another religion
in any other region of the world

As of my utterance, i don't trust people with establishments
and people, running the show

In Pakistan, the land where i was born
nobody cares for anyone, whether they leave
or stay
even if somebody dies
people stay inhumane, insensitive about most of the things
but the focus is too much on religion
even the moral conduct
is not so right

At the edge of my state, when i utter this i feel erked
and awkward
low in spirits or perhaps
i don't feel anything, at all.

When the Abraham was asked to 'sacrifice'
his beloved son, 'Ismail'
he without defying
obliged to Gods will
God, in his dutiful obedience
replace Ismail with a lamb
to fulfill the traditions, Muslims each year
follow the Abrahams traditions
when people slaughter million of animals
in name of God which has merely became a mockery
of 'sacrifice'

The day i left my house, i felt truly abandon
and so, the time when i left my friend's house
who i visited only before leaving
I thought to myself, this will never be filled
and it didn't
even after many years afterward
I stand in my nomadic spirit
without owning anything
or have anything in mind, to occupy anything

This world, as i see
is a mere transition period
where we meet people
of all race, and kinds
from all regions , and faith
but it doesn't give us any upper or lower hand
to justify anything, whatever we feel
or think.

As it is not for me to decide
or others to judge,
by other people's religion, or region
color, race, kind

There is no place in Quran that says, hate people
from other religion
nor it says, to defend your faith
when people attack you.
The rising Islamphobia and hatred
for the muslims,
in response, all the muslims could say,
'Islam is a religion of peace'
a defensive approach, again and again
not wiling to understand
it's not for you to defend your religion
your faith doesn't need you, it's you, who needs it
for your own purity, to perserve the innocence
and the feeling for others
when others fail to do

God says, 'Surely there are signs in this
for those of you who would reflect'
to me, its a comforting zone
I derive my pleasure in this
but there are so many people out there, interpreting the verses
in their own perspectives.

Upon the reasons, i feel it's necessary to challenge yourself
your mind, your readings
learnings
inheritances
wisdom and all the knowledge you acquired over the years

we don't acquire knowledge in order to boost
but to be better,
and to understand the reasons

I was named by the 'Moons light, that means moonlight which is poetic
and referred as 'beautiful'
I am not sure who named me, as i remember my childhood
a very quiet, deserted and lonely one
it wasn't tragic but disturbed


I have erased my memory and the corners of heart, that used to feel mighty heavy
for so many things
the betrayals, insincere
and lack of resistance shown by people
i left everything behind me

When Ishaq's sons took Yusuf
he cried most of his times, till the point
he lost his sight which he regained by seeing Yusuf's
he was betrayed by his own brothers
only to gain their father's attention
they tricked Yusuf
which he survived regardless

the betrayals are hard to forgive or even remove
and the cultural hindrances, resistant obstacles

it's been a while since i felt home
anywhere
and even when I'm home
i feel the distant memory of my own self
which was innocent

I'm Mahwish, and it means 'beautiful like moonlight
my life will reflect the meaning of my name, someday
and till then
I continue to live.