Solitude ground of ashen field
The fire burnt memories feign
Happiness, joy, elucid emotions
In a place where the truth is buried.

Dry leaves left with none trodden on
Talking of theft and safety gone
In a field so tireless and abandoned
But one day comes when one reshapes surroundings.

That day will make all the bonding.

Arcturus rises
He provides guidance in light
Clouds mocks with blindfolds

I don’t want to be a tourist,
but a traveler in your land
I want to be a wanderer
lost in the most unlikely trails
For your chaste beauty lies in
Those long abandoned grounds
Of wildly growing weeds and the
Secret tunnels you have built for
The permeation of your
Hymns and cries,
I am aware that you have been haunted by
The crawling black clouds, and i
Can’t always promise to paint rainbows
In your skies or straighten your paths,
But I know that I will love
Every of your rain drops and
Sound of thunder, I will dance in your
Barren lands and climb every of your hills
Because of all the lands I have traveled,
Only yours feels closest to home.

A world in black,
and white
That's how we see,
our history
A world if good,
and evil
That's how we see,
people
A world of land,
and sea
That's how we see,
the earth
And a world of dark,
and light
That's the beauty,
in life
And the world we live in is not,
sane
Our world is,
a mess
But things stay,
the same
I see the colors white,
to black
And black,
to white
I see the good in people,
to there evil
And the evil in people,
to there good
I walk on,
the land
And swim in,
the sea
And live when it's light,
to dark
Or dark,
to light
What ever it,
may be
And my world has,
never been
So horrifyingly,
wrong
To bad I'm at the pointwere I'm just a, walking skeleton
I rip the flesh off my lips as I,
bite them
For my nails are,
to short
and hurt to much when I try to bite,
at them
And life,
Goes on
And that's all that you can do,
Live *"Normaly"

Sinasalipadpad* ang mga *kalat sa pulitika
Umaalingasaw ang baho ng iilang kandidato
Sa modernong botohan
Tila may iilang selyo,
May mga balotang sanay
Sa may agnas na kandado.

Binaha ang pila ng nanghihingi ng boto
Istratehiya ng isa'y musika sa mga bingi
At may mga bulag na nabibili ang dangal
Iisa lang sana ang daan
Pero may nagwawagayway ng limang daan.

Sa Pula at sa Dilaw
Andaming banderitas.

Alam nyo, kapwa ko
Magising tayo
Mamulat na tayo
Tama na ang bawian-buhay.

Itong Hari ng mga Pula
May tandem na Itim
Dugo't budhi ma'y kayrumi
Hindi kasi pinapansin
Ang Itim ang Hari ng Droga
Panay ang kalat sa Puerto Princesa
Ang Pula ang taga-walis
Tila anghel sa bawat sigaw ng masa
Naglipana kasi ang salapi
Mula sa bulsa niyang binulsa lang din
Nagkabaun-baon sa utang
Itong siyudad na wala noong bahid.

Binayaran pati ang dangal
Hindi lamang ng mga naturingang mangmang
Eh kasi pati yung may rango
Nagpatiwakal na rin
Nanlimos ng barya ng bayan.

Buhay mga kinitil
Kung ang salita ay bibitiwan,
Barilin nyo kami nang talikuran
Habang may hinagpis
Kaming Inang Bayan.

Magwagi ka man Pula
Hindi papayag ang Hari ng Sanlibutan
Patas siyang lalaban sa Bayan
Pagkat siyudad niya ito,
Kaya nga "City of the Living God."

Marami mang pakulo ang partidong Pula
Sana'y Ama, dinggin mo ang mga Anak
Kami'y maralita
Palimos ng pag-asa
Lalaban para sa hustisya.

Mga kamay Mo ang yumapos sa bayan
At basbas Mo'y sa Dilaw
Pagkat ang puso ang Iyong tinitingnan
Hindi ang pagkilos nang walang pagtingala Sayo.

Ikaw ang Maghari Ama

Humidity in theory
harbors images
of nights lit up
by bioluminescent flying jewels
that you catch in between your fingers
like a cage too large
and they fly away
into the sky.
The evenings are thick
with sweltering droplets
that hang beneath
the orange street lights
that cast a muted glow
onto your salty lips
and hazy eyes.
The day's steam.
And as the water fills your lungs
And as your clammy hands run through sweaty hair,
summer is alive.

Humidity in practice
invents beads running down your back
that pool in your shirt
and matted hair that sticks
to the nape of your tender neck
while you claw at your throat,
suffocated breathing
in between the condensation.
The days are layered with
mirages on the bubbling asphalt
like a sea that only burns you
and the yellow lines are
the only safe haven
when crossing the street
with just your soles.
The summer's plastic bag.
And as the sun blisters your skin
And as your hands only long for arctic rain from a calcium faucet,
summer is alive.

"Not too long to go now," your bones squeak,
Your feet has seen things, your eyes have travelled far and wide
The promise of a new land
That peeks through the stony shreds
The quiet murmur of freedom the masses dream of,
For justice to finally matter.

And oh, how the heavens creaked open
Illuminating its light on all that is holy
'This land is rightfully ours and it shall be with the rightful owner' you demanded ever so gently,
People of the land marching in solidarity on the barren sand cheering,
"We're with you bapaji, never give up!",
And the foot trails you leave behind unshackle history and make new ones
That will be whispered in centuries from now.

The road forks ahead, ever more complicated and rusty,
But you trudge on to not break those hearts
That have taken upon themselves to beat against yours,
Your walking stick stabs the earth as you inch towards the promise behind those walls.

Not too long to go now.

31.3.15
(C) 2015 Shalini Nayar

Its been a journey, Wonderland.

We have made it through this transitional time in which my tears lingered in my tear ducts, tentatively prepared for a turbulent tragedy. Often I did cry. For a long time I cried. But I don't cry as much anymore. I smile more, laugh more, love more. And I would have it no other way.

All my old Wonderland characters are gone. I have truly changed scenery,  gone to a place I have never known before, where my old friends can rarely follow. Except the white rabbit, of course, but I always knew, behind the fears, that I'd never lose him.

Now I am with my new friends, stronger friends, older friends, all led in a march by the one I never expected, who holds my heart more than any person ever has before.

I am content, Wonderland. I am content with you, with my life, even very content with this simple room I now sit in, typing away. Its all very pleasant. Imperfect, but pleasant.

For the first time in a long time, I believe I have found my place. I have found home, as I expressed awhile ago, I have found a place to be bare and true and me with my words and my letters and my nonsensicals.

This life is a Wonderland, and I live every day in affectionate wonder.