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Well, my daddy left home when I was three,
and he didn't leave much to Ma and me,
just this old guitar and a bottle of *****.
Now I don't blame him because he run and hid,
but the meanest thing that he ever did was
before he left he went and named me Sue.

Well, he must have thought it was quite a joke,
and it got lots of laughs from a lot of folks,
it seems I had to fight my whole life through.
Some gal would giggle and I'd get red
and some guy would laugh and I'd bust his head,
I tell you, life ain't easy for a boy named Sue.

Well, I grew up quick and I grew up mean.
My fist got hard and my wits got keen.
Roamed from town to town to hide my shame,
but I made me a vow to the moon and the stars,
I'd search the ***** tonks and bars and ****
that man that gave me that awful name.

But it was Gatlinburg in mid July and I had
just hit town and my throat was dry.
I'd thought i'd stop and have myself a brew.
At an old saloon in a street of mud
and at a table dealing stud sat the *****,
mangy dog that named me Sue.

Well, I knew that snake was my own sweet dad
from a worn-out picture that my mother had
and I knew the scar on his cheek and his evil eye.
He was big and bent and gray and old
and I looked at him and my blood ran cold,
and I said, "My name is Sue. How do you do?
Now you're gonna die." Yeah, that's what I told him.

Well, I hit him right between the eyes and he went down
but to my surprise he came up with a knife
and cut off a piece of my ear. But I busted a chair
right across his teeth. And we crashed through
the wall and into the street kicking and a-gouging
in the mud and the blood and the beer.

I tell you I've fought tougher men but I really can't remember when.
He kicked like a mule and bit like a crocodile.
I heard him laughin' and then I heard him cussin',
he went for his gun and I pulled mine first.
He stood there looking at me and I saw him smile.

And he said, "Son, this world is rough and if
a man's gonna make it, he's gotta be tough
and I knew I wouldn't be there to help you along.
So I gave you that name and I said 'Goodbye'.
I knew you'd have to get tough or die. And it's
that name that helped to make you strong."

Yeah, he said, "Now you have just fought one
helluva fight, and I know you hate me and you've
got the right to **** me now and I wouldn't blame you
if you do. But you ought to thank me
before I die for the gravel in your guts and the spit
in your eye because I'm the nut that named you Sue."
Yeah, what could I do? What could I do?

I got all choked up and I threw down my gun,
called him pa and he called me a son,
and I came away with a different point of view
and I think about him now and then.
Every time I tried, every time I win and if I
ever have a son I think I am gonna name him
Bill or George - anything but Sue.
Anak:
"Ika'y Tulang muli't muli'y binabasa ng madla,
Na 'di makalilimutan; na binabaon sa alaala
Tulang puno ng damdamin na ni nais ipabatid
At ang saknong ng pag-ibig Mo'y,
Siyang tutugma sa puso kong minsa'y naging sugatan."

Ama:
"Minsang ibinigay ko sa iyo ang pagkakataong
Unawain ang kahulugan ng kamusmusan.
Sa lupaing ugat ng iyong kaluluwa't
Siyang kanlungan ng mga pangako Ko't
Mga pangarap na laan sayo.
Bumangon ka, Anak
Ako ang Siyang sasagwan
Ako ang aabot sayo."

Anak:
"Sabay nating kinatha ang tula ng aking buhay;
Mga saknong at tugma na sarikulay,
Mga katagang baun-baon ko
Sa malayu-layong paglalakbay."

Ama:
"Pagal ka ma'y,
Nanahan pa rin sa puso ng bawat isa,
Di mo man tiyak ang katiyakan, natitiyak Ko
Na ang pag-ibig Ko'y, kailanma'y di ka iiwan.
Anak, hanggang sa huling tapon ng lupa
At huling tapon ng luha,
Hanggang sa huling liwanag
Ng itutulos **** kandila,
Hanggang sa huling pagpagpag mo
Ng sar't saring pangungulila,
Patuloy Kitang mamahalin,
Anuman ang mangyari."

Anak:
*
"Singbigat ng katotohanan
At ng pangarap na mala-kalawakan,
Ito ang huling handog ng makata **** anak:
Ang mabatid kong Ikaw ang buhay na eternal
At ako'y isang kathang Ikaw ang tinitingala --
Ikaw ang dinadakila.
Ama, ako'y malaya
Ikaw ang buhay, Ikaw ang agos
Ikaw ang tagumpay;
Gisingin Mo ang diwa
Ang bugso at alab ng damdaming hilaw
Ikaw ang masundan
Nang maihain nang patas
Ang pag-ibig **** umaapaw."

#041215 ‪
Convo namin ni Lord
Arya  Jan 2019
sa isang silid
Arya Jan 2019
malamig sa isang silid
may kasamang pighati, saya at lungkot
sa bawat paghinga,
ramdam ang pagbagsak ng luha.

magkakahiwalay na tayo
sakit na tila kinukurot ang puso
sakit na walang ibang lunas,
kundi ang pagsasamahan nating nabuo.

sinulat ko ang tulang ito
para kahit ako'y lilisan na
maaari ko pang balikan lahat.
lahat ng alaala at samahan,

mga alaala na hindi ko makakalimutan,
katulad ng...
habang tayo'y naghihintay ng ticket
habang tayo'y nagbabasa ng email thread
habang tayo'y nakaupo sa isang silid

nagkukwentuhan,
nagtititigan,
nagmamasid,
naglalaro ng moba,
nanonood ng youtube,
nakahawak sa mga selpon.

na tila bigla bigla tayong natinag
sa mga boss na dumadaan
na kahit sa dami natin sa area
nagawa parin tayong turuan
at pag tiyagaan nila sir at ma'am.

napaka-lungkot lang isipin,
na ang ating samahan,
sa kathang-isip na lamang.

alam ko lahat naman tayo nakaramdam na ng lungkot
lungkot na hindi mo alam kung saan nagmula
lungkot na hindi mo alam kung ano ang dahilan
lungkot na hindi mo alam kung ano ang kinahihinatnan

pero ang pinaka-nakakalungkot sa lahat
yung puno ng tao sa isang silid.
puno ng tunog at salita 
puno ng biruan at tawanan
pero ramdam **** maiiyak ka
ramdam **** hindi ka nababagay sa lugar na naroon ka

sa pagkakataong ito, hindi mo alam kung bakit hindi mo kayang makisali at magkunwaring masaya nalang 
kung sa mga nakaraang araw kinaya mo naman
nakakapagod mag-isip.

pero alam naman natin
ito yung pagod na hindi kayang gamutin ng pahinga 
ito yung pagod na hindi kayang idaan sa alak o ng yosi man lang
ito yung pagod na hindi kayang idaan sa maghapong hilata sa kama

ito yung pagod na hindi kayang gamutin o kahit dampi ng matinding menthol ng salonpas sa nangangalay na kasu-kasuan
Ito yung pagod na hindi kayang gamutin ng efficascent oil na suki ng buong pamilya

ito yung pagod na dama ng kaibuturan at kaluluwa
ito yung pagod na mahirap punan ng lunas kasi hindi mo alam kung bakit ang bigat sa pakiramdam

iyong pag napabayaan o mali ang diagnosis mo e pwedeng lumikha ng sanga-sangangang maliit at mas komplikadong dahilan ng kapaguran
kung pwede lang mapawi ang lungkot sa bawat malalim na buntong hininga ang ngalay na dama ng kaluluwa

yung tuwang hatid damay lahat ng parte ng kabuuan
isama mo pa pati yung sangkatutak na split ends mas lalo na ang mga pimples na ayaw kang lubayan
alam ko, napapagod rin kayo
sadyang nakakapagod lang talagang gumising sa umagang walang kulay
sa mundong malawak.

pero nandyan ang ngiti na nakikita mo mula sa ibang tao,
na nakikita ko mula sa inyo.
ngiting kay gaan sa pakiramdam,
na tila nangangawit na ang pisngi dahil sa ayaw humupa ng ngiti.

Salamat sa mga binigay niyong mga ngiti.
Na nakakapawi ng pighati,
Salamat,
Salamat dahil naging parte kayo ng talata ng buhay ko.
#TSG #OJTdays
Loewen S Graves Jun 2012
nights take passion forth
into an abyss
of hundreds of arms
swirling under the weight of
bodies yearning
to connect

your destruction came
in moments, you fell beneath them
and growled, you were
the rabid beast
hiding in my closet
or behind my bathroom door
waiting to spring,

and you and i,
we fell for each other
like children, we fumble in the dark
like teenagers, we talk through every movement
like we've known this dance for years, years, years;

my hands, they're too small
to spread over your heart
like i want them to.
your hands, far too big
to cradle my face between them
like you meant them to.

we make it work
in the darkest of ways,
the black hole in the floor
of our bedroom
opening up
to swallow us
whole.
paper cuts and trails aside
make a wish and hold it tight,
this time we'll try our hardest
not to try --

(sleeping at last)
I.

One night at the Troubadour I spotted this extraordinary girl.

So I asked who she was.

‘A professional,’

That was my introduction that on a scale of one to ten

there were women who were fifteens—beautiful, bright, witty, and

oh, by the way, they worked.

Once I became aware,

I saw these women everywhere.

And I came to learn that most of them were connected to Alex



II.

She had a printer engrave a calling card

that featured a bird of paradise

borrowed from a Tiffany silver pattern

and,
under it,

Alex’s Aviary,

Beautiful and Exotic birds.



A few were women you’d see lunching at Le Dôme:

pampered arm pieces with expensive tastes

and a hint of a delicious but remote sexuality.

Many more were fresh-faced, athletic, tanned, freckled

the quintessential California girl

That you’d take for sorority queens or future BMW owners.





III.

The mechanism of Alex’s sudden notoriety is byzantine,

as these things always are.

One of her girls took up with a rotter,

the couple had a fight,

he went to the police,

the police had an undercover detective visit

(who just happened to be an attractive woman)

and ask to work for her,

she all but embraced her

—and by April of 1988 the district attorney had enough evidence

to charge her with two counts of pandering

and one of pimping.

For Alex, who is fifty-six

and has a heart condition and diabetes,

the stakes may be high.

A conviction carries the guarantee of incarceration.

For the forces of law and order,

the stakes may be higher.

Alex has let it be known that she will subpoena

every cop she’s ever met to testify at her trial.

And the revelations this might produce

—perhaps that Alex compromised policemen

by making girls available to them,

—perhaps that Alex had a deal with the police to provide information

in exchange for their blind eye to her activities

—could be hugely embarrassing to the police and the district attorney.

For Alex’s socially correct clients and friends,

for the socially correct wives of her clients and friends

and for a handful of movie and television executives

who have no idea they are dating or

married to former Alex girls,

the stakes are highest of all.



IV.

Alex’s black book is said to be a catalogue of
Le Tout Los Angeles.

In her head are the ****** secrets

of many of the city’s most important men,

to say nothing of visiting businessmen and Arab princes.

If she decides to warble,

either at her trial or in a book,

her song will shatter more than glass.





V.

A decade ago, I went to lunch at Ma Maison,

There were supposed to have been ten people there,

but only four came.

One of them was a short woman

who called me a few days later and invited me to lunch.

When I arrived, the table was set for two.

I didn’t know who Alex was or what she did,

but she knew the important facts of my situation:

I was getting divorced from a very wealthy man

and doing the legal work myself

to avail lawyers who wanted to get a big settlement for me.


Occasionally, she said, I get a call for a tall, dark-haired,

slender, flat-chested woman

—and I don’t have any.

It wouldn’t be a frequent thing.

There’d be weekends away, sometimes in Palm Springs,

sometimes in Europe.

The men will be elegant,

you’ll have your own room

—there would be no outward signs of impropriety.

And you’d get $10,000 to $20,000 for a weekend.





VI.

The tall, slender, flat-chested brunette

didn’t think it was right for her.

Alex handed her a business card

and suggested that she think about it.

To her surprise, she did

—for an entire week.

This was 1978, and $20,000 then

was like $40,000 now,

I knew it was hooking,

but Alex had never mentioned ***.



Our whole conversation seemed to be about something else.



VII.

I was born in Manila

to a Spanish-Filipina mother and German father,

and when I was twelve

a Japanese soldier came into our house

with his bayonet pointed at us,

ready to do us in.

He locked us in and set the house on fire.

I haven’t been scared by much since that.



My mother always struck me as goofy,

so I jumped on a bus and ran away,

I got off in Oakland,

saw a help-wanted sign on a parish house,

and went in.

I got $200 a month for taking care of four priests.

I spent all the money on pastries for the parish house.

But I didn’t care.

It felt safe.

And the priests sparked my interest in the domestic arts

—in linen, in crystal.



A new priest arrived.

He was unpleasant,

so on a vacation in Los Angeles I took a pedestrian job,

still a teenager,

married a scientist.

We separated eight years later,

he took our two sons to another state

threatened to keep them if I didn’t agree to a divorce.

Keep them I said and hung up.

It’s not that I don’t have a maternal instinct

—though I don’t,

I just hate to be manipulated.



My second husband,

an alcoholic,

had Frank Sinatra blue eyes, and possibly

—I never knew for sure—

had a big career in the underworld

as a contract killer.

Years before we got serious,

he was going out with a famous L.A. ******,

She and her friends were so elegant

that I started spending time with them in beauty salons.

They were so fancy,

so smart

—and they knew incredible people,

like the millionaire who sat in his suite all day

just writing $5,000 checks to girls.



VIII.

I was a florist.

We got to talking.

She was a madam from England

who wanted to sell her book and go home.

I bought it for $5,000.

My husband thought it was cute.

Now you’re getting your feet wet.

Three months later,

he died.

After eleven years of marriage,

just like that.

And of the names in the book

it turned out

that half of the men were also dead.

When I began the men were old and the women were ugly.



IX.

It was like a lunch party you or I would give,

Great food Alex had cooked herself.

Major giggles with old pals.

And then,

instead of chocolate After Eight,

she served three women After Three



This man has seen a bit of life

beyond Los Angeles,

so I asked him how Alex’s stable

compared with that of Madam Claude,

the legendary Parisian procuress.

Oh, these aren’t at all like Claude’s girls,

A Claude girl was perfectly dressed and multilingual

—you could take her to the opera

and she’d understand it.





He told me that when she was 40

she looked at herself in the mirror

and said

Disgusting.

People over 40

should not have ***.

But She Was Clear That She Never Liked It

even when she was young.

Besides, she saw all the street business

go to the tall,

beautiful girls.

She thought that she never had a chance

competing against them.

Instead,

she would take their money by managing them.





X.

Going to a ****** was not looked down upon then.

It was before the pill;

Girls weren’t giving it away.

Claude specialized in

failed models and actresses,

ones who just missed the cut.

But just because they failed

in those impossible professions

didn’t mean they weren’t beautiful,

fabulous.



Like Avis

in those days,

those girls tried harder.

Her place was off the Champs,

just above a branch of the Rothschild bank, where I had an account.

Once I met her,

I was constantly making withdrawals and heading upstairs.





XI.

We took the lift

and Claude greeted us at the door.

My impression was that of the director

of an haute couture house,

very subdued,

beige and gray, very little makeup.

She took us into a lounge and made us drinks,

Whiskey,

Cognac.

There was no maid.

We made small talk for 15 minutes.

How was the weekend?

What’s the weather like in Deauville?

Then she made the segue. ‘I understand you’d like to see some jeunes filles?’

She always used ‘jeunes filles.’

This was Claude’s polite way of saying 18 to 25.

She left and soon returned

with two very tall

jeunes filles,

One was blonde.

This is Eva from Austria.

She’s here studying painting.

And a brunette,

very different,

but also very fine.

This is Claudia from Germany.

She’s a dancer.

She took the girls back into the apartment and returned by herself.

I gave my English guest first choice.

He picked the blonde.

And wasn’t disappointed.

Each bedroom had its own bidet.

There was some nice

polite conversation, and then



It was slightly formal,

but it was high-quality.

He paid Claude

200 francs,

not to the girls

In 1965, 200 francs was about $40.

Pretty girls on Rue Saint-Denis

could be had for 40 francs

so you can see the premium.

Still, it wasn’t out of reach for mere mortals.

You didn’t have to be J. Paul Getty.





XII.

A lot of them

were models at

Christian Dior

or other couture houses.

She liked Scandinavians.

That was the look then

—cold, tall, perfect.

It was cheap for the quality.

They all used her.

The best people wanted

the best women.

Elementary supply and demand.



XIII.

She had a camp number tattooed on her wrist. I saw it.

She showed it to me and Rubi.

She was proud she had survived.

We talked about the camp for hours.

It was even more fascinating than the girls.



She was Jewish

I’m certain of that.

She was horrified at the Jewish collaborators

at the camp who herded

their fellow Jews

into the gas chambers.

That was the greatest betrayal in her life.



XIV.

She was this sad,

lonely little woman.

Later, Patrick told me who she was.

I was bowled over.

It was like meeting Al Capone.

I met two of the girls

who worked for her.

One was what you would expect

Tall

Blonde

Model.

But the other looked like a Rat

Then one night

she came out

all dressed up,

I didn’t even recognize her.

She was even better than the first girl.

Claude liked to transform women like that.

That was her art.

It was very odd,

my cousin told me.

There was not much furniture

and an awful lot of telephones.

“Allô oui,”



XV.

I had so many lunches

with Claude at Ma Maison

She was vicious.

One day,

Margaux Hemingway,

at the height of her beauty, walked by.

Une bonne

—the French for maid

was how Claude cut her dead.

She reduced

the entire world

to rich men wanting *** and

poor women wanting money.

She’d love to page through Vogue and see someone

and say,

When I met her

she was called

Marlene

and she had a hideous nose

and now she’s a princess.

Or she’d see someone and say

Let’s see if she kisses me or not.

It was like

I made her,

and I can destroy her.

She was obsessed

with “fixing” people

—with Saint Laurent clothes,

with Cartier watches,

with Winston jewels,

with Vuitton luggage,

with plastic surgeons.



XVI.

Her prison number was

888

which was good luck in China

but not in California.

‘Ocho ocho ocho,’ she liked to repeat

Even in jail, she was always working,

always recruiting stunning women.

She had a beautiful Mexican cellmate

and gave her Robert Evans’s number

as the first person she should call

when she was released.



XVII.

Never have *** on the first date.



XVIII.

There will always be prostitution,

The prostitution of misery.

And the prostitution of bourgeois luxury.

They will both go on forever.



“Allô oui,”



It was so exciting to hear a millionaire

or a head of state ask,

in a little boy’s voice,

for the one thing

that only you could provide

It's not how beautiful you are, it's how you relate

--it's mostly dialogue.



She was tiny, blond, perfectly coiffed and Chanel-clad.

The French Woman: The Arab Prince, the Japanese Diplomat, the Greek Tycoon, the C.I.A. Bureau Chief — She Possessed Them All!



XIX.

She was like a slave driver in the American South

Once she took a *******,

the makeover put the girl in debt,

because Claude paid all the bills to

Dior,

Vuitton,

to the hairdressers,

to the doctors,

and the girls had to work to pay them off.

It was ****** indentured servitude.



My Swans.



It reached the point

where if you walked into a room

in London

or Rome

as much as Paris

because the girls were transportable,

and saw a girl who was

better-dressed,

better-looking,

and more distinguished than the others

you presumed

it was a girl from Claude.

It was, without doubt,

the finest *** operation ever run in the history of mankind.



**.

The girl had to be

exactly what was needed

so I had to teach her everything she didn’t know.

I played a little the role of Pygmalion.

There were basic things that absolutely had to be done.

It consisted

at the start

of the physical aspect

“surgical intervention”

to give this way of being

that was different from other girls.

Often they had to be transformed

into dream creatures

because at the start

they were not at all



Often I had to teach them how to dress.

Often they needed help

to repair

what nature had given them

which was not so beautiful.

At first they had to be tall,

with pretty gestures,

good manners.

I had lots of noses done,

chins,

teeth,

*******.

There was a lot to do.



Eight times out of ten

I had to teach them how to behave in society.

There were official dinners, suppers, weekends,

and they needed to have conversation.

I insisted they learn to speak English,

read

certain books.

I interrogated them on what they read.

It wasn’t easy.

Each time something wasn’t working,

I was obliged to say so.



You were very demanding?

I was ferocious.



It’s difficult

to teach a girl how to walk into Maxim’s

without looking

ill at ease

when they’ve never been there,

to go into an airport,

to go to the Ritz,

or the Crillon

or the Dorchester.

To find yourself

in front of a king,

three princes,

four ministers,

and five ambassadors at an official dinner.

There were the wives of those people!

Day after day

one had to explain,

explain again,

start again.

It took about two years.

There would always be a man

who would then say of her,

‘But she’s absolutely exceptional. What is that girl doing here?’ ”





XXI.

A New York publisher who visited

the Palace Hotel

in Saint Moritz

in the early seventies told me,

I met a whole bunch of them there.

They were lovely.

The johns wanted everyone to know who they were.

I remember it being said

Giovanni’s Madame Claude girl is going to be there.

You asked them where they came from and they all said

Neuilly.

Claude liked girls from good families.

More to the point she had invented their backgrounds.



I have known,

because of what I did,

some exceptional and fascinating men.

I’ve known some exceptional women too,

but that was less interesting

because I made them myself.



Ah, this question of the handbag.

You would be amazed by how much dust accumulates.

Or how often women’s shoe heels are scuffed.





XXII.

She would examine their teeth and finally she would make them undress.



That was a difficult moment

When they arrived they were very shy,

a bit frightened.

At the beginning when I take a look,

it’s a question of seeing if the silhouette

and the gestures are pretty.

Then there was a disagreeable moment.

I said,

I’m sorry about this unpleasantness,

but I have to ask you to get undressed,

because I can’t talk about you unless I see you.

Believe me, I was embarrassed,

just as they were,

but it had to be done,

not out of voyeurism, not at all

—I don’t like les dames horizontales.



It was very funny

because there were always two reactions.

A young girl,

very sure of herself,

very beautiful,

très bien,

would say

Yes,

Get up, and get undressed.

There was nothing to hide, everything was perfect.



There were those who

would start timidly

to take off their dress

and I would say

I knew already.

The rest is not sadism, but nearly.

I knew what I was going to find.

I would say,

Maybe you should take off your bra,

and I knew it wasn’t going to be

beautiful.

Because otherwise she would have taken it off easily.

No problem.

There were damages that could be mended.

There were some ******* that could be redone,

some not

Sometimes it can be deceptive,

you know,

you see a pretty girl,

a pretty face,

all elegant and slim,

well dressed,

and when you see her naked

it is a catastrophe.



I could judge their physical qualities,

I could judge if she was pretty, intelligent, and cultivated,

but I didn’t know how she was in bed.

So I had some boys,

good friends,

who told me exactly.

I would ring them up and say,

There’s a new one.

And afterwards they’d ring back and say,

Not bad,

Could be better, or

Nulle.



Or,

on the contrary,

She’s perfect.

And I would sometimes have to tell the girls

what they didn’t know.

A pleasant assignment?

No.

They paid.



XXIII.

Often at the beginning

they had an ami de coeur

in other words,

oh,

a journalist, a photographer, a type like that,

someone in the cinema,

an actor, not very well known.

As time went by

It became difficult

because they didn’t have a lot of time for him.

The fact of physically changing,

becoming prettier,

changing mentally to live with millionaires,

produced a certain imbalance

between them

and the little boyfriend

who had not evolved

and had stayed in his milieu.

At the end of a certain time

she would say,

I’m so much better than him. Why am I with this boy?

And they would break up by themselves.



Remember,

this was instant elevation.

For most of them it was a dream existence,

provided they liked the ***,

and those that didn’t never lasted long.

A lot of the clients were young,

and didn’t treat them like tarts but like someone from their own class.

They would buy you presents,

take you on trips.



XXIV.

For me, *** was something very accessoire

I think after a certain age

there are certain spectacles one should not give to others

Now I have a penchant for solitude.

Love, it’s a complete destroyer,

It’s impossible,

a horror,

l’angoisse.

It’s the only time in my life I was jealous.

I’m not a jealous person, but I was épouvantable.

He was jealous too.

We broke plates over each other’s heads;

we became jealous about each other’s pasts.

I said one day

It’s finished.

Sometimes I look at myself in the mirror and say:

Break my legs,

give me scarlet fever,

an attack of TB, but never that.

Not that.



XXV.

I called her into my office

Let us not exaggerate,

I sent her away.

She came back looking for employment,

but was fired again, this time for drugs.

She made menacing phone calls.

Then she arrived at the Rue de Boulainvilliers with a gun.

She shot three bullets

I was dressed in the fashion of Courrèges at this moment

He did very padded things.

I had a padded dress with a little jacket on top.

The bullet

—merci, Monsieur Courrèges

—stuck in the padding.

I was thrown forward onto the telephone.

I had one thought which went through my head:

I will die like Kennedy.

I turned round and put my hand up in a reflex.

The second bullet went through my hand.

I have two dead fingers.

It’s most useful for removing bottle tops.

In the corridor I was saved from the third bullet

because she was very tall

and I am quite petite, so it passed over my head.



XXVI.

There were men

who could decapitate,

****, and bomb their rivals

who would be frightened of me.

I would ask them how was the girl,

and they’d say

Not bad

and then

But I’m not complaining.

I was a little sadistic to them sometimes.

Some women have known powerful men because they’re their lover.

But I’ve known them all.

I had them all

here.



She will take many state secrets with her.



XXVI.

I don’t like ugly people

probably because when I was young

I wasn’t beautiful at all.

I was ugly and I suffered for it,

although not to the point of obsession.

Now that I’m an old woman,

I’m not so bad.

And that’s why

I’ve always been surrounded by people

Who

were

beautiful.

And the best way to have beautiful people around me

was to make them.

I made them very pretty.





XXVII.

I wouldn’t call what Alex gives you

‘advice,’

She spares you Nothing.

She makes a list of what she wants done,

and she really gets into it

I mean, she wants you to get your arms waxed.

She gives you names of people who do good facials.

She tells you what to buy at Neiman Marcus.

She’s put off by anything flashy,

and if you don’t dress conservatively, she’s got no problem telling you,

in front of an audience,

You look like a cheap *****!

I used to wear what I wanted when I went out

then change in the car into a frumpy sweater

when I went to give her the money she’d always go,

Oh, you look beautiful!



Marry your boyfriend,

It’s better than going to prison.

When you go out with her,

she’ll buy you a present; she’s incredibly generous that way.

And she’ll always tell you to save money and get out.

It’s frustrating to her when girls call at the end of the month

and say they need rent money.

She wants to see you do well.





We had a schedule, with cards that indicated a client’s name,

what he liked,

the names of the girls he’d seen,

and how long he’d been with them.

And I only hired girls who had another career

—if my clients had a choice between drop-dead-gorgeous

and beautiful-and-interesting,

they’d tend to take beautiful-and-interesting.

These men wanted to talk.

If they spent two hours with a girl,

they usually spent only five or ten minutes in bed.



I get the feeling that in Los Angeles, men are more concerned with looks.



XXVIII.

That was my big idea

Not to expand the book by aggressive marketing

but to make sure that nobody

mistook my girls for run-of-the-mill hookers.

And I kept my roster fresh.

This was not a business where you peddle your ***,

get exploited,

and then are cast off.

I screen clients. I’ve never sent girls to weirdos.

I let the men know:

no violence,

no costumes,

no fudge-packing.

And I talked to my girls. I’d tell them:

Two and a half years and you’re burned out.

Save your money.

This is like a hangar

—you come in, refuel, and take off.

It’s not a vacation, it’s not a goof.

This buys the singing lessons,

the dancing lessons,

the glossies.

This is to help you pay for what your parents couldn’t provide.

It’s an honorable way station—a lot of stars did this.



XXIX.

To say someone was a Claude girl is an honour, not a slur.



Une femme terrible.

She despised men and women alike.

Men were wallets. Women were holes.



By the 80s,

if you were a brunette,

the sky was the limit.

The Saudis

They’d call for half a dozen of Alex’s finest,

ignore them all evening while they

chatted,

ate,

and played cards,

and then, around midnight,

take the women inside for a fast few minutes of ***.



They’d order women up like pizza.



Since my second husband died,

I only met one man who was right for me,

He was a sheikh.

I visited him in Europe

twenty-eight times

in the five years I knew him

and I never slept with him.

He’d say

I think you fly all the way here just to tease me,

but he introduced me

by phone

to all his powerful friends.

When I was in Los Angeles, he called me twice a day.

That’s why I never went out

he would have been disappointed.



***.

Listen to me

This is a woman’s business.

When a woman does it, it’s fun

there’s a giggle in it

when a man’s involved,

he’s ******,

he’s a ****.

He may know how to keep girls in line,

and he may make money,

but he doesn’t know what I do.

I tell guys: You’re getting a nice girl.

She’s young,

She’s pleasant,

She can do things

she can certainly make love.

She’s not a rocket scientist, but she’s everything else.



The world’s richest and most powerful men, the announcer teased.

An income “in the millions,” said the arresting officer.

Pina Colapinto

A petite call girl,

who once slid between the sheets of royalty,

a green-eyed blonde helped the police get the indictment.

They really dolled her up

She looks great.

Never!

What I told her was: ‘Wash that ******.’





XXXI.

Madam Alex died at 7 p.m.

Saturday at Cedars-Sinai Medical Center,

where she had been in intensive care after recent open heart surgery

We all held her hand when they took her off the life support

This was the passing of a legend.

Because she was the mother superior of prostitution.

She was one of the richest women on earth.

The world came to her.

She never had to leave the house.

She was like Hugh Hefner in that way.


It's like losing a friend

In all the years we played cat and mouse,

she never once tried to corrupt me.

We had a lot of fun.


To those who knew her

she was as constant

as she was colorful

always ready with a good tidbit of gossip

and a gourmet lunch for two.

She entertained, even after her conviction on pandering charges,

from the comfy depths of her blue four-poster bed at her home near Doheny Drive,

surrounded by knickknacks and meowing cats,

which she fed fresh shrimp from blue china plates.



XXXII.

She stole my business,

my books,

my girls,

my guys.

I had a good run.

My creatures.

Make Mommy happy

Oh! He is the most enchanting cat that I have ever known.



She was, how can I say it,

classy.

When she first hired me

she thought I was too young to take her case.

I was 43.

I'm going to give you some gray hairs by the time this is over.

She was right.





XXXIII.

I was fond of Heidi

But she has a streak that is so vindictive.



If there is pure evil, it is Madame Alex.





XXXIV.

I was born and raised in L.A.

My dad was a famous pediatrician.

When he died, they donated a bench to him at the Griffith Park Observatory.



I think that Heidi wanted to try her wings

pretty early,

and I think that she met some people

who sort of took all her potential

and gave it a sharp turn



She knew nothing.

She was like a little parrot who repeated what she was supposed to say.



Alex and I had a very intense relationship;

I was kind of like the daughter she loved and hated,

so she was abusive and loving at the same time.



Look, I know Madam Alex was great at what she did

but it's like this:

What took her years to build,

I built in one.

The high end is the high end,

and no one has a higher end than me.

In this business, no one steals clients.

There's just better service.



XXXV.

You were not allowed to have long hair

You were not allowed to be too pretty

You were not allowed to wear too much makeup or be too glamorous

Because someone would fall in love with you and take you away.

And then she loses the business



XXXVI.

I was pursued because

come on

in our lifetime,

we will never see another girl of my age

who lived the way I did,

who did what I did so quickly,

I made so many enemies.

Some people had been in this line of business

for their whole lives, 30 or 40 years,

and I came in and cornered the market.

Men don't like that.

Women don't like that.

No one liked it.



I had this spiritual awakening watching an Oprah Winfrey video.

I was doing this 500-hour drug class

and one day the teacher showed us this video,

called something like Make It Happen.

Usually in class I would bring a notebook

and write a letter to my brother or my journal,

but all of a sudden this grabbed my attention

and I understood everything she said.

It hit me and it changed me a lot.

It made me feel,

Accept yourself for who you are.

I saw a deeper meaning in it

but who knows, I might have just been getting my period that day!



XXXVII.

Hello, Gina!

You movie star!

Yes you are!

Gina G!

Hello my friend,

Hello my friend,

Hello my movie star,

Ruby! Ruby Boobie!

Braaawk!

Except so many women say,

Come on, Heidi

you gotta do the brothel for us; don't let us down.

It would be kind of fun opening up an exclusive resort,

and I'll make it really nice,

like the Beverly Hills Hotel

It'll feel private; you'll have your own bungalow.

The only problem out here is the climate—it's so brutal.

Charles Manson was captured a half hour from Pahrump.



I said, Joe! What are you doing?

You gotta get, like,

a garter belt and encase it in something

and write,

This belonged to Suzette Whatever,

who entertained the Flying Tigers during World War II.

Get, like, some weird tools and write,

These were the first abortion tools in the brothel,

you know what I mean?

Just make some **** up!

So I came out here to do some research

And then I realized,

What am I doing?

I'm Heidi Fleiss. I don't need anyone.

I can do this.

When I was doing my research, in three months

I saw land go from 30 thousand an acre

to 50 thousand an acre,

and then it was going for 70K!

It's urban sprawl

—we're only one hour from Las Vegas.

Out here the casinos are only going to get bigger,

prostitution is legal, it's only getting better.





XXXVIII.

The truth is

deep down inside,

I just can't do business with him

He's the type of guy who buys Cup o' Noodles soup for three cents

and makes his hookers buy it back from him for $5.

It's not my style at all.

Who wants to be 75 and facing federal charges?

It was different at my age when I

at least...come on, I lived really well.

I was 22,

25 at the time?

It was fun then, but now I wouldn't want

to deal with all that *******

—the girls and blah blah blah.

But the money was really good.



I would've told someone they were out of their ******* mind

if they'd said in five years I'd be living with all these animals like this.

It's hard-core; how I live;

It's totally a nonfunctional atmosphere for me

It's hard to get anything done because

It’s so time-consuming.

I feel like they're good luck though....

I do feel that if I ever get rid of them,

I will be jinxed and cursed the rest of my life

and nothing I do will ever work again.



Guys kind of are a hindrance to me

Certainly I have no problem getting laid or anything.

But a man is not a priority in my life.

I mean, it's crazy, but I really have fun with my parrots.



XXXIX.

I started a babysitting circle when I wasn't much older than 9

And soon all the parents in the neighborhood

wanted me to watch over their children.

Even then I had an innate business sense.

I started farming out my friends

to meet the demand.

My mother showered me with love and my father,

a pediatrician,

would ask me at the dinner table,

What did you learn today?

I ran my neighborhood.

I just pick up a hustle really easily,

I was a waitress and I met an older guy who looked like Santa Claus.



Alex was a 5' 3" bald-headed Filipina

in a transparent muu muu.

We hit it off.

I didn't know at the time that I was there to pay off the guy's gambling debt.

It's in and out,

over and out.

Do you think some big-time producer

or actor is going to go to the clubs and hustle?



Columbia Pictures executive says:

I haven’t done anything that should cause any concern.

Jeez, it's like the Nixon enemies list.

I hope I'm on it.

If I'm not, it means I must not be big enough

for people to gossip about me.



That's right ladies and gentlemen.

I am an alleged madam and that is a $25 *****!

If you live out here,

you've got to hate people.

You've got to be pretty antisocial

How you gonna come out here with only 86 people?

That's Fred.

He's digging to China.

You look good.

Yeah, you too.

It's coming along here.

Yeah, it is.

I wanted to buy that lot there, but I guess it's gone?

That's mine, man! That's all me.

Really?

I thought there was a lot between us.

No. We're neighbors.



He's a cute guy

He's entertaining.

See, I kind of did do something shady to him.

I thought my property went all the way back

and butted up against his.

But there was one lot between us right there.

He said he was buying it,

but I saw the 'For Sale' sign still up there,

So I went and called the broker and said,

I'm an all-cash buyer.

So I really bought it out from under him.

But he's got plenty of room, and I need the space for my parrots.

Pahrump will always be Pahrump, but Crystal is going to be nice

All you need are four or five fancy houses and it'll flush everyone out

and it'll be a nice area.

They're all kind of weird here, but these people will go.

Like this guy here,

someone needs to **** him.

I was just saying to my dad that these parrots are born to a really ******-up world

He goes, Heidi, no, no; the world is a beautiful garden.

It's just, people are destroying it.

I’m looking into green building options

I don't want anything polluting,

I want a huge auditorium,

but it'll be like a jungle where my birds can really fly!

Where they can really do what they're supposed to do.

There were over 300 birds in there!

That lady,

She ran the exotic-birds department for the Tropicana Hotel,

which is a huge job.

She called me once at 3:30 in the morning

Come over here and help me feed this baby!

Some baby parrot.

And I ran over there in my pajamas

—I knew there was something else wrong

and she was like

Get me my oxygen!

Get me this, get me that.

I called my dad; he was like,

I don't know, honey, you better call the paramedics.

They ended up getting a helicopter.

And they were taking her away

in the wind with her IV and blood and everything

and she goes, Heidi, you take care of my birds.

And she dies the next day.

She was just a super-duper person.



XL.

I relate to the lifestyle she had before,

Now, I'm just a citizen.

I'm clean,

I'm sober,

I'm married,

I work at Wal-Mart.

I'm proud to say I know her. I look into her eyes

and we relate.





I got out in 2000,

so I've been sending her money for seven years

She was…whatever.

Girlfriend?

Yeah, maybe.

But ***, I tried like two times,

and I'm just not gay.

She gets out in about eight or nine months

and I told her I would get her a house.

But nowhere near me.

I didn't touch her,

but I'd be, like...

a funny story:

I told her,

Don't you ever ******* think

about contacting me in the real world.

I'm not a lesbian.

Then about two years ago, I got an e-mail from her,

or she called me and said, 'Google my name.'

So I Googled her name,

and she has this huge company.

Huge!

She won, like, Woman of the Year awards.

So I called her and I go,

Not bad.

She goes, 'Well, I did all that because you called me a loser.'

I go, '****, I should've called you more names

you probably would've found the cure for cancer by now.



XLI.

No person shall be employed by the licensee

who has ever been convicted of

a felony involving moral turpitude

But I qualify,

I mean, big deal, so I'm a convicted felon.

Being in the *** industry, you can't be so squeaky-clean.

You've got to be hustling.

Nighttime is really enchanting here

It's like a whole 'nother world out here, it really is

I’m so far removed from my social life and old surroundings.

Who was it, Oscar Wilde, I think, who said

people can adjust to anything.

I was perfectly adjusted in the penitentiary,

and I was perfectly adjusted to living in a château in France.



We had done those drug addiction shows together

Dr. Drew.

Afterward we were friendly

and he'd call me every now and then.

He'd act like he had his stuff together.

But it was all a lie.

Everything is a lie.

I brought him to a Humane Society event at Paramount Studios last year.

He was just such a mess.

So out of it.

He stole money from my purse.

He's such a drug addict because he's so afraid of being fat.

He liked horse ****, though. He did like horse ****.

This one woman that would have *** with a horse on the internet,

He told me that’s his favorite actress.

Better than Meryl Streep.



XLII.

The cops could see

why these women were taking over trade.

Girls with these looks charged upwards of $500 an hour.

The Russians had undercut them with a bargain rate of $150 an hour.

One thing they are not is lazy.

In the USSR

they grew up with no religion, no morality.

Prostitution is not considered a bad thing.

In fact, it’s considered a great way to make money.

That’s why it’s exploding here.

What we saw was just a tip of the iceberg.

These girls didn’t come over here expecting to be nannies.

They knew exactly what they wanted and what they were getting into.

The madam who organized this raid

was making $4 million a year,

laundered through Russian-owned banks in New York City

These are brutal people.

They are all backstabbers.

They’re entrepreneurs.

They’re looking at $10,000 a month for turning tricks.

For them, that’s the American dream.



XLIII.

If you’re not into something,

don’t be into it

But,

if you want to take some whipped cream,

put it between your toes,

have your dog licking it up and,

at the same time,

have your girlfriend poke you in the eye,

then that’s fine.

That’s a little weird but we shouldn’t judge.



She was my best friend then

and I consider her one of my best friends now,

because when I was going through Riker’s

and everyone abandoned me,

including my boyfriend,

I was hysterical,

crying,

and she was the one that was there.

And, when somebody needed to step up to the plate,

that’s who did, and I have an immense amount of

loyalty, respect, and love for her.

And if she’s going to prison for eight years

—that’s what she’s sentenced for

—I’ll go there,

and I’ll go there every week,

for eight years.

That’s the type of person I am.
JK Cabresos Jul 2016
Oo. Totoo.
Hindi mo na kailangan ipagsigawang mahal mo ako,
na aakyat pa sa rurok ng bundok
para isigaw ang pangalan ko,
at ipahayag ang nilalaman
ng damdaming nagsisidhi,
sapat na sa akin
ang ibulong mo ang mga salitang ‘yan
na nais kong marinig
mula sa mapang-akit **** mga labi.

Hindi mo kailangang ibase ang nararamdaman mo
sa sinasabi ng ibang tao,
dahil hindi natin kailangan ng kanilang opinyon
para umibig nang wagas
o hanggang sa dulo ng mundo,
hindi sila ang dumidekta
sa kung sino man ang ititibok nitong puso,
hindi natin kailangan ng kanilang opinyon.
Hindi.

Hindi mo kailangan ipagsigawang mahal mo ako
na sa lahat ng date na ating mapuntahan
ay kailangang pag-usapan ng mga kaibigan mo,
o libo-libong litrato ang ipo-post mo,
dahil ayaw ko lang mawala
ang pagiging pribado ng ating relasyon,
sapat na sa akin
ang itago mo ang mga litratong ‘yan,
at titigan pauli-ulit
kapag miss na natin ang isat-isa.

Hindi mo kailangang ma-insecure sa iba,
hindi ko sila papatulan,
hindi ko sila papansinin,
hindi kita niligawan
nang mahigit isang taon para saktan lang,
wala akong **** sa kanila,
ikaw ang mahal ko,
oo, mahal kita,
at tanggap ko kung sino ka,
kung anong mayro’n at wala sa’yo,
dahil mahal kita.
Mahal na mahal,
hindi mo kailangang ma-insecure.
Hindi.    

Lahat ng bagay, ay aking gagawin,
dahil hindi lang magtatapos ang aking “mahal kita”  
sa bawat letra ng mga salitang
namumutawi sa aking bibig,
hindi ito isang antigong alahas  
na susuotin lamang sa mga piling okasyon,
pagkatapos ay itatago sa kahon,
at kakainin ng alikabok sa lilipas na mga taon,
mamahalin kita kahit sa ano mang panahon:
tirik man ang araw sa pagtawa
o kulimlim man ang gabi sa pag-iyak.
Mahal kita.
Mahal na mahal,
at hindi lang magtatapos ang aking “mahal kita”
sa mahal lang kita,
kukunin ko ang mga agiw sa ‘yong mga lumang gunita,
pilit kong wasakin ang mga pader
na nakaharang sa ating dalawa.    

Hindi mo kailangan ipagsigawang mahal mo ako,
sapat na sa akin ang pagsanay sa sarili
sa ‘yong presensya at pagkandili,
sapat na sa akin ang pag-intindi mo
sa mga kamaliang pilit **** binabayo,
mga pagkukulang na pilit **** pinupunan,
at sa mga araw na kahit luha ang nalalasap
ay patuloy ka pa ring nakahawak sa aking mga kamay
at hindi mo ito binitawan.

Hindi mo kailangan ipagsigawang mahal mo ako,
pumasok ka sa pinakakasulok ng aking utak,
nang mabatid mo ang mga nakasulat,
nakalimbag sa bawat pahina ng aking isip:
ililibot kita,
sa aking nakaraan,
sa aking ngayon
at sa aking bukas,
ilalahad ang pag-aasam na makatakas
sa mga kabiguang natanaw.
Sisirin natin ang pinakailalim ng aking puso,
dito matatagpuan ang pag-ibig
na kailanman hindi mabubura,
hindi maglalaho, para sa nag-iisang ikaw.

Hindi mo kailangan ipagsigawang mahal mo ako,
hindi na kailangan,
dahil alam ko, d’yan sa puso mo,
nakaukit rin ang pangalan ko,
at ang pag-iibigan nating dalawa,
hindi mo na kailangan ipagsigawan pa
dahil alam kong mahal mo rin ako.
Mahal mo ako.  
Mahal na mahal.
Copyright © 2016
GHAR KI WO BAHADUR BETI

ghar ki wo bahadur beti, Ma ko wo ankhen kholte hi dekhti.
darr na Ma tu bhi hai kisi ki bahadur beti.

Ma ke anchal ko pakad ke chalti,
main teri parchayi or tu hai mera kal wo isko samajhti,
khilkhilate mahakte phool si wo badi hoti,
anjane loge se hi milte, jhijhakte hue wo sahamti.

Par ab wo beti ki kuch ye thi kahani,
usko ek alag hi dunia hai banani.
sambhal k chal tu beti, galat ** to chup reh to beti.
kyonki Ma-Baap ki hai wo bahadur beti.

Seekh k zindgi ki sachchayi, ek alag dunia hai banayi.
khushi khudme hi dhoondne lagi, bheegi palke yun hi sookhne lagi.

Ma ki parchayi banne ki chah me, aagayi wo bhi pyar ki raah me.
usse rishta yun judne laga, sunhara kal phir dikhne laga.
age kadam darr k badhaya, pyar ne jispe bharosa dilaya.

Ab zindgi ne yun karwat li, kaanch k us rishte me wo tut gayi.
arre darr mat tu hai ghar ki bahadur beti.

ashkon ko wo chupa rahi thi, girte hue kadmon ko sambhal rahi thi,
diye hue zakhmon ko chupa rahi thi, us pyar ko ab bhi dua me mang rahi thi.
bilakhti, sahamti phir kadam ko badha ke kahti
MA, MAIN HU TERI BAHADUR BETI......
Leonoah  Apr 2020
Natividad
Leonoah Apr 2020
Alas sais y medya na ng umaga nang makauwi si Natividad mula sa bahay ng kanyang amo. Pagkababa n’ya ng maliit na bag na laman ang kanyang cellphone at wallet na merong labin-limang libo at iilang barya ay marahan siyang naglakad tungo sa kwartong tinutulugan ng kanyang tatlong anak. Hinawi niya ang berdeng kurtina at sumilip sa kanyang mga anghel.
Babae ang panganay ni Natividad, o di kaya’y Vida. Labindalawang taong gulang na ito at nasa Grade 7 na. Isa sa mga malas na naabutan ng pahirap na K-12 program. Ang gitna naman ay sampung taong gulang na lalaki at mayroong down syndrome. Special child ang tawag nila sa batang tulad nito, pero “abnormal” o “abno” naman ang ipinalayaw ng mga lasinggero sa kanila. Ang bunso naman niya, si bunsoy, ay kakatapak lamang ng Grade 1. Pitong taong gulang na ito at ito ang katangkaran sa mga babae sa klase nito. Sabi ng kapwa niya magulang ay late na raw ang edad nito para sa baiting, pero kapag mahirap ka, mas maigi na ang huli kaysa wala.
Nang makitang nahihimbing pa ang mga ito ay tahimik s’yang tumalikod at naglakad papuntang kusina. Ipagluluto niya ang mga anak ng sopas at adobong manok. May mga natira pa namang sangkap na iilang gulay, gatas, at macaroni na galing pa sa bahay ni Kapitan noong nangatulong siya sa paghahanda para sa piyesta. Bumili rin siya ng kalahating kilo na pakpak ng manok, kalahating kilo pa ulit ng atay ng manok, at limang kilo ng bigas.
Inuna niya ang pagsasaing. Umabot pa ng tatlong gatang ang natitirang bigas nila sa pulang timba ng biskwit kaya ‘yun na lang ang ginamit niya. Pagkatapos ay agad niya rin itong pinalitan ng bagong biling bigas.
De-uling pa ang kalan ni Vida kaya inabot siya ng limang minuto bago nakapagpaapoy. Siniguro niyang malakas ang apoy para madaling masaing. Kakaunti na lang kasi ang oras na natitira.
Habang hinihintay na maluto ang kanin ay dumiretso na sa paghahanda ng mga sangkap si Vida. Siniguro niyang tahimik ang bawat kilos para maiwasang magising ang mga anak. Mas mapapatagal lamang kasi kung sasabay pa ang mga ito sa kanyang pagluluto.
Habang hinahati at pinaparami ang manok ay patingin-tingin s’ya sa labas. Inaabangan ang inaasahan niyang mga bisita.
Mukang magtatagal pa sila ah. Ano na kayang balita? Dito lamang naikot ang isip ni Vida sa tuwing nakikitang medyo normal pa sa labas.
May mga potpot na nagbebenta na pan de sal at monay, mga nanay na labas-masok ng kani-kanilang mga bahay dahil tulad niya ay naghahanda rin ng pagkain, at mga lalaking kauuwi lamang sa trabaho o siguro kaya’y galing sa inuman.
Tulog pa ata ang karamihan ng mga bata. Mabuti naman, walang maingay. Hindi magigising ang tatlo.
Binalikan niya ang sinaing at tiningnan kung pupwede na bang hanguin.
Okay na ito. Dapat ako magmadali talaga.
Dali-dali niyang isinalang ang kaserolang may laman na pinira-pirasong manok.
Habang hinihintay na maluto ang manok ay paunti-unti rin siyang naglilinis. Tahimik pa rin ang bawat kilos. Lampas kalahating oras na siyang nakakauwi at ano mang oras ay baka magising ang mga anak niya o di kaya’y dumating ang mga hinihintay n’ya.
Winalis niya ang buong bahay. Maliit lang naman iyon kaya mabilis lamang siyang natapos. Pagkatapos ay marahan siyang naglakad papasok sa maliit nilang tulugan, kinuha ang lumang backpack ng kanyang panganay at sinilid doon ang ilang damit. Tatlong blouse, dalawang mahabang pambaba at isang short. Dinamihan niya ang panloob dahil alanganin na kakaunti lamang ang dala.
Pagkatapos niyang mag-empake ay itinago niya muna backpack sa ilalim ng lababo. Hinango niya na rin ang manok at agad na pinalitan ng palayok na pamana pa sa kanya. Dahil hinanda niya na kanina sa labas ang lahat ng kakailanganin ay dahan dahan niyang sinara ang pinto para hindi marinig mula sa loob ang ingay ng paggigisa.
Bawat kilos niya ay mabilis, halata **** naghahabol ng oras. Kailangang makatapos agad siya para may makain ang tatlo sa paggising nila.
Nang makatapos sa sopas ay agad niya itong ipinasok at ipinatong sa lamesa. Sinigurong nakalapat ang takip para mainit-init pa sakaling tanghaliin ng gising ang mga anak.
Dali-daling hinugasan ang ginamit na kaserola sa paglalaga at agad ulit itong isinalang sa apoy. Atay ng manok ang binili niya para siguradong mas mabilis maluluto. Magandang ipang-ulam ang adobo dahil ma-sarsa, pwede ring ulit-ulitin ang pag-iinit hanggang maubos.
Habang hinihintay na lumambot na ang mga patatas, nakarinig siya ng mga yabag mula sa likuran.
Nandito na sila. Hindi pa tapos ‘tong adobo.
“Vida.” Narinig niyang tawag sa kanya ng pamilyar na boses ng lalaki. Malapit niyang kaibigan si Tobias. Tata Tobi kung tawagin ng mga anak niya. Madalas niya ditong ihabilin ang tatlo kapag kailangan niyang mag-overnight sa bahay ng amo.
“Tobi. Andito na pala kayo,” nginitian niya pa ang dalawang kasama nitong nasa likuran. Tahimik lang ang mga itong nagmamasid sa kanya.
“Hindi pa tapos ang adobo ko eh. Ilalahok ko pa lang ang atay. Pwedeng upo muna kayo doon sa loob? Saglit na lang naman ‘to.”
Mukhang nag-aalangan pa ang dalawa pero tahimik itong kinausap ni Tobi. Maya-maya ay parang pumayag na rin ito at tahimik na naglakad papasok. Narinig niya pang sinabihan ni Tobi ang mga ito na dahan-dahan lamang dahil natutulog ang mga anak niya. Napangiti na lamang siya rito.
Pagkalahok ng atay at tinakpan niya ang kaserola. Tahimik siyang naglakad papasok habang nararamdaman ang pagmamasid sa kanya. Tumungo siya sa lababo at kinuha ang backpack.
Lumapit siya sa mga panauhin at tahimik na dinaluhan ang mga ito tapos ay sabay-sabay nilang pinanood ang usok galing sa adobong atay.
“M-ma’am.” Rinig niyang tawag sa kanya ng kasama ni Tobias. Corazon ang nakaburdang apelyido sa plantsadong uniporme. Mukhang bata pa ito at baguhan.
“Naku, ser. ‘Wag na po ganoon ang itawag niyo sa akin. Alam niyo naman na kung sino ako.” Maraan niyang sabi dito, nahihiya.
“Vida. Pwede ka namang tumanggi.” Si Tobias talaga.
“Tobi naman. Parang hindi ka pamilyar. Tabingi ang tatsulok, Tobias. Alam mo iyan.” Iniiwasan niyang salubungin ang mga mata ni Tobias. Nararamdaman niya kasi ang paninitig nito. Tumatagos. Damang-dama niya sa bawat himaymay ng katawan niya at baka saglit lamang na pagtingin dito ay umiyak na siya.
Kanina niya pa nilulunok ang umaalsang hagulhol dail ayaw niyang magising ang mga anak.
“Vida…” marahang tawag sa kanya ng isa pang kasama ni Tobi. Mukhang mas matanda ito sa Corazon pero halatang mas matanda pa rin ang kaibigan niya.
“Ano ba talaga ang nangyari?”
“Ser…Abit,” mabagal niyang basa sa apelyido nito.
“Ngayon lang po ako nanindigan para sa sarili ko.” garalgal ang boses niya. Nararamdaman niya na ang umaahon na luha.
“Isang beses ko lang po naramdaman na tao ako, ser. At ngayon po iyon. Nakakapangsisi na sa ganitong paraan ko lang nabawi ang pagkatao ko, pero ang mahalaga po ay ang mga anak ko. Mahalaga po sila sa’kin, ser.” mahina lamang ang pagkakasabi niya, sapat na para magkarinigan silang apat.
“Kung mahalaga sila, bakit mo ginawa ‘yon? Vida, bakit ka pumatay?”
Sasagot n asana siya ng marinig niyang kumaluskos ang banig mula sa kuwarto. Lumabas doon ang panganay niyang pupungas-pungas pa. dagli niya itong pinalapit at pinaupo sa kinauupuan niya. Lumuhod siya sa harap nito para magpantay sila.
“Anak. Good morning. Kamusta ang tulog mo?”
“Good morning din, nay. Sino po sila? ‘Ta Tobi?”
“Kaibigan sila ni ‘Ta Tobias, be. Hinihintay nila ako kasi may pupuntahan kami eh.” marahan niyang paliwanag, tinatantya ang bawat salita dahil bagong gising lamang ang anak.
“Saan, nay? May handaan po uli sina ser?” tukoy nito sa mga dati niyang amo.
“Basta ‘nak. Kunin mo muna yung bag ko doon sa lamesa, dali. Kunin ko yung ulam natin mamaya. Masarap yun, be.”
Agad naman itong sumunod habang kinukuha niya na rin ang bagong luto na adobo. Pagkapatong sa lamesa ng ulam ay nilapitan niya ulit ang anak na tinitingnan-tingnan ang tahimik na mga  kasama ni Tobias.
“Be…” tawag niya rito.
Pagkalingon nito sa kanya ay hinawakan niya ang mga kamay nito. Nagsisikip na ang lalamunan niya. Nag-iinit na rin ang mga mata niya at nahihirapan na sa pagbuga ng hangin.
“Be, wala na sina ser. Wala na sila, hindi na nila tayo magugulo.” ngiti niya rito. Namilog naman ang mga mata nito. Halata **** natuwa sa narinig.
“Tahimik na tayo, nay? Hindi na nila kakalampagin ang pinto natin sa gabi?”
“Hindi na siguro, anak. Makakatulog na kayo ng dire-diretso, pangako.” Sinapo niya ang mukha nito tapos ay matunog na hinalikan sa pisngi at noo. ‘Eto na ang matagal niyang pinapangarap na buhay para sa mga anak. Tahimik. Simple. Walang gulo.
“Kaso, ‘nak, kailangan kong sumama sa kanila.” Turo niya kayna Tobias. Nanonood lamang ito sa kanila. Hawak na rin ni Tobi ang backpack niya.
“May ginawa kasi si nanay, be. Para diretso na ang tulog natin at para di na tayo guluhin nina ser. Pramis ko naman sa’yo be, magsasama ulit tayo. Pangako. Bilangin mo ang tulog na hindi tayo magkakasama. Tapos pagbalik ko, hihigitan ko pa ‘yon ng maraming maraming tulog na magkakasama na tayo.”
“Nay…” nagtataka na ang itsura ng anak niya. Namumula na kasi ang mukha niya panigurado. Kakapigil na humagulhol dahil ayaw niyang magising ang dalawa pang anak.
“Anak parang ano lang ito…abroad. Diba may kaklase kang nasa abroad ang nanay? Doon din ako, be.”
Bigla ay nagtubig ang mga mata ng panganay niya. Malalaking butil ng tubig. Hindi niya alam kung naniniwala pa ba ito sa mga sinasabi niya, o kung naiintindihan na nito ang mga nangyayari.
“Itong bag ko, andiyan yung wallet at telepono ko. Diba matagal mo nang gusto magkaroon ng ganon, be? Iyo na ‘yan, basta dapat iingatan mo ha. Yung pera be, kay Tata Tobias mo ihahabilin. Habang nagtatrabaho ako, kay ‘Ta Tobi muna kayo.”
“Nay, hindi ka naman magtatrabaho eh.” Lumabi ang anak niya tapos ay tuluyan nang nalaglag ang luha.
Tinawanan niya naman ito. “Sira, magtatrabaho ako. Basta intayin mo ‘ko be ha? Kayo nina bunsoy ko, ha?” Hindi niya napigilang lambing-lambingin ito na parang batang munti. Kailangan ay sulitin niya ang pagkakataon.
Paulit-ulit niya itong dinampian ng maliliit na halik sa mukha, wala na siyang pakealam kung malasahan niya ang alat ng luha nito. Kailangan ay masulit niya ang natitirang oras.
“Nay, sama po ako. Sama kami ni bunsoy. Tahimik lang kami lagi, pramis, nay. Parang kapag andito si ser, hindi naman kami gugulo doon.” Tuluyan na ngang umalpas ang hikbi niya. Naalala niyang muli ang rason kung ba’t n’ya ito ginagawa. Para sa tahimik na buhay ng mga anak.
“Sus, maniwala sa’yo, be. Basta hintayin mo si nay. ‘Lika ***** tayo doon sa kwarto, magbabye ako kayna bunsoy.” Yakag niya rito. Sumama naman ito sa kanya habang nakayakap sa baywang niya. Humihikbi-hikbi pa rin ito habang naagos ang luha.
Tahimik niyang nilapitan ang dalawa. Kinumutan niyang muli ang mga ito at kinintalan ng masusuyong halik sa mga noo. Bata pa ang mga anak niya. Marami pa silang magagawa. Malayo pa ang mararating nila. Hindi tulad ng mga magulang nila, ‘yun ang sisiguraduhin niya. Hindi ito mapapatulad sa kanila ng mister niya.
“Be, dito ka na lang ha. Alis na si nanay. Alagaan mo sina bunsoy, be, ha. Pati sarili mo. Ang iskul mo anak, kahit hindi ka manguna, ayos lang kay nanay. Hindi naman ako magagalit. Basta gagalingan mo hangga’t kaya mo ha. Mahal kita, be. Kayong tatlo. Mahal na mahal namin kayo.” Mahigpit niya itong niyakap habang paiyak na binubulong ang mga habilin. Wala na ring tigil ang pag-iyak niya kaya agad na siyang tumayo. Baka magising pa ang dalawa.
Nakita niya namang nakaabang sa pinto si Tobi bitbit ang bag niya. Kinuha niya rito ang bag at sinabihang ito na ang bahala sa mga anak. Baog si Tobias at iniwan na ng asawa. Sumama raw sa ibang lalaking mas mayaman pa rito. Kagawad si Tobias sa lugar nila kaya sigurado siyang hindi magugutom ang mga anak niya rito. May tiwala siyang mamahalin ni Tobias na parang sarili nitong mga anak ang tatlo dahil matagal niya na itong nasaksihan.
Pagsakay sa sasakyan kasama ang dalawang pulis na kasama ni Tobias ay saka lamang siya pinosasan ng lalaking may burdang Corazon.
“Kilala namang sindikato yung napatay mo, ma’am. Kulang lamang kami sa ebidensya dahil malakas ang kapit sa taas. Kung sana…sana ay hindi ka nag-iwan ng sulat.”
“Nabuhay ang mga anak kong may duwag na ina, ser. Ayokong lumaki pa sila sa puder ng isang taong walang paninindigan. Pinatay niya na ang asawa ko. Dapat ay sapat na ‘yon na bayad sa utang namin, diba?” kung kanina ay halo humagulhol siya sa harap ng mga anak, ngayon ay walang emosyong mahahamig sa boses niya. Nakatingin lamang siya sa labas at tinititigan ang mga napapatingin sa dumadaang sasakyan ng pulis.
Kung sana ay hindi tinulungan ng mga nakatataas ang amo niya. Kung sana ay nakakalap ng sapat na mga ebidensya ang mga pulis na ngayon ay kasama niya. Kung sana ay may naipambayad sila sa inutang ng asawa niya para pambayad sa panganganak niya.
Kung hindi siguro siya mahirap, baka wala siya rito.
unedited
AUGUST  Jan 2019
“LDR”
AUGUST Jan 2019
Ibubulong nalang sa hangin,ang bawat pagsumamo
Paano ba maipaparating, ang nadarama ng puso
lagi kitang inaalala malayo ka man sakin
Kelan ba tayo magkikita ang hangad nitong damdamin

Sa panaginip nalang makikita matutupad ang pangarap
Sa panaginip nalang ang pagsinta duun nalang magaganap
Mga pangako at sumpaan paano na matutupad
Walang kasiguraduhan kung saan ba mapapadpad

Tadhanang mapaglaro, magkalayo at di pinagtagpo
Ba't Sadyang mapagbiro kahit may lalim bawat pagsuyo
Dating hawak ang ‘yong kamay, ngayon sa guni guni
Buhat ng ikaw ay mawalay, nasisilayan sa muni muni

Sinagot ma’y marami paring Katanungan
Lahat ba ng tanong? wala pa ring kasagutan
Kung may dulo ang daan, Saan ba ang hantungan
Kung ito’y may hangganan, Ano ba ang pupuntahan

Sa kapalarang magkatugma, kahit na isa kang dayuhan
Ng pagmamahalang mahiwaga , na tayo ay nagkaunawaan
Tunay nga na ang pagibig may isang diwa
Tayo’y Itinadhana, Magkaiba man ang ating pananalita

Andito lang ako, Malayo parin ang distansya,
Naghihintay sayo, Malapit nang mapuno ang Pasensya
Dito sa kaganapang di mapapaliwanag ng sihensya
Kung ba't ikaw, ikaw ang hinahanap ng konsensya

Kahit wala ka.....

Di na makapaghintay sa panahon ng iyong pagbabalik
Pagkakataong tayo’y muling magkita, ako’y nananabik
Minsan pa sanay lumantay ang yakap mo’t mga halik
Nang sana ang sigaw ko’y tuluyan nang matahimik

*Para sa mahal kong si Reina
Ngunit sana maunawaan nya ang tula ko.
Daniella Torino  Jun 2017
Tahanan
Daniella Torino Jun 2017
Naaalala ko
kung paanong lumusong sa dalampasigan
ng walang kasiguraduhan,
naglakbay sa ilalim ng mga madilim na ulap
sa likod
pilit na itinatago ang mga bituing
sinusubukang abutin
ang daang hindi alam ang pupuntahan
kung mayroon nga bang walang hanggan o mayroong patutunguhan,
sa pag-asang mahahanap din
ang hindi matagpuang kakulangan.
Nagbabakasakali
sa karagatang hindi maalon,
malayang naggagalugad,
sumasandal at yumayakap ang malamig na tubig
sa maligamgam at aligagang kaluluwa,
hindi mapakali,
kung paano nga bang makararating o madadatnan ang pampang.
At unti-unti,
naririnig ang bawat hampas ng lumalakas na alon
kasabay ang mababagsik na hanging may dala-dalang unos,
ako’y hinahaplos,
lumulubog
at naghihikahos,
hindi makahinga,
humihiling
na sana’y rito na matapos
ang paghahalughog na hindi matapos-tapos.

Pero tapos,
hindi pa rito magtatapos,
bubuksan ang mga mata
ngunit hindi makita-kita
ang puwang sa pusong hindi mapunan
ng kakaibang dulot ng panitikan,
ng sining na nagpapaalalang napakaraming bagay pala
ang hindi maipakikita o mabibigkas
sa likas na paraan na alam ng tao,
na sa kahunghanga’y naniwalang
ang sining at pag-ibig ay walang pinagkaiba;
sa pagbili ng paboritong libro
habang inaamoy ang kakaibang
halimuyak na dala
ng mga papel na may bagong imprenta,
sa proseso ng pagkabuo at pagkawasak
mula sa mga salita’t tugma
hanggang sa ito’y maging tula
dahil kahit bali-baligtarin ma’y pipiliin pa ring
makulong sa isang tula,
itinatatwa
ang mga panandaliang tuwa
sa pagitan ng mga delubyo’t sigwa.
Lumulutang
sa mga pighati,
pasakit,
pagkadapa,
pangamba,
pangangatal,
paglisan,
pagkapagod
at pagkatalisod.
Kaya ako’y pipikit na lamang,
susubukang umidlip,
o matulog nang ilang oras,
walang pakialam kung abutin man ng ilang araw o dekada,
tatangkaing matagpuan ang patlang sa panaginip,
sa pagitan ng bawat malalim na buntong-hininga,
sa lingon, baka hindi lang nahagip ng aking mga mata
o baka nakatago sa paboritong sayaw at mabagal na musika,
sa bawat patak ng luhang hindi na mabilang
kasabay ang ulang panandaliang kanlungan,
sa anino ng bahagharing hindi alam ang pinanggagalingan.
Hindi ko na alam
pero susugal na matagpuan
ang katiyakan sa walang katiyakan
sa panaginip at bangungot na walang katapusan.

Tapos heto,
hinahanap pa rin
ang halaga ng halaga
ang tula ng tula
at ang ibig ng pag-ibig.
Patuloy lang na hahakbang,
mula sa kinagisnang tagpuan,
magpapabalik-balik,
pagmamasdan ang hungkag
na sarili na nasa katauhan ng isang katawan
kung paanong mamamanghang paglaruan
ng dilim na magwala ang kaluluwang nawawala.
Umaalingawngaw
ang kalungkutang matagal nang gustong lumisan
sa pusong ang tanging alam lang
ay ang hindi na muling paglaban,
bilanggo ng mapanlinlang
na ligayang kumukupas
at nag-iiwan ng malalalim na bakas.
Tumatakas
ang inakalang kasiyahan
na kadugtong pala ay kalumbayan,
ang liwanag ay kapatid pala ng kapanglawan.
at ang paghahanap ay kasunod ang kawalan.

Ngunit,
ako'y paikot-ikot lang dito,
umaalpas,
naliligaw sa isang pamilyar na kapilas,
mag-iba-iba man ng anyo ang simula’t dulo,
iiwan sa kawalan ang ilang libong pagdududa
sapagkat sa isang bagay lang ako nakasisiguro:
daan ko’y patungo pa rin sa’yo.

Maligaw man
o maiwan akong mag-isa sa tuktok ng kabundukan,
lagyan man ng piring ang mga mata,
harangan ng tabing ang lansangan,
umusbong ang malalaking gusali ng palalong hiraya,
alisin man ang lahat ng aking alaala,
makakaya pa ring sumayaw sa panganib na nagbabadya
dahil hindi na ako nangangamba,
alam kong ako’y iyong isasalba.

Kaya taluntunin man nila
ang mapa
ng aking napagal na puso,
ngingiti lang ako at sasabihing:
“ikaw ang dulo, gitna, at simula”.
Walang humpay mang umagos ang luha,
wala nang palalampasing pagkumpas
ng iyong mga kamay
sa aking tinatahak na landas
dahil ipilit man ng kalawakan
ang ilang libong katanungang
parating naghihintay ng kasagutan,
ikaw at ikaw lang
ang tanging sasapat
sa sagot na hinahanap.
Paikutin man
sa kawalan,
sa pagkukubli,
wala nang pagkabalisa
dahil ngayon naiintindihan ko na
ang bawat tamis at pait,
lungkot at saya,
pighati at ligaya,
pagkabagot at pagkasabik;
at ang bawat sandali pang darating.
at ngayon,
nahanap din kita.
Mali, matagal mo na akong natagpuan.
At nalaman ko na sa gitna ng mga sandali
ay naroroon ang ating walang hanggan,
sa iyong piling.

Kaya
magsimula man muli sa walang kabuluhan,
gitna o dulo ng paroroonan,
mananatili lang na
magpapahinga ang pusong
nanghihinawa
sa dala **** ginhawa.
Ngayon,
naiintindihan ko na -
na sulit ang lahat
at maligaya ang aking paglalakbay
sapagkat
sa wakas, nakarating din ako sa aking tahanan – ang PAG-IBIG mo.
Shofi Ahmed Jul 2018
On the edge, the living earth
dared to mimic Queen Fathima's worth,
The Queen of Heaven's grace and poise,
Her footsteps, a blessed path of choice.
This way bedewed with divine light,
A numinous destination of sight,
Graced by thousands of prophets of God,
the hallowed, mirror-polished sod -
The ultimate path that all should tread,
Closing endless pi's transcended thread,
Leading to perfection's true embrace,
The loving cosmos' eternal glue, circling grace.

In the name of Allah the Most Gracious,
the Most High, the One and only One, she descended,
On the Night of Ascension, her path transcended.
From the Night of Measures, she came,
Her frame, heaven's dark matter, a mystery untamed.
A divine dot in terra incognita,
A fondly-folded bud where time doth bloom.
If one can see up to where it rose,
Paradise sways towards this uncharted way
The only guide, oft is a glimpse of Queen Fathima's eye!

The only asymmetrical golden ratio,
Steps forth amidst the symmetrical prophet flock.
The earth makes way for her in awe,
In sequence she moves with the golden lock.
Cloaked in mystery, she reveals
Her unique, divine relation to the divine.
Makes measured moves at the forefront,
Shining the light ever drawing closure to God.

She is so pretty and classy, the paragon of art,
The sunrise amidst the eternal night.
Her beauty is a burning fire in her shadow,
She is 'Zahra,' pure light, a luminary dynamo.
The only woman in heaven and earth with no shadow!

The great flock of women mirrors the earth,
Following each atom on that angled girth,
Aligned perfectly under the waxing full moon's worth.
Lo, they approach the behemoth's might,
Atoms beneath their skin explode in their finest sway,
And beneath Fathima's feet, vibrations take flight.

'Nature' is a feminine she—a gradual revelation indeed,
of the ultimate paragon—Paradise, never to cease.
Here’n hereafter, eyes on the masterstroke:
Queen Fathima at the peak!

The ocean billows up, floating with the clouds,
like choreographed dewdrops, low on the rose—
ready to shower that blessed spot with honey-drops.

Even the Moon on the horizon follows suit—
ah, the lunar punter rows, sipping the dew like fruit.
Sleeping beauty awakes in the moonlit night,
silver dancing in her eyes, stars burning bright.

The Moon sails down from its celestial height;
The seven seas hum in the cosmos' dark,
Exuberant fireflies pulsing with a starlit spark—
An ultimate sublunary craft,
Gently steering on heaven's path.
Tiny tricksters rock the moonlit boat,
Swaying soft toward that sweet drop afloat.

Poetry in motion, the sea on the ground—
beauty reflected in the Moon’s soft crown.
Storylines leap and dance all around,
painting the winds in colours unbound.
Over the grove, the rhythm rolls on,
raining from heaven on that sweet spot—
singing the sweetest of all title songs.

Never was there a woman—a prophet of God—
but for the primitive woman, the leading lady,
the sharpest cut, above the rest—
she leads the pack, outshines the test.
Sayeedatun Nessa, Queen Fathima.
No secrets Heaven holds—only an open mirror.

The secret is: Fathima touched the bottom of the Earth first,
raising the foundation—building man’s first house to last.
In her elements—pure, motherly, universal,
and uniquely one—lived an otherworldly love.
Womankind scores that only by entering paradise.

“There is no night, only déjà vu moonlight.
The pious homemakers, these veiled tuberoses,
were hidden gems to the sublunary fireflies—
soon to become open moons in heaven’s secret skies.”

The Huris—seventy or more in a mesmerizing array—
draped in splendor, formed of light, timeless in display.
But still, their gaze is drawn in awe, not envy or ploy,
to the one real McCoy:
the small Earth’s women in paradise.

The universe debuts a primitive water dew.
Fathima drops in it her duo of hairs—
lovingly raises a tearful Earth into her velvet lock—
the perfect circle, at the ever-evolving Earth's core,
the only otherworldly matter, there's no more!

All things that ever float on the ocean of creation vanish soon,
but this Earth—the cosmos’ deep mind—is still a bloomer,
lodged on a tangent of the Queen’s otherworldly lock.
It’s her perfectly knotted perfect circle—its science.
She moved the needle at the beauty spot—
enduring art in its subtlest form.
Imparted nature the limitless cutting edge,
so it learns her hardcoded limit—locked in golden ratio knot.
But the breakthrough isn't a far cry with Fathima’s pi;
her infinite sweet escape is tucked away!

Fathima keeps nature in the loop—
a stroke of Allah SWT’s divine AI,
its neurons in deep learning, pre-designed with sacred data,
outpouring through the Output Layer: predictions, futures—
each returning to the past,
to a moment before moments,
when there was only one:
a purposeful, intelligent design.

Boom! Absolutely pure—the Big Bang follows.

Lo! The elementary, pristine water interacts
with Fathima's otherworldly deep black lock.
Now, innate dark energy ignites the bud in bloom.
Nature cracks the first light—grabs the paintbrush.

The rose smiles on Earth, the sun on sky—
building ever more,
treasuring the lucky lock in Earth’s core.

Chorus of the First Dawn
(sung by the nightingales and birds of the first universe)

Before time ticked, before stars sang—
there was water, still and unseen.
Not chaos, but calm. Not void, but waiting.
The origin was not random.
It was her.

Fathima—Allah SWT’s masterstroke,
the paragon form of nature itself.
She did not follow creation.
She caused it.

With a drop of her otherworldly chiaroscuro,
dark energy stirred,
and the universe—
burst into being.

The Queen’s first impression hooks on—
the motionless Earth, in dew, makes the first move.
A polished golden spiral blooms, expanding ever more.
The last thing the sun can’t do: look away.
After the Big Bang—big fireworks—still: Ratqan, a black mole,
thicker than the black moon, gravitates the cosmos!

Walking in the dark ahead of the sun and moonlight,
one step up that shadowed path the Queen cemented on,
perfectly—circle pi-locks—the Earth takes a Ma pause.
Until, God willing, Fathima’s locks finally bottom in,
the long haul of time squeezing out paradise upside—for good.
The heavenly Queen shines the light at the secret end of God.

The planetary ebb and flow move toward heaven—
planet Earth, the only steppingstone.
No matter how many times they try,
there will always be an unturned stone—
until the one, the original woman,
Queen Fathima, steps on.

Dots connect in her presence.
The nadir and the zenith perfectly intersect—
once and for all, mingling in her perfect circle,
without a single gap in the whole.
A pure Scientia scenario:
As above, so below.

Where the Queen stands,
heaven will open its grand door.
No more reverse engineering the original—
God willing, Fathima will step
on the last turned stone.

From the one, the greatest woman,
paradise begins—
from beneath the mother’s foot.
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