"jeepney" poems
Sa loob ng jeepney, akoy may kursunada
Ang babaeng gustong makilala, medyo suplada
Biglang tinanong nya ako, “bakit may itatanong ka ba?”
Kaya sagot ko, “wala akong itatanong, pero may kaba”
Kaba sa dibdib, dahil sa binigyan ako ng pansin
Mula sa binibining suplada at di ko yun akalain
Na magpapasaya at bububuo sa mahabang araw
Nang minsang napatingala sa kagandahang natanaw
Dagdag ko, “Magbayad na tayo”
Sabi nya, “bayad lang walang pang tayo”
Sinabi ko ulit “Miss, pwede namang pambayad ang ngiti,
(bakit?) kasi yung 500 mo wala silang panukli”
Sa loob ng isipan koy tumutula,
Sa labas ang mga mata koy natutulala
Nabighani ng ganda at napahanga
Di ko napapansin tulo laway labas dila
Ngunit sa mukhang tila nakasimangot
Napansin ko sa mga mata’y may lungkot
Kaya Ang magpasaya, kahit papano ay aking ginawa
Nang Minsan sana’y dumampi ang ngiti, at magbigay ng tuwa
Ginawa ko na ang simpleng galawan
Inaabot ang bayad, upang kamay nya ay mahawakan
Gusto ko din sanang malaman ang kanyang pangalan
Baka may pagasa kung sya ay liligawan
Wala man akong pera, mahalaga masaya
Wala man akong pera, basta katabi ko maganda
Wala man akong pera, basta wala akong sakit
Wala man akong pera, basta kami ay nagkalapit
Aking naalala, aking naalala.....
Wala pala talaga akong pera
Ni piso isa, wala sa bulsa
Pano na? Pano na?
Kaya ang ending ng love story,
Mamang tsuper I’m sorry
Pagtumigil na tong byahe,
Takbo sibat, handa na akong mag 123....
Sep 30, 2018
Sep 30, 2018 at 10:19 AM UTC
Para lang sa tabi,
Manong, ako'y may nakalimutan,
Pakitabi na lang sa tindahan ni aleng bebang.
Araw araw ikaw'y lagi sinusulyapan.
Sa likod mo ako'y lagi nagaabang.
Isang lingon mo lang araw ko'y nagkakakulay.
Isa kang bituin sa kalawakang walang ningning.
Komersyal sa tV na puro drama ang naririnig.
Hangin malamig sa tag-araw na sobrang init.
kaya para lang sa tabi,
Manong, ako'y may nakalimutan.
Pakitabi na lang sa tindhan ni aleng bebang.
"Iha, ano bang nakalimutan mo?" tanung ni Manong
"Puso ko po 'nong!" sagot ko.
Ako'y bumaba sa jeepney,
Tumakbo at ikaw ay hinanap,
Nakita ka ako'y bigla sumaya.
"Hoy, ikaw ibalik mo ang kinuha mo?" sabi ko.
Ngtaka at napakamot ka sa iyo ulo.
"Miss, nagkakamali ka ata." sagot mo habang ngumingiti sa akin.
"Paano ako magkakamali sa tao kumuha ng puso ko".
Ikaw'y ngumiti at ako'y nsilaw.
Doon ngsimula ang istorya natin dalawa,
na noon'y pinangarap-ngarap ko lamang.
Jul 15, 2015
Jul 15, 2015 at 8:49 AM UTC
*Araw araw ako'y naglalakbay
Sa jeepney at tryk, nakasakay
Madalas naglalakad sa tulay
Nakasilong sa dahong makukulay
Nang dumilat ang ulap at nagmasid
Aral sa buhay ko'y dumarami
Bilang ng tao at hilaw na kapatid
Ako'y saksi sa kanilang pasanin
Matatandang panot, hayop na pilay
Batang walang saplot, naka-bitay
Babaeng may sanggol na alay
Kumakatok, nanlilimos ng karamay
Binuksan nila ang mga mata ko
Sa katotohanang pilit tinatago
Mga bangungot sa bawat kanto
Nabubulunan sa hiram na piso
Sa bawa't yapak ng aking lakbay
Dama ang kayamanan ng tao
Higit pa sa laman ng aking bulsa
Ang gintong binuo sa katauhan ko*
Taya!
Oct 13, 2015
Oct 13, 2015 at 11:25 AM UTC
Packed like sardines
inside a jeepney—
Too full,
with a jeepney strike going on.
Rushing,
mother and child ride along.
Greasy, ***** malnourished…
The woman holds a can—
a makeshift drum.
Little boy hands out envelopes,
he looks like he's 3 years old,
he's most likely 6.
Woman beats her drum,
nobody listens
chatter drowning out the rhythm…
Invisible ears to go with
invisible envelopes
His head touches my legs,
dissipating heat—
an indicator of how long
he's been under the sun and smog
The thought chills me…
He stares at my sister's shopping bags
with searing eyes…
Windows that I can’t bear to look into,
afraid to see my reflection of clouded guilt and frustration
I shake my head, no food to share
but my hands reach out to his,
to give him some money.
My sister remembers a bottle of iced tea,
and hands it to him.
He has a hard time opening it,
and asks for help from the school girls…
Invisible again.
I reach out and get the bottle from him
Temporary refreshment
for a body that is parched,
for a soul who is thirsty for so much more.
I cannot help but gulp in guilty air.
He sits on the aisle,
savoring the tea
as his mother thumps on the can.
The little boy retrieves envelopes, all empty—
as hollow as the sound of the beating drum.
What do you do,
what can you do?
The jeepney stops.
They alight from it...
The mother looks back
and says, "Salamat."
It goes straight to my heart.
Her eyes move me most—
one eye is cloudy, grayed out,
perhaps a manifestation
of the storms in her life?
That single word seared through me,
and I felt how much she meant it…
Her thank you
made me want to give so much more,
to call out to her and give whatever I had at the moment
but they are gone...
Lost in a crowd of faceless people,
and I myself want to get lost,
hide my face in shame…
What can you do?
Jan 25, 2012
Jan 25, 2012 at 1:06 AM UTC
Wala akong pera pang-cab
Kaya mas prefer ko mag-jeepney
Ikaw ang hihilingin
Kung sakaling makatagpo ng genie
Lagi kang nasa ulo ko
Parang paborito ko'ng suoting beanie
Mahal kita Sheki
Kahit na size mo ay mini
Sep 11, 2019
Sep 11, 2019 at 9:53 PM UTC
“Congratulations
You managed being five feet above the ground”
Said a man who
Can’t contain a slight, sardonic sound
The situation:
He’s reading eating magazines from the coast of Spain
And yelling himself blue
For the jeepney won’t hurry in the pouring rain
He smashed his head on the glass
Wishing for a train
It nearly cracked / but his
New cadence sounded quite sane
“Congratulations
You took five before you smoked the first one down”
Said a man who
Complimented me for sinking above the ground
“It’s estimation
I might trip before a wheel enters our lane”
I yelled the truth
At this moment, his presence started to stain
A boat that had already passed us
Yelled, “All aboard!”
We weren’t sure it would float
But it had a great deal of cords
Then we clambered on
There was a myriad of golden spades
Two for every buried fool
That was forced to stay
The stench was concealed
By the satisfied old man
A woman muttered
That she was headed to Queensland
A driver viciously flung his arms
Into the air, in apt alarm
The intersection’s volley
Aimed for the starboard
Everyone reached for the mast,
Hoping to soar
“Congratulations
You nodded off before the lights started to blare”
Said a man who
Lied, ostentatiously impaired
I’m at the station
Then, I noticed to my side was a golden *****
I dug myself through
The mahogany and got on with my day
In the rain
Oct 8, 2018
Oct 8, 2018 at 2:34 PM UTC
Ang pagkain ng croissant at floss buns
sa public places.
O ng saging o hotdog sa jeepney.
Ng chocolate ice cream habang naka-all white ka.
Ang umibig ng mga taong may mental illness.
O ng taga-malayo o magkagusto sa pari.
Ng taong hindi maaaring ibigin.
Ang maki-apid sa asawa ng may asawa.
Ang kwarto **** napabayaang linisin
dahil mas masarap nga naman ang siesta.
Mas nakakahalina ang tawag ng pahinga,
kaysa talak ng pagliligpit.
Ang trend ng salted caramel everything
dahil mas mainam ang may konting alat.
Ang nakaligtaang lakad sa government offices
dahil mas kaakit-akit ang gumala.
Ang buhay **** salat sa kaayusan
dahil mas masarap ang makalat.
Oct 8, 2023
Oct 8, 2023 at 8:39 AM UTC
I saw an Ulila
Whilst riding a Jeepney
Half-Shoed,
Half-Footed,
Saying, "BAYAD!"
An Endearment for Pay
Yet my Eyes affixed
On his One-Footed Shoe
But due to the Wear
Of a Day's Sweaty Trod
Begging for his Family Dinner
Hoping he could have a Full Meal
And Smiles
For him and his family
And still waiting
For his Final Stop
And still scraping
His Hard-Worn Scar
Thus the Ulila
Handsome to Beg
Despite his Birth-Marked Nose
Which was actually blood
From a flavourful fist-fight
And Soil,
Paints his Tender Body.
Thus the Ulila,
Swollen in his Eyes,
Suddenly remembered
He had nothing to Beg
For since his Time,
Was centred on Smiles
Greeting people,
Wishing them the
Best of Cheers and Holidays
And his Reward,
Sheltered and Soft,
Reaching the end of his Bay,
Cried, "PARA!"
An Endearment for Stop
And disembarked
Full of Flavours and Joy,
Wondering,
If he could Share such with his Family.
Then the Ulila,
Felt a Weight,
And Jingles in his Body.
Thinking of his Thursday's Stones,
He took some out
And all he found,
Were just some Worthless Pesos,
Given secretly,
By the Passengers he Entertained
In the busy Jeepney.
Thus Smiled the Ulila - The Selfless Urchin-Boy.
Mar 16, 2013
Mar 16, 2013 at 9:11 AM UTC
Cascades were dripping outside of this moving vehicle
White noise, patternless and arrhythmic
like magnified sounds of nails on a concrete wall,
made by souls desperate to cleave their way to dryness
This public utility vehicle holds spirits successful in finding this temporary heaven
Weathered, soaked and almost drowned
like panting dogs that managed to swim ashore from a shipwreck
caused by the iceberg that is the eye of the storm
This safe haven holds champions in a world of misshapen men
A woman clutches tightly on a bag of lime and her ever waning youth
Tired, but not eager to face Death
still closing her windows to his cat burglars
that come faster than the downpour of Typhon's tears
A homeless child comfortably sleeps on the far end of this ride
His innocence tested by fate
Too experienced for someone his age
instead of just playing in the streets he calls home
The jeepney driver has eyes on the road painted by Van Gogh
Unabashed, industrious and assiduous
determined to serve,
provide for a family whose stomachs hunger not but they hunger for his return
This other dimension nurtures alien thoughts and parallel thinking among beat down men
I do not know them but I can hear the cries of their emotions,
their longing to be felt and empathized with
Their voiceless cries are guns with a silenced nozzle
shooting at anyone ignorant who curiously stare at this minefield of a passenger jeep
Dec 19, 2015
Dec 19, 2015 at 12:19 PM UTC
Should I stop writing?
Should I start living?
Would this pain past?
or for eternity it will last?
Should I wait till dusk?
or should I go now?
Will I ever see the dawn?
Will I ever feel light's caress again?
Am I struggling with the inevitable?
Should I let go and lose hope?
Yet here I sit,
in the passenger's seat.
Waiting patiently,
hoping she still will love me;
till the day after forever.
The shattered pieces I amass,
to patch myself up.
Give the world a grin,
amidst the pain within.
LIFE GOES ON .
Jul 3, 2014
Jul 3, 2014 at 12:17 PM UTC
Dalhin mo ako sa lugar na alam natin
Alam ko naman na ikaw ay tapat at totoo
Magkano ba ang pagsang-ayon mo sa akin?
Kahit kulang ang sukli, babayaran ng buo
Hindi pansin ang pag-andar at oras sa biyahe
Sanay naman ako na sumakay at umabante
Ang balat ay basa sa pawis at masarap na init
Sa ingay galing sa iyo, katahimikan ay napunit
Tulad ng mabagal na pagpunit sa daanang masikip
Makakaraos rin sa huli, walang lugar ang inip
At sa sukdulan, parehos na pagod, hinga ng malalim
Sabay tayo nakarating, sa liwanag at dilim
Oct 7, 2020
Oct 7, 2020 at 2:21 PM UTC
the grating voices of neighbors unsuccessfully singing Celine Dion ballads
the monotonous mechanical humming of the metal factory
the squealing of housewives watching an afternoon soap opera
the blaring siren of a firetruck racing with tragedy
the clunks and clangs of a nearby construction site
the roaring of the engine of an overloaded jeepney
the chiming of laughter from kids playing in the streets
the calls of the street vendor peddling sugary cotton candy
the whining of the dog begging to run around outside
this is the music of life in the outskirts of the city
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 3:45 AM UTC
She visits us every time
The building needs repainting
And every time she visits us
We ask her:
“When will you be back?”
You say you will only be
A jeepney ride away.
We sing; the choral chimes with the wind.
Dry leaves always settle down
Where the wind stops.
Only it does not. But, it settles, and always
Wherever the wind leads them to grow
Apart.
Maybe that’s the purpose of apartments.
Always seeming to leave, to stay only
For sleep, not rest.
We kept talking every time
How our phones ring each other.
You answer questions, always you do so
Not with a no, it was difficult for you;
Nor a yes; but always you say:
“I’m right here”
“5 minutes”
passing through regular public commute;
you are always nearby,
always stuck in heavy traffic.
I can even see you every time,
Always there,
And always smiling.
The last time we smiled together
You told us:
“I am always here – a whisper away”
Only you are there
Not here.
(Paolo Jerome D. Cristobal / July 25 2013 - Parañaque)
Jul 24, 2013
Jul 24, 2013 at 9:44 PM UTC
The road was wet with rain
And they were sharing the same umbrella.
They were just about to cross the street,
While inside a jeepney I sat in pain;
Staring at the loading area,
Thinking that what have followed him were supposed to be my feet.
At some restaurant in a mall,
They sat, talked, and ate dinner.
They were together from afternoon 'til evening,
While I just came home after a stroll,
Thinking how much she was a winner
For having what I have always been wanting.
He says he had so much fun,
Going from places to places with her.
They had karaoke and then some.
I guess I could start shooting myself with a gun,
Than to tell myself I'm fine, and be a liar.
What is to lose, anyway? I have none.
I guess my role isn't really that good.
I thought being his girl is one thing I wouldn't trade.
But it seems like their roles are better than mine.
They are the ones who can make his mood.
I guess I'd rather be his comrade,
Than to be his girl; for which he has no time.
If I were a greek goddess,
Then I must be Hera;
And he must be Zeus.
I'm jealous, I confess;
Of all the women he was with this era.
I'm the one he loves, but I wonder how long can I be his muse.
Jun 1, 2013
Jun 1, 2013 at 4:00 AM UTC
if i sit on the fourth step of our staircase, i can look through the window and watch the street outside. this waiting game has always frustrated me; my knees buckle underneath me every time someone walks past our rust-encrusted gate. i can feel the anticipation weighing heavy on my chest with every glimpse of a shoe or a shirt only to have my nerves unravel once i realize they look absolutely nothing like you;
every stranger that walks by is just another soul that wasn't yours.
i use numbers as my ultimatums. this is the third person who has walked by that isn't you; two more, and i swear, i'll go back to my room and write and chat with other people and watch youtube videos and try not to think of you even though my fingers are itching to pull at my door **** (just one more look). i count ten vehicles that pass before stalking back in to my room, only to peek out of my door to check the streets again minutes later;
every jeepney that doesn't stop is just another car that you weren't in.
i welcome distractions that send me moving around the house. to wash the dishes, get my dad snacks, fake going to the bathroom, check on my brother, nibble on some leftovers in the refrigerator. as long as i have my little disturbances i feel like time's moving faster, but then i find myself pausing by my front door and wondering when you might come knocking or if you'll even come knocking at all;
every minute that you're not here is just another sixty seconds to spend thinking of you.
May 18, 2016
May 18, 2016 at 2:08 AM UTC
(i see) two scions dance in traffic: sun and moon,
sky and stars; God’s two heirs
dancing in traffic as if they weren’t demigods but
small maya birds - transfixed
mortals, fighting to keep away from the blinding
might their status affords them.
as His children their world and its light is for their taking,
of which they can feed - or not:
they go on instead like hungry wolves, next to I, rising
(sidelined, falling) flagging down jeeps
in the thick of the Vinzons Hall jeepney stop. They bark loud
and cheerily to keep idle; from unravelling
their wax-worn strings. They are birds guided by concrete routes,
those yearning to feel its bleakness
in each syllable creeping up their gold-and-marble throats:
the soft choke of exhaust smoke
and the rosiness of their gaunt in the face of all-knowing fate:
that of snatching from death
a world not theirs. They declare: “Perseus we are not, and
Janus we choose.” They shuttlling
commuters obscure and without fuss and without end
to and fro, where they come
they spit on the universe in baggy basketball shorts
Dec 4, 2016
Dec 4, 2016 at 10:42 AM UTC
alas otso ng gabi.
nakatayo't naghihintay sa tabi.
mga letterang pilit inaaninag,
na ilaw ng poste ang tanging liwanag.
isa, dalawa, limang minuto,
hanggang umabot sa alas otso imedya
Nang sa wakas sa harap ko'y huminto.
nagmadaling sumakay kaya't ikay nabungo ng di sadya.
ako'y komportable sa pagkakaupo,
habang ika'y ngalay sa pagsabit.
nang ika'y nakaupo ako'y iyong kinalabit.
ngumiti ng kay tamis sabay sabing "bayad po".
natulala't nabighani sa iyong ngiti,
kaya't sinadyang madampian ang iyong palad.
puso'y di mapakali tila ba kinikiliti
napakasarap sa pakiramdam, walang katulad!
sa sumunod na araw, di nag atubiling magmadali,
pigil hininga sa pag aakalang ika'y makikita muli
pagdating ko'y hinanap ka ngunit wala ka na
tila ba sinasabing hindi tayo tinadhana.
Apr 30, 2019
Apr 30, 2019 at 3:32 AM UTC
The wall is a universe stuck in inertia waiting to explode and
no one minds.
My underwear is white and full of **** and
no one minds.
The lamp-posts lit a show of dancing dust, the ticket’s free and
no one minds.
A boy thought that the moon looks sad tonight but his mother
does not mind.
A jeepney driver drives so fast he
lost his mind.
This is the tenth line of the poem and
everyone forgot
that there is a wall and it just exploded.
The ruins of the wall stood like a poem.
Oh, never mind.
Jul 21, 2010
Jul 21, 2010 at 9:55 AM UTC
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.
Feb 9, 2024
Feb 9, 2024 at 12:31 PM UTC
All the roads are closed. Silence metastasizes through the stretch of EDSA. Cold seeps in bone. Sun still flagellates.
Oscillate through sound space and whitewashed walls. Seismic grunt of jeepney awakens the signs: no avatars, yet. The night was as deep as any lover, a fine blistering moon glares through lit rivers.
Nothing exists except heads of tacks and maimed populace ambulating across roads sequined with ermine light. The disquiet approximates the lightness of
buildings in repair. Scaffolds, ubiquitous lovers,
clouds explode into white, and everything else like pain, pales in comparison with the slow twitch of everything.
Today there will be no siren nor
simultaneous joust of cyclists in perpetual motion— just you contending
against hues of all graffiti:
Cataract of anguish. News of killing.
Incarnadine trees netted with aureoles burning bright in solstices. Penumbral undulation of
forethought and afterthought.
Dislimned – all; you, left
in polaroid taken in solitary shutter,
in pursuit of light.
Nov 17, 2015
Nov 17, 2015 at 1:59 PM UTC
out of a smoking jeepney,
walking through this street,
half of which was silence,
yet when nearing the light,
small clouds of darkness live,
from the hush-and-puff mouths
(like whispered howls of cold wolves)
of the dying disciples of light.
there,
among the littlest stars,
held by minute nebulae,
you i saw.
how do i love thee?
i can never count the ways.
passing this alley,
there,
you i saw,
yet not you i,
how will you love me?
there are ways, yet for i, thou have none.
Mar 17, 2011
Mar 17, 2011 at 6:31 AM UTC
. You do not know my name, or maybe you do. Either way, I do not know yours, too. I may have met you already. Maybe our shadows have already crossed. Maybe I know you so well, yet I have not a hint that it is you. You may be the person that sat beside me on the long, long 'couch' of a jeepney or that girl that dropped her hanky inside the bus on its aisle. You may be my classmate; my neighbor, perhaps. My friend. My friend's friend. Or the cousin of my friend's friend that once set my heart a galloping horse but I then realized - laughed at myself, even - that I was such a foolish dolt to feel that way and utterly air-headed to believe it, so I 'ended everything between us'.
I may have seen you already, taken a good look at your face - your eyes having no sparkles and the fireflies in my stomach asleep being the only difference. You may have liked me or even 'fell' for my stupid smile and I had no idea at all. So I apologize if my apathy made your heart numb or my blindness shattered you.
Away from these hundreds or maybe even thousands of possibilities and ineluctabilities; the chances of me already meeting you and not knowing that it was you; all I ask is your love abided by the love from the skies. Love, not affection nor attraction, nor any of the temporal abstracts. A four-letter piece-of-cake-to-spell word, yet too involuted to be brought to living definition. Love, my dear, and fidelity is what I ask.
I long to see you, know you. To be stifled by the fragrance of your hair, know the color of your eyes; to be deafened by your voice in its saccharinity, watch how those delicate eyelashes of yours lay gently on your cheeks as you close your eyes upon sleeping.
Life is a book wherein the plot depends on how the protagonist writes it. Tell me how many more pages would it take for me to get to our chapter 'cause darling, I swear I would skip even a hundred or two. If only I can, and if only you can. But apparently, I'm stuck in this chapter called 'present'.
**Sincerely,
Your present Future**
Jan 30, 2014
Jan 30, 2014 at 6:11 AM UTC
i witnessed a burglary today.
kids were seating at the back side of the jeepney
***** feet hanging,
snot running down their noses
the one beside me says,
“these kids will be thieves one day.”
and i look at these
little mud-eyed ones
filled with silent anger
and confusion.
if this is how we cast them
how could they change something
that was molded in stone for them?
we are responsible for the next generation
and yet we rob these children
a chance to create their own identity
and blame them for things
we should’ve
done
something
about.
Mar 31, 2018
Mar 31, 2018 at 6:53 AM UTC
I wash away words like dead flakes of skin up to night, from morning. I am made of them. Like a cup left under a tap, I have become full and started spilling over all the drops I wasn't built the capacity to hold. I pity these words for they have nowhere to go.
I spit them out like I've eaten something disgusting and they attach to my saliva like it was glue. The listerine washes them from my mouth every morning when I brush my teeth. The way they swirl down the drain when I shower mesmerizes me as I watch them go down one by one until I am clean. Even then, I have no idea how many more get blown away by the wind or get lost in the flurry of small movements.
I really should find a way to make them more permanent, but I don't. I write them down in the air above me head, the plastic jeepney seat, and on the skin of people I touch. Lucky are those words that are written for at least they have a home where they are recorded, remembered and immortalized. They're so unlike my words that die unheard and unsaid.
With all these words I've wasted, I could have written a masterpiece. Perhaps I have. I'll never know. I have never written them down.
Jan 15, 2014
Jan 15, 2014 at 8:56 AM UTC