Broken China

Sitting alone under the century-old Tamarind tree,
 meditating about anything
 that can 

ease the loneliness felt
inside of me. 

Like a sordid drought
of intellectual exercise
capable 

of harming the mind, 

thoughts run
like mad
and strike
a fire
engulfing everything in its
path. 

The shockwaves
rattled
the nerves 

of everyone that happened to be around
and brought 

shivers to the weak
spines inhabiting the land. 

I became the sole
witness when the precious
china came crashing
 into the ground. 

Broken into a hundred slivers, 

I weep for the loss of my only link to the golden past.

photo credit: Melody's Portrait

Aviva

She sat there in the cubicle, 

with eyes closed 

trying to 

drown out the cries 

of tortured souls that still rang in her ears 

and 

the pungent odor of billows of smoke 

that screened the crimson haze of gray vision that 

numbed her senses as she tried to forget the painful reminder 

of Dachau, 

now reduced to a neurotic museum of tears. 

In her mind, where footsteps are stationary 

and the labored sound of hoarse breathing echoed 

in the silent passageways, 

the faded pictures 

breezed through her memory. 

Their voices were now

 silent and the curtains drawn to hide 

the reflections 

in the mirror 

of her eyes that belied 

the mourning of her heart.

 #

photo credit: dachauscrapbook

CocoNuts

The charbroiled
kamote is
picked up from
the glowing embers
by dirty
trembling hands
Its charred
skin akin
to the one
now holding it --
dark,
baked
by the intense heat
Blowing
cool air
into the hot
smoking fruit
of the fertile
loam soil
of Bicolandia
Making
beautiful thoughts
of the fare that
would relieve the
gnawing pangs
of an empty stomach.
Justiniano,
a diminutive
worker
harvesting Copra
in the middle
of the vast
Coconut plantation
in Albay
owned by the swaggering
descendants of the
Colonizers
of yore
His face dripping
with sweat
while his hands
continue to work with
machine-like precision,
unmindful of the singing of the
Balinsayaws
that dance from tree to tree
His thoughts
wondering why
he has to toil
under the hot sun
while his supposed
Masters
had their ice-cold
lemonades and biscuits
in the shade.
A sad reality
that more than
a hundred years after
our so-called independence
We are still
nothing
but slaves
in our own
country.

the paradox of love

Two people
met
and they
held each other's gaze
kissed sensuously
locked in warm embrace
moved in unison
burnt with passion.

Perfect,
it seemed to be.

Two hearts
will never meet-
a heart that loves
and
a heart that refuses to love...

Be a Man, my son!

Here's actor Harvey Keitel reciting an excerpt of Rudyard Kipling's famous --

If....


Harvey Keitel: If by Rudyard Kipling by leafantine



*UBS TV Commercial series 'Poems 1997'

Goodnight Girl

soft music, slow dancing,

sweet wine, mind games
brown eyes, blue eyes
masked emotions, repressed passion.

a night

of quiet

solitude

spent alone

lying

half- naked

on a beach

in Cozumel

feeling the sand

against my skin

- cold, sharp but soothing.

my gaze

drifted

into the night sky

as my mind

wandered

into the cool

night air…

somewhere

along

the coast

off

Playa del Carmen

in a cottage

by the sea

a lovely

señorita

with stars

in her eyes

is playing

her old guitar.

the sad

strains

pricking

my weary

heart

stirring

old feelings

to crawl

deep

into my

being

making my

spirit

weak

lulling

my tired

eyes

to sleep

from

the unexplained

power of the

sweet

haunting

lullaby.

the deceptive

peace

was broken

by the shrieks of

the night birds

flying

over

from their

lofty

sanctuary

nearby

as if

reminding me

not to

fall

under

her spell

again.

her music

is drowned

by the howling

of the wind,

her face

slowly fading

into the darkness

my illusions

trampled

by the waves

crashing

into the

battered shore.

a night of quiet solitude…