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JOJO C PINCA Nov 2017
“Set wide the window. Let me drink the day.”
― Edith Wharton, Artemis to Actaeon and Other Verses

Matapang, sino ang tunay na matapang?
Yung siga ba sa kanto?
O yung pulis na marami nang na-tokhang?
Hindi kaya ang senador ng oposisyon
Na laging bumabanat sa administrasyon?
O baka naman yung mamang komentarista
Sa radyo at telebisyon?

Saludo ako sa mga sundalo’t pulis na
Nakipaglaban doon sa Marawi. Walang
Sindak ang mga bombero na sumusugod
Sa nagngangalit na dila ng apoy.
Hindi matatawaran ang kagitingin ng
Mga nagpapakasakit para sa kalayaan
At kapakanan ng inang bansa.

Pero may ibang anyo ang katapangan
Na mas malalim at kahanga-hanga.
Ang katatagan ng puso at isipan sa gitna
Ng dusa at malagim na paghihirap.
Ang hindi pagsuko ng kaluluwang hindi
Kayang ibilanggo ng takot at banta ng paghihirap.

Si William Ernest Henley ang bayani ng
Katapangan na tinutukoy ko s’ya ay di nalupig
Kailanman. Hindi s’ya sumuko sa siphayo ng kapalaran
Hanggang sa huling sandali.

Pagnilayan natin ang kanyang Invictus:

“Mula sa gabing bumabalot sa akin,”

May mga kawawang nilalang na walang umaga
Ang kanilang buhay puro gabing madilim
ang laging umiiral. Walang liwanag, walang bukang-liwayway.
Mula pagkabata hanggang pagtanda puro hinagpis at pait
Ang kanilang laging sinasapit.

“Kasingdilim ng hukay na malalim,”

Maraming bangin sa buhay ng mga kapos palad
Na nakabaon sa dusa at hilahil. Hindi nila ito ginusto
Hindi kailanman pinangarap kaya’t hindi nila ito
Kailanman matatanggap.

“Sa mga diyos, ako’y nagpapasalamat”

Ang mga kawawang mahihirap at mga mangmang
Sa kaalaman na laging salat sa mabuting paliwanag
Ay laging nagpapasalamat sa diyos. Salamat sa diyos……
Hahaha….. walang diyos mga hangal. Kung may diyos
Wala sanang kahirapan at kaapihan na umiiral.

“Sa kaluluwa kong hindi natitinag.”

Katawang lupa lang ang sumusuko
Ang kaluluwa at pusong matatag
Kailanman ay hindi ito magagapi.

“Nahuli man ng pangil ng kapalaran,”

Ang pangil ng malupit na kapalaran
Ay laging nakabaon sa leeg ng mga hampas-lupa
At mga walang makain sa araw-araw.
Pero hindi nito kayang sakmalin ang mayayaman at
Ang mga burgis. Bahag ang kanyang buntot
Sa harap ng mga panginoon.

“Kailanma’y di nangiwi o sumigaw.”

Kahit sumigaw ka at ngumawa nang husto
Walang tutulong sa’yo, walang makikinig
Dahil bingi ang mundo at bulag ang mata
Ng panginoong mapagpala.

“Sa mga pagkakataong ako’y binugbog,”

Paos ang tinig ng mga inang mapapait kung humikbi
Mga pinanawan ng pag-asa at ulirat dahil sa pag-iyak
Walang saysay ang sumigaw – nakaka-uhaw ang
Pag-iyak magmumukha ka lang uwak.

“Ulo ko’y duguan, ngunit ‘di yumukod.”

Bakit ka naman yuyukod sa putang-inang kapalaran
Na walang alam gawin kundi ang mang-dusta at mang-api.
‘Wag mo’ng sambahin ang isang bathalang walang-silbi,
Lumaban ka at ‘hwag magpadaig.

“Sa gitna ng poot at hinagpis”

Galit at lungkot ito ang kapiling lagi
Ng mga sawimpalad. Malayo sa masarap
Na kalagayan ng mga pinagpalang sagana
Sa karangyaan at kapangyarihan.

“At sa nangingilabot na lagim,”

Nagmistulang horror house ang buhay ng marami
Walang araw na hindi sakbibi ng lagim, walang oras
Na hindi gumagapang ang takot. Takot sa gutom, sakit,
At pagdarahop.

“Mga banta ng panahong darating,”

Bakit ang mga walang pera ang paboritong
Dalawin ng katakot-takot na kamalasan sa buhay?
Ganyan ba ang itinadhana ng diyos na mapagmahal
At maunawain? Nakakatawa diba?
Pero ito ang katotohanan ng buhay.

“Walang takot ang makikita sa ‘kin.”

Tama si Henley bakit mo kakatakutan ang lagim
Na hindi mo naman matatakasan? Mas mabuti
Kung harapin mo ito ng buong tapang at kalma.

“Kipot ng buhay, hindi na mahalaga,”

Para sa isang lugmok sa pagdurusa wala nang halaga
Ang anomang pag-uusig at kahatulan na nag-aantay.
Impeyerno? Putang ina sino’ng tinakot n’yo mga ulol.

“O ang dami ng naitalang parusa.”

Parusa, ang buong buhay ko ay isang parusa.
Ano pa ang aking kakatakutan na parusa?
Hindi naging maligaya ang buhay ko ano pa
Ang mas malalang parusa na gusto mo’ng ibigay?

“Panginoon ako ng aking tadhana,”

Oo ako lang ang diyos na gaganap sa aking
Malungkot na buhay. Walang bathala akong
Tatawagin at kikilalanin ‘pagkat wala silang pakialam sa’kin.

“Ang kapitan ng aking kaluluwa.”

Walang iba na magpapasya sa aking tadhana
Ako lang hanggang sa wakas ng aking hininga
Ang dapat na umiral.

Si Henley ang tunay na matapang dahil kahit
Pinutol na ang kanyang mga paa, sa gitna ng sakit
At matinding dusa hindi s’ya sumuko. Ang kanyang
Kaluluwa ay nanatiling nakatayo.
Vineeta rai Apr 2019
Ek ldki apne pure jeevan Me kya kya sehti hai ish kavita ke madhyam se batana cahti hu....

Waise to Laxmi, durga, saraswati kaha jata hai ladkiyo ko..
To kyu uske janm par mara jata hai ush masum ko....
Ladka hai to hamara chirag hamara vans aur ladki hai to sir ka bojh...
Jara yaad kro aise soch walo ladki na rahe to kahan se laao tum apna vans apna chirag...
Jo tmhe har khusiya De uski jra izzat ni krte....
Samjhte pair ki jutti **...
Are suno bewakufo...
Bina aurat aage ni badh sakte **....

Ladki ka to pura jeevan hi aisa hota hai... Ladki kabhi apna nahi soch sakti suru se maa baap Ka kaha manana aur fhir pati aur saas sasur ka... Apni khusiyo se jada pariwar ka sochna khud ki khwahiso ka Gala ghot sabki baat Manana....girls don't have life of there own... Chaliy aage dekhte hai.... Jb ldki ki saadi ** jati hai...

Ladki ko to suru se paraya dhan samjha jata hai....
Kyuki ushe vida hokr dusre ka ghar swarana hota hai...
Apni maa ka anchal chod...
Kai nae rista nibhana hota hai...
Kisi ki bahu kisi ki biwi kisi ki cachi 1000 riste bn jate hai...
Un sbko pyar se nibhana hota hai...
Ladki ka to naam hi tyag hai...
Kyuki suru se usne apni khusiyo ko tyagna sikha hai...
Kabhi maa baap ke majburi ke karan..
Kabhi society ke karan...
Aur fhir apne maa baap ko chod sasural jana hota hai...

Jara puchna cahti hu un ldko se... Kya tum apne maa ka saya chod reh skte **... Nahi na... To socho ek ldki kaise rehti hogi.... Wo tumhare liy apna har kuch chod skti hai... To kya tumhara farz ni ki uske khusiyo ka khyal rkho... Itna hi to ek ldki mangti hai.. Aur afsos tum log ushe wo bhi Ni de skte... Ldke bus apni jimmedari saupte hai apne faisle thopte hai... Ldki ke saadi ke baad to ushe apne mayke tk jane ka haq ni hota jbtk pati raazi na **... Kya ldki ki koi life hi  nahi...
Hum niyam to nahi badal sakte par itna to kar sakte hai na ki uske khusiyo ka bhi dhyan rakh ske...Kabhi socha hai ek ldki ke andar kitna kuch chlta hai par itne risto Me wo bandh kar kuch nahi keh pati.... Jara samjho ushe jo tumhe ache se samjh jati hai...
Tum kya khate **... Kya pasand hai... Kya kaam kb krte **... Tumhare kapde se lekar jutte tk har cheez ka khyal rkhti hai... Aur tum uska bhi khyal nahi rakh Pate...

Waqt chlta hai ldki maa banti hai....
9 mahine kya kuch seh ke ek bache ko janam deti hai....
Ush 9 mahine wo kis daur se gujarti hai wo wahi janti hai...
Sb kuch Sehti hai par chu tk ki aawaz nahi nikalti...
Aur ladki ka dard koi samjh ni pata...
Ek bache ko achi parwaris deti hai ushe Bada karti hai...
Ek ladki ki puri lyf ek battle field se kam nahi hoti...
Ladki janam se maut tak bahut kuch jhelti hai...
To apka bhi farz banta hai ushe samjhna....
Uski khusiyo ka khyal rkhna...
Ajj jada nahi ek baar Akele baith kr socha what a Girl do for uhh...
As a mother, sister, wife even ur girlfriend...just think ND try to understand her....
Ek khusi ushe bhi dekr dekhiy... Sach Me ldki ishse jada kuch nahi cahti...

Last Me itna hi kahungi...ladki dusro ke liy jeete jeete apna antim saans leti hai....
Pls I request to all boys and men.... Stop to hurt ur wife sister mother or gf just respect what they do for you.... And app bhi kuch krna sikho... Unke liy...
kingjay Jan 2020
Sa kanyang himig ako'y nahahalina
Magkasintunog ng mga ibong malaya
Umiindayog sa puso ko't pagsinta
Misteryosong dilag, sino s'ya talaga?

Sa tuwing napapanood 'y anong ganda
Mata'y matimyas na tala sa umaga
Tanglaw sa daigdig na puno ng hiwaga
Liwanag sa bukang liwayway 't hiraya

Manipis ang labing kakulay 'y makopa
Malamyos ang tunog ng bawat salita
Halik ng anghel ang dapyo ng hininga
Halimuyak ay buhay, di nawawala

Kahit panlalaki ang gayak at porma
Na kanyang ginampanan sa prima donna
Munting lawiswis na lupaypay 't mahina
Nang lumaki'y diwata sa encantadia

Ang isip ko ay kinabig 't kinawawa
Ginapos nang mahigpit ng kanyang drama
Madalas ay namumugto ang mga mata
Kapag nasisilayan s'yang lumuluha

Huwag sana pabugso bugso't pabigla
Ang tibo niyang pangungusap at banta
Sapagkat nababagha't natutulala
Damdami'y pinamumugaran ng kaba

Sa kumpas ng mga kamay ay humahanga
Isang paraluman na ang kiyas 'y siga
Hudlum sa kanto na mahal ang pamilya
Pinakamatapang na lahing Claveria

Sa likod ng pagganap ano nga ba s'ya?
Sapantaha ko ay magalang na bata
Binibini at dalagang Filipina
May puring Perlas ng Silangan ng Asya

Lingid sa kamalayan nang napahanga
Sa kanyang angking galing bilang artista
Dagdag pa ang sayaw n'yang mala-prinsesa
Sa makabagong tinikling, siya'y reyna

Araw 'y nakahilig sa katanyagan n'ya
Harap 'y pangarap na sinasalubong pa
Hiyas s'ya sa mundo na walang kapara,
Kumikinang at nagbibigay pag-asa
Akshat Mar 2018
school ke pehle Din mile the, Rote Rote Sab aye the par tum has rahe the.
Usi baat se rote rote me chup hua tha aur wahi se dosti ka pehla chapter shuru hua.
Padhai ke chor Hum washroom Break ke bahane aadha lecture bunk Krte the.
Break me 15 ki sandwich aur 10 ka juice aur kaha koi kharche the.
7 bje se pehle agr barish hogi to scl nhi jaenge aur usi ki chutti Milte hi barish me jam ke nahaenge .
Result ke din kiska Kam ayega uspe shart lagti thi aur agr uska zada Aya to ye sochke bht phat ti thi.
Mere saamne shart harke Jeet ta hmesha tu hi Tha , kuch nhi pada yr bolke topper banta tu hi Tha... Jhuta saala!!.
Pehli baar kisi ldki ko dekhte dekhte tumne mujhe dekh Lia tha ,uske saamne usi ke Naam se chidane ka zimma tumne le Lia tha .
Teacher ne jab daat ke bahar hmko khara Kia Tha , class room se zada bhr hmne seekh Lia tha.
Aakhri baar jab aakhri din ham mile the kai wade hamne kr lie the.
Par tab shuru Hui zindagi ki asli class, alg school me admission no same class.....are Koi naa alg school Hai to Kya hua har week Milte rhenge par Sach btae dost aur kitna khud ko dhakte rhenge .
Pehle milke plan banate the ab Milne ka plan banta hai........in sab me kahi kho si gayi Hai hmari zindagi.
Kaha Hai yr Mera vo school Wala dost kaha Hai.......
Jun Lit Sep 2017
Daan-daan, libu-libo
Daang-libo, daang-libo
Umaasang may milagro
Limandaang-libong piso

Kayamanang kinurakot
Ng pamilyang naging salot
Sa bayan kong binaluktot
Isasabog, baryang simot?

Marami ngang naniwala
Iba nama’y sakali, baka
Kapag pera ang nagwika
Sumusunod tanang dukha

Kapag baya’y maralita,
Karamiha’y mangmang pawa
Konting kiliti at banta
Utu-uto bumabaha

Dumaraming maralita
Kailangan ng kalinga
Karunungan ay biyaya
Ibahagi, ‘wag magsawa.

Kawawa ang sambayanan
Kung palaging iisahan
Ang 4Ps, pera ng bayan
Hindi ng angkang kawatan

Panloloko ay tigilan
Pandarambong ay tutulan
Diktadura ay labanan
Kabataan, mata’y buksan

Bagong bayani kaylangan
Karununga’y kalayaan.
Malalawak ang larangan
Sambayana’y paglingkuran
Shrivastva MK Mar 2018
Jis phul ne koi galati hi nahi ki, Use kis baat ki saza diya ja rha hai,
Es duniya me aane se pahle hi kyu use maar diya ja rha hai,

Ai Khuda kyu aise janwar ko tune banaya,
Ek chhoti kali ko pet me hi maar khud ko insaan btaya,

Na maaro us phul ko jisme us bhagwan ka hai waas,
Ek din aisa aayega jab ** jayega puri shristi ka naas

Arey nasamjh insaan sirf bete ki hi aas lagaoge,
To phir maa, behan aur dulhan kahan se paoge,

Mata-Pita ki galati ki saza us chhoti kali ko diya jata hai,
Ek chhote se andhere ghar me hi use maar diya jata hai,

Wo kali bhi baar baar unlogo se karti pukar,
Hey Maa-Baba mujhe pet me hi mat maar,

Ye duniya ek baar mujhe bhi dikha de,
Apne amrit ki ek ghunt mujhe bhi pila de,


Nanhi si jaan tou hai bekasoor,
Maar kar hi aakhir kyu milta hai pathar dilon ko suroor,

Wo bhi dekhna chahti hai duniya,
Janam lene se pehle hi Jaan gawani padti hai oo gudiya,

Apne hi hathon ukhed dete hai apne hi aangan ka phool,
Kaisa hai ye bereham logon ka usool,

Kismat wale hote hai wo insaan,
Jinki kokh mein dete hain betiyan bhagwaan,

Beti hai ishwar ka hai en anmol uphaar,
Jeene ka us nanhi jaan ko bhi hai adhikaar,

Sharam aati hai logo ki is ghatiya soch par,
Taras aata hai unpar
Jo apne hi ansh ka dete hain maar
Devi ka karte hain jo tiraskaar,

Banao ek naya usool
Beti ko karo qubool

Jeevan ka hai ye adhaar
Banta hai inhi se sansaar,

Likh us phul ka dard hamari aankhen bhar aai,
Teri banai duniya me O mera khuda ye teri kaisi khudai..
Ye teri kaisi khudai...


Collaboration by Manish Shrivastava and Sonia Paruthi
112815 #3:50PM #ISIS

“Kami’y may balitang
Banta ng kaimbihan
Lipon nami’y
Ni hindi ninyo matitiktikan!”

“Humihikbi kami’t di titikim sa pauso.
Lisan ninyo ang bayang hindi pag-aari!
Baya’y pangako, kayo’y hindi kasapi!”

“Nakatalaga ang bala
Para sa hindi patitikom-bibig,
Walang bantulot buhat sa grasya
Kaya’t kami’y gawaran!”

“Langit ang uukil sa inyong pagtataksil!
Hukom ay dalisay at may patas na tingin.
Kung dugo ang kapalit,
Kami’y hindi patitikom,
Ni hindi yuyuko
Sa nabinat nyong kariktan.”

“Patiyad kayo’t magmakaawa,
Humiling na sa Hari nyong may dunong!”

Naghihilakbot sila bagkus di paaayon,
Sa yungib ng kaluluwa’y
Ginagagap ang pangako.
Sila’y bayaning tigmak sa pakikibaka’t
Bilang ang mga martir na Maharlika.

Naulinigan ang mga sumirit na armas,
Kanilang patibong
Na may nanlilisik na batas.
Bagkus ang atungal ng lupon ng Liwanag,
Espada’y tatangayin
Hanggang sa huling paghinga.
pat v Aug 2020
Ang nakaupong tiwali—
siya ang binoto ng masa.
Sa manggas ng kanyang barong,
panganib ng maralita

May kinang ang kan’yang ngiti
mapungay ang mga mata
Sa bawat pangakong lahad
ay pagsibol ng pag-asa.

Pag-asa na tayo'y ligtas
ay naging katakot-takot.
Para raw sa Inang Bayan,
peligro na nakabalot.

Ang salitang bulaklakin
ay daglian ding nalanta
kapalit ang pagtungayaw,
at banta ng direktiba.

Hindi natin inasahan—
bahid ng dugo sa daan.
Mga kamay, nahugasan
ngunit hindi ang lansangan.

Sa lapida nakaukit
ngalan ng mga biktima.
Sunod kayang tatahimik
ang silang may pinupuna?

Hapis ng inang nawalan,
“Crispin, Basilio, anak ko,”
oyayi ng Inang Bayan.
“Pasismo! Peligro rito!”
Anong silbi ng luha?
Kung papatak lang ito gaya ng ulan,
At gaya ng baha'y pagtatampisawan.

May iilang paslit sa Kalye ni Juan,
Nagbabangka-bangkaan
Paglaki nila'y dal'wa ang sinasagwanan.

Doon sa iskinitang panay basura ang laman,
Bisita nila'y araw-araw na kagutuman.
Iwinawagayway ang sarili,
Bentahan pala'y kanilang pagkakakilanlan.

Minsa'y nasaglit ako sa tindahan
Nang may matiyagang nakipag-usigan
Banta niya'y bubuwagin ang buhay
Ang latay ng bukas ay aangkinin nang ngayon
Titila rin daw ang buhos ng ulan,
Pang-lamang tiyan lang daw,
Bagkus dahas ang kikitil sa kasaganaan.

Ganoon na nga,
May mga nauudlot na kinabukasan
Pati istoryang panay nagtititigan.

Ngayon kasi'y
Pakalat-kalat na lang,
Iba na pati takbo ng isip,
Nakikilimos na lang
Baka may singkong duling man lang.
dinggin ang lagaslas ng tubig
na pumapalupot sa bisig.

handa na ang bukana.
kasabay ng pag-alon ng damdamin
ang
     p
     a
     g
     b
     a
     g
     s
     a
     k

ng lamig na dala ng pag-lisan
o ang init na lulan ng pag-dating

papalapit ng papalapit
sa nagngungusap na mga mata,
sinasalamin nang iyong banta
ang aking bibig.

bilugan, hubad,
   tahimik.
Mayank Garg Jun 2020
-Dooriyan bahut hain magar itna samajh lo
-Ki pass rehkar hi koi nahi banta khaas

-Duriyan bahut hain magar itna samajh lo
-Ki paas rehkar hi koi nahi banta khaas
-Aur tum to iss kadar paas ** mere dil ke
-Ki mujhe nahi hota dooriyon ka ehsaas
kate Feb 9
ala-singko ng umaga. nakakabingi ang katahimikan ng pagsikat ng araw. walang tigil ang pagtakbo ng oras at tulad ng araw, nagsimula nanaman ang pangkaraniwang siklo ng buhay. patungo sa sintang paaralan na ang bawat yapak ay parang timbang ng daigdig na nakalubog sa aking mga balikat. hindi kayang buhatin kahit pa ng buong mundo sapagkat ako'y nag-iisa sa paglalakbay patungong españa.

sa bawat sulok ng maynila at mga kwento sa mga kalsadang ito, may mga paalala ng mga biyaheng hindi pa nararating at mga pangarap na patuloy hinahanap. sa kanto ng españa't lacson, sa kabila ng paghahanap at pag-asa, hindi natagpuan ang isa't isa. sa magkabilang sulok ng noval at dapitan, ang iyong mga imahe ay tila mga alaala na nakaukit sa pinakaloob ng aking isipan, kumakatok nang palaging handang buksan ang pintuan. bawat hakbang ko ay may kabigha-bighani **** presensya, subalit ang hinahanap kong pagtatagpo ay patuloy na umiwas sa akin, nag-iwan ng hinagpis at naglakbay nang walang direksyon.

"manong para po" ang aking bulong sa jeepney drayber na parang tinik na dumadaloy sa aking lalamunan, humihila at humihila sa mga alaala na tila mga bagyong dumaraan sa aking isipan. bawat sinag ng araw, bawat hagupit ng hampas ng hangin, ay parang himagsik ng damdamin na hindi ko maitago.

sa bawat kanto paikot ng españa, naroon ang mga multo ng ating nakaraan. mga anino ng mga alaala na hindi ko matakasan at sa bawat pagtatanong mo kung may pag-asa pa ba, ang bawat sagot ko ay tila mga punyal na tumatagos sa aking kalooban, nagsasabing wala nang dahilan para muling mangarap.ayaw ko nang lumakad sa landas ng nakaraan, na puno ng  mga bakas na minsan tayo'y nagtahup na patuloy na bumabalik at sumisira sa isipan.

at sa wakas, narito na ako sa dulo ng aking paglalakbay, ngunit ang landas na tinahak ay tila isang malawak na dagat, hindi alintana kung gaano karaming bagyo at baha ang dinaanan. at kung tatanungin mo ako kung pu-puwede pa ba, ang hihilingin ko sa iyo ay mga barya papalayo sa'yo. ayaw ko nang malunod sa unang daan na puno ng kahapon at mga alaalang tila multong ayaw umahon.

at sa bawat paghakbang ko patungo sa hinaharap, ang iyong alaala ay parang banta na nagbubulag-bulagan sa akin tuwing naglalakbay ako. nakakapangilabot. mahal pa rin kita. mahal pa rin pala kita.

hindi na kasingpait ng dati.
pero mahal, masakit pa.
i just love the streets of manila and the feeling of grief and longness without wanting the person back (hindi ako broken HAHAHAHA)
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2019
this is what music foraging on youtube used to look like, you'd find gems, 6 years old, approx. 10K views akin to Undogmatic & Kernfeld: thought experiments... you know... you travel outside of the anglosphere of said language, what is the opinion of a Greek or a Pole about Fb? not much... it's only the english-speaking "cool" kids that are making all the fuss... i mentioned minds.com to a Greek guy i was giving directions to, once, in Warsaw... he looked at me as if i was the first person to show him a ******* elephant... 5 blind men followed and we know the story from there... catering to the natives: who will never be or ever have been satisfied... they just need their: banta... their ****-storming, their gravitational pull toward bloodsports: rather than dialectics... nothing is ever to be done... who can shout the loudest... who can rock the boat the most... who can translate past playground grievances into a web of anonymity and avatars... as far as i am concerned... these social media firms, these u.s. firms have long gone stopped catering to primarily english speaking people... all these anglophone calls: Fb will fail like myspace failed... blah blah... these firms are tired of brats... elsewhere these spaces are utilities... they're not an extension of either thought or life... collateral damage of those first exposed... the Greek will still use the platform... the Pole will also... i too remember my childhood: hide & seek... digging holes in the ground and throwing marbles into them from a distance of five metres... creating chalk labyrinths on the pavement and flicking beer bottle caps filled with plastecine through them... and no... styxhexenhammer666 is not banned in Poland... i never wanted youtube to become what it has become: 72 virgins? give me a library of music for all of eternity and i'll be an 'appy chappy... i don't need some count dankula regurgitate a wikipedia entry about tarrare - oddly enough: i too can read... see... i blame both sides for ******* up my foraging tool... the "legacy" media and the indie vlog "creators": creative really reative, spewing regurgitation after regurgitation... i'd hate to be drafted into this vulture journalism of video making... at least when you pay a *******: you pay an honest wage... and she subsequently spends the honest wage on **** i wouldn't even buy... so the funds are given to the person who otherwise keeps the economy running... a woman... oh yes, i've been watching closely these indie "creators"... lucky for me i watched enough of them to round them up and say: this much... there's a big difference between a "creator" and a commentator... if i'd want to listen to an audiobook containing the current journalistic spew: anyway... half of these stories in the "news" are tabloid ******* that gave rise to 24h news reel and the vacuous space feeding the tapeworm of insomnia... since when did news outlets think they could produce an amphetamine alt.? clearly they did... i can't keep up, i won't keep up, to hell with going against these giants... youtube was never about these indie "creators"... music and music was always the prime concern for me... lucky for me remnants of the old a.i. still give me chances to glimpse records like CLANN - Seelie... these indie "creators" become just as tiresome as the legacy medie snippets... you want a more ******* version of CLANN's Seelie? try Salem: king knight (2010).

.just some after-thoughts, when a post scriptum becomes, a pre scriptum... you know... i sometimes think this lingua franca, that's english, ergo: lingua inglese is bombarded, London is the microcosm of the world dislodged from the realities of other natives... there's a grand congregation happening, of hosts, and even here, on the outskirts of London, where all it takes is a 30 minute walk to go pet a horse or a tender young bull, "randomly", in a field, spot a fox, or chase a herd of deer who "wandered" into the middle of an X junction creating a traffic debacle... but the language itself this, lingua inglese needs updating, notably from the "real" grammar nazis... i'm not just going to give up my new earned rights of literacy, for all the years of being kept in the dark like some ******* mushroom, just because, someone feels it is necessary to feel lazy, about establishing rigour, discipline in using this former tool of power, like i'm going to bend over some lazy peasant... no... dis-ci-pline... you need it, i might drink, but i'll still return to this language with great respect, for the per se worth of adherence to it... it already is a metaphysical person / "person" to me, at least i can offer that much, as much as is necessary... one question though, echo-chamber... it's enough for dyslexia, it's enough for emoji, it's enough for: l8er... it's enough for "gender neutral" pronouns... see... that language i was born with... that **** won't stick... certain languages have pronoun-"augmentation" associated with verbs... e.g.?
                                            mogłem (past-participle masculine
                       of i could have)
                        mogłam (past-participle feminine
                    of i could have)
this, inherent bias, within the confines of the english language, well, i didn't expect it to be so rife, until i witnessed it being exploited! now at least i can pander / side with the natives: funny - coming to a "madman" for sanity quotes, for rigour... well... because there's no fun without someone not having the ***** to counter the libertarian farcical tragico-comic current circumstance of: "pushing the boundaries"... like i said: a lingua ingelese echo-chamber... no belly-button status of the world for you... this viper of an idea, this sordid wasp of a "conundrum" will not spread elsewhere, i feel inclined to contain it, with english regulations of grammar... just like i learned this language to begin with: first the language, then the grammar... physics first, metaphysics later... first the experience of communication, then the theory of communicating... thank god that some languages have an unshakeable foundation, e.g. western slavic: where the pronoun is integrated into verbs with a gender discrimination structure...
  further examples?
                miałem (i had - masculine)
                                                     miałam (i had - feminine)...
so the problem is contained... in this, sometimes erring into sharpnel of, what could have been: a bullet of a tongue; or, i dare say, will hopefully preserve itself, to be it.


i guess.... wait... are stars supposed to that?
i just witnessed two,
transverse the night sky:
    in that, more than the already
perplexing circumstance of a straight line...
to the naked eye:
   they're not supposed to move in
a parabola fashion, are they?
    yes, last time i checked, this was never
going to be a metaphor for
the current state of european politics,
   to the naked eye:
    i would be unable to witness a comet,
and, on the odd occassion,
   the blitzkrieg accent on the sky
by a meteor falling...
            i never had the tools to measure
the difference between a falling
meteor appearing in the sky,
                      to a lightning strike -
time wise...
            after all: is a lightning strike
confined to the same category as light,
yeah: light from the sun?
   i guess this is were awe comes...
          once again: if i somehow manage
to come across the facts -
   i'll give my narrative of a temple's
worth of structure to the blinded,
enraged skin-headed Samson to pull at
the pillars...
                now, with regards to:
a black girl in a supermarket...
   well... i've done it,
    i can clearly state i have become
fully integrated into the multiculutral
experiment that's England,
   it didn't take that long,
               ******* contra being attracked
are two dfifferent ball games...
the language is here,
                 working just fine,
   some native prejudices are somewhat
here,
            i have a harder time
"not understanding" the quickened
paddy taljk, to me the scots sing,
and they managed to preserve
                                     the trill on the R...
so, as they would say in
    a clockwork orange type of fashion,
fully rehabilitated, ****, sorry, integrated...
i can find myself being attracked
                           to an ivory beauty...
side-effect?
    whenever i visit my grandparents,
whenever i pass through
   the urban landscape of Warsaw...
   i feel...
        an extreme nausea,
paranoia,
                 sifting through my in-born
mirror of homogeneity...
the whole process takes, oh,
                     i'd say, roughly 20 years...
brain-washing?
      or a want for a sense of belonging?
my only sense of belonging in
Poland is only related to the use
of language, culturally?
      hybrid at best,
                    or not even hybrid,
mongrel...
                sure, the impeding disaster
of putting a physical hybrid
           with a metaphysical hybrid...
i don't even know how i'll feel
when the ****** tongue dies with
the people i could associate to by speaking
it...
maybe i'll be lucky,
having the luxury of not one death,
but two, in my life.

p.s.
   stating the ****** obvious,
surds...
   lingua ingles(e)
              and not lingua inglesé...
how can i not be stating the obvious,
that's how practiςing
    literacy works, doesn't it?
who has ever heard
a guitar player not say:
    i'm not playing,
  i'm simply practiçing                ?
i guess the origins of the french
         cedilla come from
                                     the greek sigma,
i.e. if it's so smart,
how come a drunk, like me,
                         has to "unearth" it?
always, it's always about
the fiddly bits of language,
english is peppered with
      rules, that are not dogma of
pedagogy...
         of the pedagogic experience...
"somehow" surds appear,
i.e. "silent" letters...
   e.g. there's no (g)nome
         but there's diagnostics...
this, this lingua inglese...
this supposedly "universal" language
for a global community,
and then all the particulars
associated with the native idiosyncracy...
mind you...

     i woke up with a dream,
righ rarity event...
   i was sitting,
then i started walking,
i looked behind me,
a ****** church procession was
walking with banners
and crosses, dressed in black,
i turned my head,
and there was a bunch of
schoolchildren walking toward me,
i was eating a raw chilli...
a boy from the throng coming
at me was eating a raw pepper,
'hey mister'
and pointed at a piece of
a raw papper lying in the grass,
insinuating i lost it...
i replied:
                                          'chilli'...
er­m...
        who the hell would ever need
to amplify dreaming
with a psychadelic experience,
esp. if that person is usually
sleeping for 10+ hours per day
and is dream-starved?
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2016
i found that showing off your
taste in music
is actually more intimidating
than walking around in Eden
stark naked - given
the auspiciousness in the "glamour"
industry and elsewhere, odd, isn't it?
we are more ashamed by
our musical taste, shunned by it -
the Balkan Slavs are the Spaniards
of what most people call "cheap taste",
you now, oiled and greasy
six packs and - well the Balkan Slavs
bred with the Ottoman Turks,
what do you expect?
we are more intimidated by our taste
in music being exposed than our naked
bodies -
believe me, i'll cry at the beauty,
i'll cry at the beauty but i will not despair -
i rather allow tears in, because i know
laughter too will come, i rather cry at beauty
than inhibit it with a masculine heart
expected of me to be stern and in the belgian
trenches - stupid youth idolising the warring
of old farts who have a disclosure for
swollen prostates and can't take the banta (
huh?! goli? i hate slang incorporation,
it's absolute nonsense) -
so instead they shove young men into warring
enclosures and then lay wreaths of poppies
with a 1 minute silence... i told you,
absolute ******* - i rather cry at beauty when
it appears like a picturesque sunrise -
that Armenian will have a beef stake weighing
at half a kilogram to box with translating my works -
i don't mind standing naked like this,
another example https://goo.gl/pJpddh.
Jun Lit Mar 2021
Alpas sa gabing lumukob
Dulo’t dulo’y itim pulos
Salamat anuman yung d’yos
Kalul’wa kong di pasakop

Sa pagkakataong malma
Di sumuko ni lumuha
Binugbog man ng tadhana
Ulong dug’ua’y tunghay-laya

Lampas ditong hagpis-luha
Tanging lilim lang ang banta
Datnan man dantaong sumpa
N’ia ‘nong takot, ako’y wala

Makipot man ang lagusan
Bale-wala’ng parusahan
Ang palad ko’y aking tangan
Ako’y ako ang Kapitan.
This is my attempt to translate my favorite poem Invictus into Tagalog.
David Ehrgott Nov 2014
Way Way back in the day
With a top-hat in the shade
tents were pitched - seasons past
Way Way back when it was all a gas
I swear that at one time that it was
a crime, just to laugh

Well then you get a gun then
But it gets tougher than that
Down on Banta near Central
Here in Hackensack
and there's a choo-choo on every track
Hey don't waste your time spent talkin' to Jack
and there's a weasel in the henhouse
but we don't worry about that

Back when love was a crime
Way back when love was a crime
Kev Catsi Aug 2019
ang sugat ng nakaraan
ay huwag mo ng balikan
dahil kusa mo nalang sinasaktan
ang iyong sarili ng walang kalaban-laban

sa halip ito'y gawing sandata
sa iyong bagong kabanata
dahil ngayo'y ika'y isang  banta
para sa mga taong walang kwenta
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2020
i's party: that's i have 8 cartons
of camel cigarettes...
i smoke one a day: there's a feel
to it a taste like
a tender mush and some oyster...

there's also that reflection
monstrosity
worth         55cm
   of a bookshelf...

             and it's like: wrestling
with a paragraph...
but it's also akin to...
the completed poems of walt whitman
and... the collected poems of
jack spicer...
   and nietzsche had to boast:
write as little /
           no: not so very much...

i don't want to write
because i have found reading
to be more pleasurable...
i want to read more than i write;

once upon a time
i'd want to read as much as i'd write
and i'd write... bargaining:
no... clearly there was a pause...
etc.

          it is a rather outstanding
bookshelf...
   i still want to add stephen king's IT
to my diet...
for some strange reason that
the writer is still alive...
             a "perhaps" and perhaps a "maybe"...

party fiend:
a tease of whiskers of amber...
nightcap comrade...
a camel cigarette...
           having showered
after a day toiling with putting up
a pagoda...
itchy evergreen tree
and spiders without webs...
spiders all roughage
pure protein
   and nothing a priori wedded
to a web...
nothing of that sort
of: "remember"...

i's party: best catch cotton-candy...
a dream of being 7...
candy-floss...
a cloud... lemonade sold
in... plastic bags...
my grandfather's missing umbrella:
more -esque toward:
my missing grandfather...

a fiat 126p and... a dozen clowns...
marking dogs' worth of ****
of a joke in: testing... testing
claustrophobia(s)...

or "she" would cling to singing
some ******* riddle
and they had to...
the horrors would became
tame...
"she" would be some fear
that... life does not
continue under the bridge...
that "her" mother
was the last and first
remaining evil...
she could become
superstitious to thought...
of the other...

             any free thought...
as a "mother"...
she wanted the pontius pilate
pose of washed hands...
nothing written...
prior to the hour of sleep...
a train song...
a ******* ******-ward...

- and it's not all that:
it's that the mother had a mother
and the whole "affair" of
a life is not knitting with knots
because
you can't translate
1950s h'america
                     and 1940s europe...
the train song
and the dead-knot is
limbo-squaring....

                 the use of stairs
is: a dejected scrutiny of sounds
hinterland of grief...
mommy was not....
but mommy was...

                          the best passed...
the best kept ambivalent...
crab bucket mentality torn
toward: sooner to the grave...
engulfing an utopian sober...

my and "my"
             and "a" people...
the train...
        the blister screetch....
       stampede...
                 my fellow gone...
my lost loose and in-between...

my mother abhors the idea
of there "being" a mother prior
to her...

                i scratch the invisible
stretchline of what is not expected
to stress the fringe: bowl...
cranium and itchy skid marks of
a razor...
dwarf wonder...
                     bubble frenzy...

       the best served in 3rd person...

because the moon has become
so blatant...
         and there's no hagia sophia
knot no new this...
self-awareness / consciousness
ratio
                  fully: exploring
banta-bash-up-base...
            mongol and darwinistic
jou-jou               r-gon.... gonner...

sponsoder by carpet burning....
          and there's this grieving future
IN and replica...
                                    
     all are best equipped...
because there's that base...
for... a 19th century novel...
    
                 tossing coal nuggets and camel
    humps...
                     new fire!

— The End —