maybe saying
too much
was the mistake
on my part;
explanation
ruined me
and explanation
ruins art.

Darkness rises.
Toxic level emerge.
Enough disguises.
I'm at te verge.

At the end of me.
At the start of fall.
What became of me.
Look at me crawl.

Black eyes.
Red whites.
All the lies.
All the fights.

It didn't end well.
It never got good.
Ring the alarm bell.
No one stands were I stood.

It's over, it's gone.
My head got insane.
I should've known so long.
Never enter memory lane.

It's over, it's gone.
I've finally lost it.
The will to fight was wrong.
And I will never fit.

I made you into something you were never worthy of being
I built a castle out of ruins and laughed along while you burnt it down
someday, you'll return to those ashes and realize what you walked away from
I brush off the last memories of you and go on my way
there's no room in my future for you to seep into

(of Angkor Wat)



Two years after, i still think of that
forest, where an old temple stands...
most structures are carved with intricate
designs and images...architecture was
influenced by their Khmer culture...

posts, frames and doors are stilled,
statues are tight-lipped, like frozen
witnesses...drowning in the voices
and noises of flocks of tourists,
reminding me of the noise and confusion
of my daily existence....in my own world..

i went up and down many stairs, went through
doors within doors, i lost count, while catching  
my breath, wondered why there were just door
frames............silent walls, old posts, and old
trees gave a cold feel of a distant past......yet,
in my mind, an aura of magic and mystery
hovered upon the entire temple...as if ghosts
of wisdom, and lots of stories lay dormant,
imprisoned......within the structures...

two summers and monsoon seasons passed,
my thoughts on Angkor Wat, haunt me still,
and bring back my thoughts on those doors;

some doors on our paths are closed shut,
some are ajar...some open easily, but are
ignored, or feared...some, close too soon,
before we make our first step to enter...
some stay open, yet, we become complacent,
some, have no closures or finality...leaves
one in limbo....
how will we know if it's the last one for us?
how many doors more...for you? for me?
does death give an end to life's entrances?
........or, is it just a beginning?


Sally
© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
January 2017

Well traveled leather binding a vault of lost ideas.
Haphazard graffiti
dripping ink down the page.
Crumbled sentences and half-finished
thoughts
backdrop the soft scratch of the pen
trying to outrace time

Years, composed as fragments,
have no place
outside the white walls where they were born
Only the architect remembers

and still he is mortal

Nature with its numberless powers
Can twist or turn, bend or devour.
And those who won't resist the wind,
Will grow the bearing trees within.

"Dripping water hollows out the stone" -
Ovid says with his baritone, -
"Not through force, but through persistence"
Know nothing we about existence.

So small in wast titanic world,
Great powers, people think behold.
Imprudent brains, stop tossing into nature
Your greedy power's ruinations.

For Nature won't be still and silent,
Will sweep your nation's floor with violence.
Just stop pretending you live here alone
And Nature might just leave us on our own.