You may see me struggle
but you won't see me fall.
Regardless if I'm weak or not
I'm going to stand tall.
Everyone says life is easy
but truly living it is not.
Times get hard,
people struggle
and constantly get put on the spot.
I'm going to wear the biggest smile
even though I want to cry.
I'm going to fight to live
even though I'm destined to die.
And even though it's hard
and I may struggle through it all.
You may see me struggle...
but you will NEVER see me fall.

Hindi baga nakapagtataka
Ang mga salitang sinambit ni Eba
Nang kainin ni Adan
ang tanda ng kasalanan?

Hindi baga nakapagtataka
Ang mga salitang sinambit ni Adan
Nang una niyang nasilayan
ang ganda ni Eba
Na hinugot mula sa kanyang tadyang?

Hindi baga nakapagtataka
Sa kung paanong sa pag-ikot ng mundo
Ni minsan hindi nagtagpo ang araw at buwan?

Hindi baga nakapagtataka
Na sa dinami-dami ng tao sa mundo
Na sa paglipas ng dapit-hapon
At pagsikat ng araw

Natagpuan kita-

Sa isang araw na hindi inaasahan
Nakita
Nakilala
Nakasama

Hindi baga nakapagtataka
Sa kung papaanong ang bawat kaluluwa
Ay nagkakadaupang-palad
Ay nakakahanap
Ng mga kaluluwang mapagkakanlungan
Sa pag-ikot ng mundo
Sa paglipas ng panahon

Tulad ng atin-

Hindi ikaw yung ordinaryong babae
Sapagkat ang pagsabi sa babae ng ordinaryo
Ay parang pagmura sa isang santo

Sa iyong mga mata nakasillid
Ang isa pang babaeng
Nais kumawala
sa mundong kanyang kinagagalawan

Kimberly-

Pangalan mo’y hindi sayo lamang kumakanlong
Marami kang katulad
Pero ang pinagkaiba
Ikaw ay ikaw-
Sa kung paanong ang pangalan mo
Ay bumalot sa iyong katauhan
Sa kabutihan maging sa kasamaan

Isang babaeng naghahanap ng kasagutan
Sa mundo ng mga tanong
Na tila ba ang mga sagot ay hindi maapuhap
Na tila ba lahat ng ito’y
Nagtatago sa mata ng bawat isa
Na ang pagtitig sa mga ito’y hindi sapat upang matanto
Ang katotohanan na bumabalot sa atin

Sa iyong katauhan ay may nakabalot na sikreto
Isang misteryo na hindi ko kailan man malalaman
Ngunit kahit gaano man kadilim o kaliwanag
Hindi nito madadaig ang misteryo
Sa kung papaanong tayo’y nagkakilala
Sa isang panahon na pangkaraniwan lamang

Dalawang dekada-
Ang buhay mo sa mundo
Sa dalawampung taong paglipas
Maraming taong dumating
At marami ring umaalis
Binalot ng lungkot
Yinakap din ng saya
Ang iyong pagdating
Sa mundo ng kabagabagan

Pasalamat na lamang
Na sa paglipas ng lahat ng ito
Kaluluwa mo’y dagling naapuhap
Na parang liwananag sa kandilang papaupos

Maligayang Kaarawan, Mahal kong Kaibigan

R. L. Alcantara
*Enero 28, 2015

Soit lointaine, soit voisine,
Espagnole ou sarrazine,
Il n'est pas une cité
Qui dispute sans folie
A Grenade la jolie
La pomme de la beauté,
Et qui, gracieuse, étale
Plus de pompe orientale
Sous un ciel plus enchanté.

Cadix a les palmiers ; Murcie a les oranges ;
Jaën, son palais goth aux tourelles étranges ;
Agreda, son couvent bâti par saint-Edmond ;
Ségovie a l'autel dont on baise les marches,
Et l'aqueduc aux trois rangs d'arches
Qui lui porte un torrent pris au sommet d'un mont.

Llers a des tours ; Barcelone
Au faîte d'une colonne
Lève un phare sur la mer ;
Aux rois d'Aragon fidèle,
Dans leurs vieux tombeaux, Tudèle
Garde leur sceptre de fer ;
Tolose a des forges sombres
Qui semblent, au sein des ombres,
Des soupiraux de l'enfer.

Le poisson qui rouvrit l'œil mort du vieux Tobie
Se joue au fond du golfe où dort Fontarabie ;
Alicante aux clochers mêle les minarets ;
Compostelle a son saint ; Cordoue aux maisons vieilles
A sa mosquée où l'œil se perd dans les merveilles ;
Madrid a le Manzanarès.

Bilbao, des flots couverte,
Jette une pelouse verte
Sur ses murs noirs et caducs ;
Médina la chevalière,
Cachant sa pauvreté fière
Sous le manteau de ses ducs,
N'a rien que ses sycomores,
Car ses beaux pont sont aux maures,
Aux romains ses aqueducs.

Valence a les clochers de ses trois cents églises ;
L'austère Alcantara livre au souffle des brises
Les drapeaux turcs pendus en foule à ses piliers ;
Salamanque en riant s'assied sur trois collines,
S'endort au son des mandolines
Et s'éveille en sursaut aux cris des écoliers.

Tortose est chère à saint-Pierre ;
Le marbre est comme la pierre
Dans la riche puycerda ;
De sa bastille octogone
Tuy se vante, et Tarragone
De ses murs qu'un roi fonda ;
Le Douro coule à Zamore ;
Tolède a l'alcazar maure,
Séville a la giralda.

Burgos de son chapitre étale la richesse ;
Peñaflor est marquise, et Girone est duchesse ;
Bivar est une nonne aux sévères atours ;
Toujours prête au combat, la sombre Pampelune,
Avant de s'endormir aux rayons de la lune,
Ferme sa ceinture de tours.

Toutes ces villes d'Espagne
S'épandent dans la campagne
Ou hérissent la sierra ;
Toutes ont des citadelles
Dont sous des mains infidèles
Aucun beffroi ne vibra ;
Toutes sur leurs cathédrales
Ont des clochers en spirales ;
Mais Grenade a l'Alhambra.

L'Alhambra ! l'Alhambra ! palais que les Génies
Ont doré comme un rêve et rempli d'harmonies,
Forteresse aux créneaux festonnés et croulants,
Ou l'on entend la nuit de magiques syllabes,
Quand la lune, à travers les mille arceaux arabes,
Sème les murs de trèfles flancs !

Grenade a plus de merveilles
Que n'a de graines vermeilles
Le beau fruit de ses vallons ;
Grenade, la bien nommée,
Lorsque la guerre enflammée
Déroule ses pavillons,
Cent fois plus terrible éclate
Que la grenade écarlate
Sur le front des bataillons.

Il n'est rien de plus beau ni de plus grand au monde ;
Soit qu'à Vivataubin Vivaconlud réponde,
Avec son clair tambour de clochettes orné ;
Soit que, se couronnant de feux comme un calife
L'éblouissant Généralife
Elève dans la nuit son faîte illuminé.

Les clairons des Tours-Vermeilles
Sonnent comme des abeilles
Dont le vent chasse l'essaim ;
Alcacava pour les fêtes
A des cloches toujours prêtes
A bourdonner dans son sein,
Qui dans leurs tours africaines
Vont éveiller les dulcaynes
Du sonore Albaycin.

Grenade efface en tout ses rivales ; Grenade
Chante plus mollement la molle sérénade ;
Elle peint ses maisons de plus riches couleurs ;
Et l'on dit que les vents suspendent leurs haleines
Quand par un soir d'été Grenade dans ses plaines
Répand ses femmes et ses fleurs.

L'Arabie est son aïeule.
Les maures, pour elle seule,
Aventuriers hasardeux,
Joueraient l'Asie et l'Afrique,
Mais Grenade est catholique,
Grenade se raille d'eux ;
Grenade, la belle ville,
Serait une autre Séville,
S'il en pouvait être deux.

Du 3 au 5 avril 1828.

The indigenous Alcantara explodes across
the garden floor, unwanted and unloved.
Rosehips are nipped
to give extra nourishment to the rose bush.
The blossoming pink Tree Mallows will last to January,
until then they are left alone.
Brambles are cut at their base
excising their climber roots,
nor forgetting the unheralded demoisturising Ivy.
My Cleparata Eremurus tubers
are gently put into the ground.

Racella Alcantara is her name
A kind of lady every man will dream
Caring, loving and understanding
Everything will be found in her
Lovely as the sweet flowers that bloom in the morning light
Lovely as the moon and the stars that glows in the dark night
And yes, the shining light of my life

All of my life I thought I'll never fall in love
Like an angel she came and taught me to love
Completing and fulfilling this empty world of mine
And to realize how great the love was solemnly divine
Nothing can compare when I took her to my heart
Truly, madly, deeply I love her very much
And no one will ever take her place in my heart
Real love is what I feel as they say
And forever she will be the love of my life.

i came forget what i'm used to doing...
   what's the problem with wiping
your *** in a meticulous fashion?
it used to be something,
other than watching youtube political
commentaries...
and that's when, you little ****,
dried up on the missed focus
of ingenuity...
it used to be an atypical Sunday
after-affair of the day,
read the editorial, and then the news section...
******, tell that **** reading
a Monday's worth of the Daily Telegraph
on the Auschwitz-like crammed tube
carriages on the London tube
during rush hour...
       at least the Yids traveled across
fresh air... ******* Londoner *******
sardines, crammed into their sweat air-borne
virus cringe... like watching pigs die...
but a sometime of a Sunday came,
and i recanted my old efforts
of being informed...
    who needs to watch these videos
habitually... read a newspaper...
i basically skim all the article from Monday
to Friday anyway, look at the pretty pictures...
but some Saturday, but esp. Sunday?
newspapers become holy...
no, really, there's no other word for it...
the sunday times? on a Sunday?
entertainment of the day...
the article about
         anders behring breivik...
  entitle: a neo-**** attacks with bomb,
gun... and film,
by sarah baxter...
              no rhetorical dialectic point
to consider, for my part,
although...
        if he thinks he's the Knights Templar...
guess who "thinks" he's
the Knight Hospitaller...
   guess what?
          Crusades into Lithuania...
the grand battle of the newly wed
Polacks to Christianity and Rome...
and the Teutonic knights...
my story... not yours...
my inheritance... not yours...
        perhaps why the map of Islamic
terrorism is so much akin
to the map of the bubonic plague?
us Polacks have come to exist in a shared
romance of history from the middle-ages...
we're both been crusaded again...
maybe that's why!
oh... really... **** me!
i... never saw it coming!

  shame my half Egyptian half Iraniaan
friend (father the former, mother the latter)
saw differently...
  too bad...
which means i'm off circuit of playing
happy birthday on the guitar for
other... 22 x 1 day wankers....
       what?!

and now it really become entertaining...
lao che's song blasting into my ears,
about some, komtur...
   a rank in the teutonic order...
       and i finish the Breivik article...
past the editorial, the news review
articles...
   on the same page...

   (a) the GRIP of populism:
it's not the refuge of old white male racists,
Trump and Brexit have plenty of young
and affluent supporters,
  and they're here to stay. Roger Eatwell
and Matthew Goodwin demolish myths
peddled by comfortable elites

(a nutritionist and a successful gambler,
sassy read, it ought to be)

and...

  (b) taming the madness of queen Freddie:
walkouts, a *** scandal and the specter
of Harry Potter taking the lead role:
the new biopic of the band has been
struck by thunderbolts and lightning
for years, reports Tony Allen-Mills...

****, decisions decisions... done!
i'll read the article about the ****** first,
speaking into his grave:
don't you think the gays these days have
become... tame? marriage and all,
and so much in lacking the avenues of
former hedonism... or rather: fun?!
yes, the buggery-artist article first,
since i already covered an overt political
dilemma...

and then onto the main show...
plus i'd be two shakes more down with
the whiskey and mixer...
       how many orders of the crusaders
were there?

i'm asking... ha ha...
because i started to think...
is it more, pathetic to think you're
someone in preserving a culture...
or is it more pathetic to "be"  someone
you're not... like acting...
like Mickey Rourke playing
Hyperion...

     frankly? don't know where
the circus begins, or ends!

now... this is going to be... fun!

we have the Knights Templar sorted,
clearly...
then we have the
   Knights Hospitaller sorted... ahem...
by you know who...
so we're missing...
Order of the Holy Sepulcher...
Order of Saint Lazarus...
Order of Aviz...
Order of St. James of Altopascio,
Order of the St. Michael of the Wing,
Order of Calatrava,
    Order of the Holy Ghost,
"   (ditto the rest)           Aubrac
   "                        Santiago
   "          Alcantara
            "         Mountjoy
"      Teutonic Knights
Hospitallers of Saint Thomas
              of Canterbury at Acre          
"                       Monfragüe
  " Sant Jordi d'Alfama
Livonian Brothers of the Sword
Order of Dobrzyń:
     now that's an interesting one...
Militia of the Faith of Jesus Christ
Military Order of Monreal
Knights of the Cross with the Red Star
" the Faith and Peace
Militia of Jesus Christ
"                Blessed ****** Mary
  " Saint Mary of Spain
"       Montesa
"            Dragon (Dracula, Ottoman Turks
  scenario)
"     St. Maurice
      and some others, associated with
a king named: Alfons -
which in ****** language transliterates as...
****!

oh sure, i get it,
it's infantile... that's why i'm not an actor
in a game of reenacting famous
battles, at some medieval fetish fest
for wearing armor...
but the mere thought?
concerning.... (does squiggly lines
with his hands like a madman) this?
give me the right music...
and merely thinking about, all of this?
certainly more fun to entertain
than being fed, *******,
coming from a screen in a movie theater...
who would have thought...
seemingly... sterile words...
elevated to chess pieces
                when properly agitated.

i can understand why someone would
deem this mindset... infantile...
but... the sand truth being?

that film: three Lions... yeah...
those terrorists? not exactly smart,
where they?
  how the **** this one guy managed
to pull off that attack?
English jihad warriors unite...
but please, please... think it through,
yeah?
  it's like... the dumber you get
the dumber the whole message becomes...
this one guy did a *******
bomb attack... and then a shooting range...
probably practiced with paint-*****...
it's not funny, because it's not
supposed to be funny...
if some sunday times editorial columnist
want to see a movie about
Breivik, and she's named Sarah Baxter...
Jihadi dumb-***** should write
Breivik, endless letters of inspiration
and hope for advice...
    ONE man did, what several dip-*****
couldn't... talk about resolve...

anyway... yeah... Sacha Baron Cohen should
have played Freddie Merc...
perfect resemblance, after Borat...
now for that other article...
the grip of populism...
another drink...
the Highlander soundtrack and a jogging
tickle cackling at:
those ******* Jihadi wannabes -
wolf pack! wolf pack!
******* retards.

oh this beats gorging on political commentary
videos from youtube...
the right music,
and a sunday edition of the times...
it's like Chinese new year...
fireworks, dragons and ****!