Every day, morning and night miss each other


 

Before the night, there was panic and motion

and collision of bodies that want to go home,

choral protests of stomachs that want to be fed.

A sun sets and a candle is used to replace

the littlest consolation for all wretchedness.

Probably, one dying candle would fall

and find tattered clothes to burn.

Probably, fire trucks would find it hard

to get through a puzzle of houses.

Probably, death is all but unanticipated

for those who have been missing a life

ever since.

 

During the night, someone waits a stranger

Hopefulness and hopelessness in a mire

The only certainty is the act of waiting,

And how one can know a stranger?

When does estrangement begins and when does

recognition begins?

What is the point of paradoxes

and logical dirts?

During the night, women write poems,

some boys write their philosophies,

and let sunrises consummate a need for redemption.

 

After the night, there could be strength.

For what one muses, she has to act upon soon.

Lilies and daisies grow because

of ecological flows.

But we are all ever-digressing and arguing

After the night, the sun cries

As it watches over the inhibited

pains of little peddlers on

a pointless journey of strife.

 

August 08, 2012 Philam Baguio City

Advertisements

Prick my mind:

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s