"vinzons" poems
(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
Warm embraces come with every step.
The wind is an encouraging friend saying: “You got this!”
Towering buildings evoke hope and provoke smiles.
A music playing that only I can hear amidst the busy pathways.
Vehicles are obstacles to be conquered by careful looks of left and right.
Then I cross the street and walk more
and more and more.
Alas, I reached my destination—
an infrastructure where dreams are planted and watered.
Everyday is the same yet everyday is a little more different.
Jan 26, 2025
Jan 26, 2025 at 9:20 PM UTC