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"yenyen" poems
"Wala pay sulod atong sako Nay.” Sack of rice is empty Stomach rumbling mercilessly Mind is hazy, breathing sporadically Cold porridge is a feast. “Go home!” says Mama sternly Frantic, frightened, panicky Rocks hurled, bullets fly Blood splatters; running aimlessly We dodge our way to safety Cold porridge is a feast. “I will not,” I say adamantly She looks at the sack mournfully Empty. Devoid of sanity. Cold porridge is a feast. “We’ll get some soon. Don’t worry.” “I don’t believe you.” I feel weak, I am crabby I’m staying despite this misery Cold porridge is a feast. Childlike will, piety of soul Purity of intention, pursuit of living whole Cold porridge is a feast.
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Nov 1, 2016
Nov 1, 2016 at 6:56 AM UTC
kamila-more-cabisada
Cold Porridge is a Feast (for Yenyen)
"Wala pay sulod atong sako Nay.” Sack of rice is empty Stomach rumbling mercilessly Mind is hazy, breathing sporadically Cold porridge is a feast. “Go home!” says Mama sternly Frantic, frightened, panicky Rocks hurled, bullets fly Blood splatters; running aimlessly We dodge our way to safety Cold porridge is a feast. “I will not,” I say adamantly She looks at the sack mournfully Empty. Devoid of sanity. Cold porridge is a feast. “We’ll get some soon. Don’t worry.” “I don’t believe you.” I feel weak, I am crabby I’m staying despite this misery Cold porridge is a feast. Childlike will, piety of soul Purity of intention, pursuit of living whole Cold porridge is a feast.
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