My Country, My Home

The furniture was re-arranged in the same space. Don’t expect any kaleidoscope likeness. But what does the pattern disclose to the viewer who just wants a seat in the sofa chairs and gets lost in their pillows? Pillory is not a play in words. It is war in peace time. Vocabulary furnishes the ammo. Cold metal, dead metal like the...
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Let them run, for Pete’s sake. Stop the finger-pointing. Stop the whining. It is they, after all, who really live on the margins. In a land where more and more are making their homes in pushcarts or under the bridges, or on the sidewalks or overpasses, or in makeshift tents in the playgrounds of public schools, it is those who have mansions in...
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Many races in this world _Divide men from where they’re in Some are fighting caused by oil _Or, extend the place they live in Installed their ideology _But could not find contentment Still many do not agree _On how to run the government To settle a certain issue _Debate is taken into note And in the end it’s up to you _Truth and good are...
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To get a message across a screen using bullets, follow the rule of three. The rule of thirds keeps subjects in focus too. But, there are supposed to be exceptions. A riddle may not subscribe to rules. A bullet-riddled body violates this rule. To count is a basic skill. Can you reach beyond 56? What is the sound of 100 guns...
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This is a perilous season. Some content may not be suitable- In color or black-and-white, they are still dead. Why count bodies in peace time? Something about parts and whole. I agree. This is more than just an inconvenient fact: keeping your feet wet in disease-infested waters. I asked, as I watched early morning TV- Have you found a newspaper to cover them?
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You flood our streets some years ago An emblem of the masses Resisting stained forces And the shadow of unrelenting selfishnes!   You invoke our spirits Rising from our sleep Like a phoenix from the ashes Reclaiming his life to fly again.   Many voices have been silent But they never dwell in grave. They hush the cradle for tomorrow To raise the strength of our aspiration!   We’re...
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With quivering lips we muttered “there goes our hero”. Her harp made silent by destined mortal passage But her song reverberates over the mangrove trees And on white sandy stretches of countless strands. The regal crests of this country’s mountain heights Intones in the breeze a requiem of a million bird-songs. Yellow bells trumpet incessantly a heavy hearted eulogy For the...
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The land flows with the blood of the wicked, the damned and the innocents. The lights of the earth have been shut and the night is splayed with the sibylline stars. There is no hope in the land as the sounds of terror, madness and confusion echo across the world. The world has gone...
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Juan Makabayan, home from a rally Sat down and contemplated on the gash His forehead suffered, grazed by a shield’s edge The throbbing pain nagged on refusing rest to A tired body just gone through a day in the streets Can’t even recall what it was they were fighting for today Yesterday it was Gabriela’s cause for battered women The day...
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Look at those children as they play in the sand They are destined heirs of this motherland No matter how hard we strive to be We will retire because of antiquity Those children will reach maturity And shall replace us inevitably Reminds us of our responsibility To make them productive in our society Provide them all the necessary knowledge And be it secure...
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