"avatar" poems
Lubhang mapanganib
ang sinumang daig
ng isang dayuhan umibig
sa 'di sinilangang bayan.
O, anong poot at sigalot
ang kanyang itinanim
sa Kaluntiang nagbigay-lilim
sa kanyang murang katawan,
Upang silaban at yurakan
ang kabanalan ng kasarinlan
Ang magkapatid ng pisi
ay 'di dapat magtunggali,
Ngunit ang isang bayaran
ay masahol pa sa kawatan
Kaya ako'y nananawagan
sa maringal kong Haring Bayan,
O, kanyang tipunin
Mga anak ng Dakilang Lahi,
Handang paglingkuran
ang lupang kinamulatan
Pagkat ang aking lupang kinamulatan
ay isang makatang manunulat,
Siya ay bukal ng kaluwalhatian,
Angkan ng kayumangging balat
Samakatuwid, bigyang pansin
ang nagngangalit na damdamin
ng Sinaunang Mandirigma,
Sa awit ng himagsikan
dumaloy ang himig ng dangal,
At sa kalupkop ng kanyang sandata
lumigwak ang kagitingan
magpasahanggang kamatayan,
Sa ngalan ng kalayaan
iamthe_avatar ©2016
Oct 4, 2016
Oct 4, 2016 at 5:52 PM UTC
Oh motherland, at your feet
may all moments of my life lie sacrificed
This strength of my youth, these breaths,
All are surrendered to you
To protect your honour
I would forego hundred lifetimes
I would either embrace death or
vanquish your enemies
Touching your feet in reverence
I take this solemn oath
until the end of my life
I would be loyal to you
Those who have died in your lap
their spirits bask in eternal happiness
*Oh motherland, at your feet
may all moments of my life lie sacrificed*
My mother tells me
I will go on without you
bearing the pain of your passing
by turning my heart into stone
However, if in your lifetime
there is a threat to this country
and being fearless you do not
fight this threat, my son,
then, I will think, I birthed
poison instead of life
or that my nourishment
did not give enough strength
Listening to these words
my head lies forever bowed
*Oh motherland, at your feet
may all moments of my life lie sacrificed*
It is not only said by my mother
but all mothers of this country
to give birth to a Narsimh
they bear difficult pangs of labour
Those brave warriors who wrote
history with their life blood
carry their images in your heart
and placing your hand there, promise,
you will forsake everything else
at the call of your motherland
Your body, soul and life
surrendered to your country
*Oh motherland, at your feet
may all moments of my life lie sacrificed*
Narsimh - an avatar of the Hindu god Vishnu,often visualised as having a human torso and lower body, with a lion face and claws. He is known primarily as the 'Great Protector' who specifically defends and protects his devotees in times of need.
Translation is given by karishma ji
Jul 25, 2016
Jul 25, 2016 at 7:21 AM UTC
O sinisinta,
bayaan mo akong
ika’y ibigin,
Hinihiling ko lang
na ika’y
mapasa-akin,
Sa Diyos,
pag-ibig mo’y
aking panalangin,
Gumuho man
ang mundo’y,
di ko aalalahanin!
Parang kay tagal ng oras
‘pag hindi kita kasama,
Ngunit kay bilis lumipas
‘pag sayo’y napalapit na.
Bawat araw na ginawa ng
Maykapal ay nasa isip ka,
O Pag-ibig ng buhay ko,
Ito na nga’y
tunay na pagsinta!
Ibig kong malaman
**** ika’y
aking sinisinta,
Laman
sa mga
panaginip’t
hanap-hanap ng
aking
mga mata,
Hindi mo man paniwalaa’y
aking uulit-ulitin,
Sa puso ko’y
ikaw
at walang
ibang
umaangkin.
iamthe_avatar ©2010
Mar 6, 2014
Mar 6, 2014 at 8:44 AM UTC
On the Packing of Intersectionality: A Cross-Cultural Study
By M. Poncy Hector-Tworbst, B.A., M.Ed., Ph.D. Candidate
Unpack that intersectionality
And privilege transphile autonomy
Unite the paradigm’s hegemony
In the diaspora of agency
Cross-gender all peripherality
In post-colonial diversity
Dialogue augmented reality
And deconstruct avatar identity
All for the cause of authenticity
(But mostly I’m all about me, me, me)
Jul 21, 2018
Jul 21, 2018 at 3:39 PM UTC
You lived alone in the solititude
Of pure hundred years in Colombia
Roaming in Amacondo with a Spanish tongue
Carrying the bones of your grandmother in a sisal sag
On your poverty written Colombian back,
Gadabouting to make love in times of cholera,
On none other than your bitter-sweet memories
Of your melancholic ***** the daughter of Castro,
Your cowardice made you to fear your momentous life
In this glorious and poetic time of April 2014,
Only to succumb to untimely black death
That similarly dimunitized your cultural ancestor;
Miguel de Cervantes, a quixotic Spaniard,
You were to write to the colonel for your life,
Before eating the cockerel you had ear-marked
For Olympic cockfight, the hope of the oppressed,
Come back from death, you dear Marquez
To tell me more stories fanaticism to surrealism,
From Tarzanic Africa the fabulous land
An avatar of evil gods that are impish propre
Only Vitian Naipaul and Salman Rushdie are not enough,
For both of them are so naïve to tell the African stories,
I will miss you a lot the rest of my life, my dear Garbo,
But I will ever carry your living soul, my dear Garcia,
Soul of your literature and poetry in a Maasai kioondo
On my broad African shoulders during my journey of art,
When coming to America to look for your culture
That gave you versatile tongue and quill of a pen,
Both I will take as your memento and crystallize them
Into my future thespic umbrella of orature and literature.
Apr 20, 2014
Apr 20, 2014 at 4:57 AM UTC
I wish me invisible
I want to disappear
I am but a damsel
Parading in knight's gear
I want to be the unknown
I need to be again a stranger
I wish my secrets not shown
Back to a time when it was clearer
I wish to be a zephyr
I want to be felt not seen
I need to be less of the liar
At least lesser than I have been
I crave the comfort of solitude
I long for the absence of physical contact
I miss the tears that once had ensued
Somehow then I was more intact
I want to be an undetermined star
I need to be unnamed in an uncharted galaxy
I wish to retreat behind my avatar
So you won't see the real me
I wish me invisible
I want to be protected by ambiguity
I need to disappear from this debacle
Into the welcoming arms of anonymity
Feb 15, 2015
Feb 15, 2015 at 8:01 AM UTC
Hypnotized by you,
I am drowning,
Day by day.
In the emotion,
Of your love,
Gleefully.
I'm drowning wilfully,
Really not to be save,
Listen when I say.
Effortlessly I let my body sink,
Not struggling at all to escape,
I only fear distance from you.
Not the physical distance,
But the distance of hearts,
A distance of heartbreaks.
You say similar things,
Claiming I stole your heart,
An eternal truth this we share.
Dreaming on & on,
We even struggle often,
Our struggle goes on & on.
Looking into these calm dark eyes,
On your face full of beauty & truth,
I gain an escape from worldly lies.
You claim I jinxed you the first time,
So true- weren't we bound to meet,
It's just Time choreographed this.
I can't easily refute the blame,
After all I am an equal partner,
In this lyrical life & this game.
So I bear morally equal liability,
As we observe our love garner,
After all I am older than you.
We can't give into these tough times,
Not now, today, tomorrow nor ever,
For our relationship is a challenge.
A challenge for changing our world it is,
A bright change for a brighter future,
A betterment of your & my lives.
I know you're with me in life,
I know you're surely lighter,
I know you're much young.
Younger than my experience,
Younger than my sad lifespan,
Younger than my reborn avatar.
Happier than my own best happy,
Happier than my ever-so-pale face,
Happier than my knowledge can be.
Aug 23, 2013
Aug 23, 2013 at 1:50 AM UTC
Above the avatar, hovering
The gamer makes his moves,
Searching out cheats & shortcuts,
Leap-frogging levels his skill improves
But the integrity of the game
Says "find your own way through",
Searching each corner, gathering beans,
This is what one ought to do.
Apr 13, 2015
Apr 13, 2015 at 9:15 PM UTC
Listen my dear daughter, to my first song of caution
Earmarked for you my wonderful sire, come and listen,
That tall old man with white hair all over his head
Standing over there is not good; he is gnomish in the mind
Be careful with him, he is not human in the heart
But a mermaid of Yoruba poetry, just like Thespis of Greece
Even the pecuniary psychopomp of Sweden gave him an accolade
His heart is selfishly full of avarice; he wants everything for himself,
Don’t recite him any of your poetry, lest he spells an abyss
Against your juvenile poetic talent, he will fool you with a gift;
A white sheep or a scarlet goat for your birth day anniversary
Please don’t take it or anything else from him, as nothing from him is genuine
But only machinations of evil spell aimed at mahyeming your talent
Finally to decimate your girlhood and life, this is my caution
For you dear little African girl.
Listen my dear little daughter, to my second song of caution
That short man in a Muslim gear loafing yonder, is suspect
The Muslim beret on his head is merely a smokescreen to aghastly behaviour
He is in no way an avatar of god of love and humane piety
He is a terrorist working with Boko Haram and Algaeda
He is an Alshabab that is bombing young girls in Mombasa and Nairobi
All over Kenya he has killed the young people; his long egret-white sari is not for holiness,
It is merely a nefarious sanctum of grenades, other tools of work in terrorism trade
His loudly prayers, body movements and pocket bursting monies are only a stunt
To have you kidnapped into death conduit, once you goof to join his courts,
His sanctimony is a total picaresque film, (s)heroes of terror the centerpiece
And thus, this is my caution for you dear little African girl.
Listen my dear daughter, to my third song of caution
Those tourists thronging our streets are deadly *** pets, they also skulk ****
Their handsome outlook is not a stamp to any good conscientiousness
They derive pleasure from poverty and *** tourism; they yearn to see a girl in poverty,
Often rarely will they help an African girl, out of milieu of beggarly squalorism,
Instead they go straight for the purse between your thighs,
Regardless of the legacy they leave out of this lewdness, they are showy,
They regret not in their Byronic broadcast of *** and fatherless urchins in the poor streets
Foundation for their further poverty tourism, this is my caution for you dear little African girl.
May 26, 2014
May 26, 2014 at 4:20 AM UTC
The
one place
where I can finally
hear my
thoughts.
iamthe_avatar ©2015
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 11:38 PM UTC
Do not arouse or awaken love
until it so desires.
iamthe_avatar ©2014
Jun 19, 2014
Jun 19, 2014 at 5:06 PM UTC
One more time raise your voice, my little girl
One more time hold the ***** hand approach you
One more time cut that tongue that gave you the names
One more time take the avatar of empowered "Maha Kali"
One more time be UNSTOPPABLE
Mar 8, 2018
Mar 8, 2018 at 10:01 AM UTC
Your Messiah is not Christ
my Karma is not your dogma
Their AntiChrist is not the Mahdi
His avatar is not yet manifest
Our Dajjal is not their 12th Imam
Your Brahman is not my Elohim
The Atman is not the God-Man
Your God-Man is Luciferian
Our Lucifer is not their Allah
The Djinn are undocumented
some angels fell
Allah is not Ras Tafari
Their Zion is Babylon
Jerusalem is Egypt or *****
Their Angels are ascended Masters
Our Master is your ascended Savior
My Savior is your accuser
Their God is no Savior
His unction is Satanic
The war is spiritual
The Spirit is not obvious
My anointing is carnal
their anointing is moronic
our doctrine is angelic
Your rejection was predestined
our acceptance is divine
Our depravity is documented,
your sanctity is illusory
their power is diabolic
their light is darkness
Their leader is ungodly
Our God is unseemly
His Truth is offensive
The bitter is not sweet
the sweet is unworldly
the world is not heavenly.
Trinity in seven spirits, yet God is One…
Revel in the uncertainty. Have some holy fun
fitting more angels on the pin-head, dancing
before they fall. Rebellion is always entrancing
until the current postmodern theology
hooks up with psycho-sexual linguistic pathology.
Don’t accept my apology
Sep 9, 2015
Sep 9, 2015 at 8:57 PM UTC
I want to be your guitar
Run your fingers over my fret board
Pluck my strings and give me my melodious avatar
Sing to me and play that major chord
I’m feeling your song through and through
You don’t need a plectrum, you’re a born original
Work your rhythm baby, let’s get on the groove
Your fingers are enough to create our music wholly attritional
I will reward you myself for how you release my tension
I will resonate our love song through longevity
You’re a prodigal performer, I can feel you in tune with locomotion
We will move from verse to chorus under no shadow of ambiguity
I want to be your guitar
Let my moans reverberate off your walls
A finer touch for our creativity – a sitar
Let’s Indioul our way through these musical waterfalls
Nov 4, 2015
Nov 4, 2015 at 10:07 AM UTC
We are all hypocrites,
passionate on
crime, *** and drama
We are all hypocrites,
building our
two-dimensional dioramas
We think fast,
our half-witted brains
conniving
We talk fast,
our foolproof tongues
praising
We love to hate others,
and bask in the glory
of their demise
We hate to love our brothers,
for all our speeches
are mem'rized
Stepping stones from naivety
Our vainglorious insanity
Romanticizing reality
The hand that
feeds us
is our enemy
When will this stop?
iamthe_avatar ©2016
Apr 17, 2016
Apr 17, 2016 at 6:34 PM UTC
*Through the vortex
It’s a spiraling journey
From the core to the edges
Churning out new realizations
Beyond your control
There may be many paths
But one destination
Journey shall culminate
Before entering another vortex
Spiral down in awareness
Of another avatar
A different journey
And another destination
It’s continuous*
Jun 25, 2015
Jun 25, 2015 at 9:33 AM UTC
How will we progress today?
Will we risk life attending Mosque,
Or have an affair with our spouse's boss?
Will we take the dog out for a walk,
Step on a landmine, use plastic straws?
Perhaps we'll play with our kids today,
Or call Amber Alert, wait scared, and pray?
Will we defy authority with a righteous tone,
Or leave our tail tucked, like a dog with his bone?
Will we gauge goods today for our Vegan menu,
Or show a distention as millions today do?
Will we drive around town for cheaper gas,
Or choose our pickings from picked-over trash?
Do you sling eggs and sausage for sub-minimum wages,
Or attend a visitation in a tortured MADD rage?
Will you tee off at eight, or do a spin class,
Or sit solitary watching the hourglass?
Did we place our script at the shiny drugstore,
Or wade across water to Jordan's fair shore?
Will we question the teacher at our kid's school,
Or play Avatar falling off our bar stool?
Did you set a reminder on your AI phone
For chicken delivery to your suburban home?
Will you lift copper tubing from construction sites,
Proclaiming your station in life gives you right?
Do I recline in my La-Z-Boy for a nap with a book,
Or teach someone to live with a line and a hook?
Will you take out your family,
Are you last on your list,
Will you reciprocate a handshake
Or raise a gloved fist?
Our words can't bind all our wounds,
Few are born with silver spoons,
We're not wrapped in silk cocoons.
A metamorphosis is coming
To this world of gloom,
A rousing group flight,
And it can't come too soon.
Feb 1, 2019
Feb 1, 2019 at 9:36 AM UTC
Through the rejections and all the hate,
Just before your faith crosses the Pearly Gates,
Though allegedly claimed impossible by the Fates^,
taps you on your weary shoulder - "Hi,
could you help me, no one else is ...” -
the lonely voice of your soul-mate^^.
^Rumour has it those Greek hags have stock options
in the military-industrial complex, the cosmetics industry,
and favour Eris's 21st century avatar called Consumerism.
^^Your soul is not a super-market produce,
For feckless mass appreciation or consumption.
Your soul is a dauntless beautiful sapling, that
'the one' will rescue from its interminable fire,
and nurture it, till it blossoms and glows.
Feb 3, 2013
Feb 3, 2013 at 1:11 PM UTC
Lightning striking through a nervous system,
Blood pumping facetious fire.
Whispers through my home, hauntings of trauma and dreams of the crucifix stand.
The flaming star of the avatar.
The predator and the prey, predetermined and praying.
Just another eternity until the monsoon departs, the season ended. From there the calm waves will carry me to shore.
The dark, restful, kiln, I am your dough, as I am your clay, a grateful panettone.
Mold me, endow me the drug, the decree, the great recipe of relinquishment.
I rejected asylum, I denounced Gehenna,
Cold blooded sunbathing in the radiant rays of the great bird's wings.
The boiling embrace of his soft feathered fire.
The brutal, unrelenting, chaotic, climactic, pull into the hot murky depths.
Scald me, lash me, revive me in death.
For I can wait no longer.
Living in fear of the Reaper is worse than The Harvest itself.
So come unto me my lord, my peace,
And engulf me in the ******** rest.
Sep 28, 2019
Sep 28, 2019 at 3:14 PM UTC
I've grown into a bonsai avatar tree —
trimmed and transplanted,
sitting potted aside a window.
Waiting until I'm ready.
OK.
I'm finally, I think I might be...
I'm not sure, but
I am 99% positive
that I want the...
universe to shine upon me.
For rain ruining my day
to just water me.
To shed the seeds
that sowed me.
And branch accordingly.
Apr 24, 2015
Apr 24, 2015 at 3:10 PM UTC
Instead of foraging around making connections
with cables and wireless systems that
bluetooth and sync their way
into our pocket technologies
and portable screens
(tablets of which we self-prescribe
and regulate through overdose
and comatose keenings of stillness
and waking dreams)
why, instead
don’t we fool around
making connections
with others of like mind and brainwaves
instead of radiowaves and
the mastered minds of computer waves
and lift an arm and
really wave
beyond our windows to
real people
in real time
rather than peeping
like a holographic Tom through
tabs and browsing windows,
multi-tasking time in a state of mime
like it’s about to expire
(like the wireless wires will break)
and all that we’ll have is
all we can physically take
from this moment awake we call ‘life’
– a mistake.
What else is left now
in this vegetative
one man one woman state
where we live to close our eyes
and shut our minds and wait for
the modem-router to re-dial and
get our avatar back online and
our friends back into our
multi-dimensional realer-than-time
time?
Pseudonyms solving identity changes
emerge without birth
with designer non-faces, as
now that we no longer need imperfection
or meaning or privacy
or even perception
we alter ourselves to impress our connections
with whom we connect without really connecting
by hiding as one almost nearing detection
and tip-toeing straight past
concern or reflection
(invisible firewalls at our protection)
our own walls around us
with keys we can capslock,
screening ourselves from unfriended friends,
and playfully sated by charm and ‘pretends’
that will mean next to nothing
when fantasy ends.
Where ARE the connections we make
in this digital age
that we rarely turn off since
the internet craze has become a new God
that we dial to be saved
as we sacrifice friends we once made
face to face
with those we are longing to meet
as we race across networks
with hunger and haste and
with spambots and data and viruses made
to detect and infect
and reject, just for starters,
and that’s not to mention
the ads and the logins and
passwords that lock us
from somewhere far yonder
that doesn’t exist
as we grow ever fonder
of pics and of pixels and
texts of expression
– the reality of which
we could lose in a second.
Jul 10, 2015
Jul 10, 2015 at 7:13 PM UTC
*The coquettish full moon, on a cloudless clear sky,
apple of the eyes of lovers from far and wide,
impishly wicked you are, in that avatar enticing
your eyes seek only the one for whom your heart beats for.
At times you are an anorexic crescent wearing a misty veil,
flirting with fluffy clouds, you make each one go crazy
Curiously I behold the village belle simple, peeping out-
of the window of her cottage, waiting for the lover,
who comes at odd hours with palpitating heart
My love, you are one of a kind, displaying myriad faces
an enchanting presence, I crave, each moment, in whatever form
how could I ever prescribe the way your love to reach me
your love is my never setting moon,
whichever way you choose to express.*
Dec 26, 2013
Dec 26, 2013 at 12:54 PM UTC
I hear the ocean make music
Like the rustling of autumn leaves
The sound of them gently rubbing
As she swept my heart like a wind
Singing every word she breathes
Upon a haystack full of needles
With no rhymes, nor pauses
Neither masquerading riddles
Simple and unassuming
She is a beautiful mess
My heart keeps swooning
But I couldn’t care less
Her flaws are fascinating
Like ribbons on her sleeves
Her charm is perfume
Her name is a spell
A graceful soul I see
Inside a feeble shell
To me she’s one and only
And that I can tell
My heartbeat thunders
And chased her nightmares
Like aquamarine
Calm and serene
A thousand, ten thousand words
Isn’t enough to create one phrase
But surely, I wrote a love song for two
Must I recalibrate, I can’t undo
iamthe_avatar ©2014
May 9, 2014
May 9, 2014 at 3:23 PM UTC
You are not beaten
Your strength isn't broken
Your heart keeps beating
Have faith
When your ears start to get numb
By the sound of a thousand cries
And your knees can't lift you up
Look up
A glimpse of hope there is
When mountains fall around you
And the grounds below cut open
Nothing will shake your courage
Nothing will
This is something to remind you
When the earth forgets your name
At the roundabout of time
Look up
Behind the clouds where
The sun shines brightest
Streams of dreams endure
At the top of the mountains
iamthe_avatar ©2015
May 18, 2015
May 18, 2015 at 4:31 AM UTC
Gently you patted my cheek,
with a tenderness piquant,
not known hitherto to us both.
Those quivering long fingers
exude motherliness,I miss ever after,
my mom has gone to her last pilgrimage,
And I crave for at moments of pain intense.
From the layers of memory darkened
by distance,I recover that feeling,
to place you instantly at a level higher,
than that of a sultry lover to whom
desire than anything higher binds together.
In to my lackluster eyes, you peer,
see the ineptly hidden drop of tear,
in the corner shivering plaintively
before rolling down to lose forever,
it's in the memory of my mother,
who rhythmically tapped my back,
led me to the cozy cloud of sleep,
when outside raged the rain storm,
I now gather, to a women I owe
when, time after time she takes
another avatar, of my mother,
momentarily, at times,when earth slips,
from under the feet
unexpectedly.
You did see the storm raging
inside and the child looking for solace.
You hold me close to your *****
and I travel to a world gone by again
even when wolves howl refusing to sleep.
and let me doze off to wake up in another world!
Nov 13, 2017
Nov 13, 2017 at 12:50 PM UTC