soft grumbles

I failed to see that fiery
vermilion glow at dusk
the last hurrah of radiance
cascaded by a setting sun
as it bids the day farewell.

Heaven is not what it is tonight.
The gods can be idle, too, sometimes.
No stars flash steady lights
like fireflies floating around a tree

or a moon to shine upon my bald head.
Neither can I smell the dama de noche
that only blooms at night
as the winds blow away its fragrance,

nor can I feel the warmth of a tight
embrace to shield me from the cold.
I shall sleep early for there is nothing to see,
hoping that I shall wake to kiss the morning dew

clinging on a bud of a morning glory.
I close my eyes and rest
knowing that the sky I missed
shall be there with the same fiery red
as the world welcomes back

the sun king at dawn.
And you shall be by my side
once again without a need to explain
why or who or how.

rolly

Labels: love

The halls are empty and quiet
punctuated only by the soft murmurs
of the nurses at their station
waiting for that beacon of light
summoning them to attend to their ward.

I hesitated to enter your rooom
and smell the antiseptic bed,
the thin white blanket and pillow cases
that unmasked putrid odor of death
lingering in the air.

I know

life is that tiny droplet of liquid
entering your numbed vein;
life is the steady whir of the machine
bubbling away with each strenuous breath;
life is that tube stuck in your nose
where they feed you liquid food
blended with morphine.

We are unmindful of the torrential rain
that pours outside, impatient with each drop
of sugar in your IV, urging the bubbles
to go faster and faster.

I know

you are safe within the confines
of this sterilized room. Pain
has wandered off for now
and you are breathing peacefully
maybe dreaming of another time.

the light flickers,

the steady whir of the machine falters

then they go out!

rolly

Labels: death

# posted by rolly @ 5:06 AM

What’s in a shoebox but a shoe.
Once black as a moonless night
shined wet that it sparkled in the light.
The other pair’s been gone for years
and all that’s left are memories
of a best forgotten past.

What’s in the ref but an egg
sitting there for ages.
It could have been a lovely fowl by now
tossed in the oven with thyme.
A delectable dinner it would have made
for a party of five or even eight.

It used to be full of fruits,
fresh vegetables, meat, dairy
and bottles of ice cold beer.
Unplugged, nothing remains
but the stench of rotten food
now gone.

What’s on the shelf but a shirt,
torn, dusty and made brittle by time.
And yes, a bonnet for his four year old
who will never get to grow old.

What’s in the cookie jar but salt.
Drenched with rain from a leaking roof,
it can be brine to wash the wounds
of this man’s heart and remind him
he has nothing else
for they are all gone.

What is left of this man
badly beaten and suffering the pangs
of hunger and want?
All that is left is a brain
to remember how it was
and what could have been.

A
STAR
WAS
SEEN IN
THE SKY THAT
NIGHT. IT
WAS AS BRIGHT IF NOT
BRIGHTER THAN
THE MOON. IN BED, A SIX YEAR
OLD BOY WAS FAST ASLEEP. HE
TRIED HARD TO BE GOOD ALL YEAR ROUND
FOR A PROMISE MADE TO HIM BY
HIS MOM AND DAD. THEN THERE WAS A FAINT SOUND
HEARD ON THE ROOF. IT COULD NOT BE A CAT, FOR
SURE. IT WAS HEADED TOWARDS THE CHIMNEY BUT THEN IT
STOPPED AND ALL WAS SILENT ONCE MORE. A FEW
SECONDS THEREAFTER, A LIGHT THUD WAS HEARD DOWNSTAIRS.
A MAN DRESSED IN FLAMING RED WITH LONG WHITE MOUSTACHE AND
BEARD APPEARED AS THE ASHES THAT FLEW IN THE AIR CLEARED.
HE TOTED A HUGE SACK ON HIS SHOULDERS AS HE HEADED TOWARDS THE TREE.
HE REACHED INTO HIS SACK AND TOOK OUT AN ELECTRIC TOY TRAIN, YOU SEE.
HE PLACED THIS UNDER THE TREE AND LET OUT A GIGGLE AS HE PLANTED IT
THERE. HE MANAGED A SMILE AS HE KNEW A PROMISE HAD BEEN FULFILLED AND
HE MURMURED TO HIMSELF
HO
HO
HO
MERRY CHRISTMAS
MERRY CHRISTMAS

Labels: Christmas

Sexy Sadie what have you done

You made a fool of everyone…

Sexy Sadie you broke the rules

You laid it down for all to see

The Beatles


Your sins continue to haunt you
as they always have.
Just as birds never come in winter
man's forgiveness eludes you forever.

You were young, weak and vulnerable
dancing in bars naked like a child,
fodder to lusty,sweaty men
until you met the devil named Charles.

Hypnotic eyes probed your altered brain
which killed your doubt and shame.
He gave you power you never had
but it was all a bad dream.

Stupid, careless youth
Horrible crimes of an unthinking mind
Arbitrary victims of helter skelter.
Rancid taste of blood
Oozing from pregnant body
Now a not so forgotten past.

Transgressions made not out of blind rage
A flippant’s folly of a racial war.
The bottomless pit was shallow
Ending a psychotic’s glory

Today her brain rots from a disease
and all she’s got is six months to live.
She asks if she can see the stars
before she closes her eyes.

Birds do not fly north in wintertime.
they go somewhere else to feed,
where the sun shines and give out warmth
unlike the cold, hard bars that trapped you
with your nightmare.
Man could not set you free
All that is left is die.

Rolly delos Santos
September 9, 2009

# posted by rolly @ 9:21 AM

This poem started out in tagalog in response to Jun Blas' (Filipino coordinator) request that I join a contest in poetry writing launched by his department in celebration of the Buwan ng Wika.

What Does It Mean to Live a Free Man?

Can you consider yourself free
because you do not live in a cage;
do not serve foreign masters
who look different than you?

Can you say you’re truly free
just because you can see the sun,
gaze at the moon and feel the gentle breeze
touch your face in the dead of night?

Maybe you are just like your ten fingers
that can move at will
but whose movements are dictated
by the confines of your hand.
Yes, you can go anywhere you please
but cannot do so with barely a dime.

Can one consider free a soul
born heir to debt amounting to trillions?
A debt ill-spent not by a foreign
conqueror but someone of the same race,
who with voracious greed ravaged your being.
He who almost puked the delicious delicacies
served on ornate platters with silver spoons
because he is fully satiated and cannot have more
while your empty stomach grinds
and growls from hunger.

How often have we set the sparrow free?
We have sung in the streets many times
“put a bird inside a cage and it will cry endlessly”
and so we let it go and set it to flight
but that was only in a song
and the poor bird still cries.

Can you claim freedom when all you feel
is the filth of moral degradation?
What is the beauty of a rose
if your sense of smell has been numbed
by the stench of trash all around?
What sweetness do you hear from the sound of a lyre
if you’ve gone deaf to the pleas of the orphaned child?
What will you do with the morning sun
if you’re blind to what has come to this land?

Are you truly free,
because you do not live in a cage?
The caged bird
is sure to eat for he’ll be fed morning till night
while you who have nothing
just like a fettered lapdog waits,
depending on what the day shall bring
if it will ever come.

Pano bang mamuhay ng malaya?

Tunay ka bang malaya
pagkat ika’y wala sa hawla?
Hindi naninilbihan sa hindi kadugong
iba ang kulay ng balat at anyo?
Malaya ka ba dahil nasisilayan mo ang araw,
napagmamasdan ang buwan
at nararamdaman ang init ng haplos
ng hanging amihan sa gitna ng kadiliman?

Baka naman ika’y parang sampung daliri
na oo nga’t malayang kumilos nang walang paglilimi
pagmasdan mo’t ang kilos naman nito’y
kumporme pa rin sa natural na daloy
pagkat ito’y nakadikit sa iyong palad
kahit gaano pa man ito kalapad.
Oo nga’t maaari kang pumunta kahit saan
ngunit paano itong gagawin kung bulsa mo’y
butas hanggang sa kailailaliman?

Maituturing bang malaya ang isang kaluluwang
ipinapanganak pa lamang ay baon na sa utang?
Utang na ginastos ng walang kapararakan
ng hindi naman dayuhan bagkus ay isang kalahi
na buong hayok na niyurakan yaring kalooban.
Siya na halos isuka ang pagkasarap-sarap na pagkaing
nakahain sa mamahaling pinggan
sapagkat siya’y bundat na sa kabusugan
habang ikaw nama’y kumukulo
ang maasim na sikmurang
parating walang laman.

Ilang beses na bang pinakawalan
itong ibong pipit mula sa kanyang piitan?
Di ba nga’t tuwing may pagtitipong ganyak
Itong mga tibak na hamak
mikoropono’t gitara ‘y pihadong tangan
paliliparin ito at pagbuka ng pakpak ay hahayaan
Subalit , kaibigan, ito’y sa awit lamang
kaya’t kawawang ibo’y umiiyak pa rin sa parang.

Ano ang ganda ng bulaklak na busilak
kung ang pang-amoy mo nama’y manhid
pagkat binara ang ilong mong makitid
ng sangsang ng amoy na basurang hatid?
Aanhin mo ang ganda ng sikat ng umaga
kung bulag ka naman sa sinapit ng inang bayan?
Ano ang silbi ng tamis ng tunog na dulot ng lira
kung bingi ka naman sa panaghoy ng batang ulila?

Malaya ka nga ba kaibigan
pagkat sa hawla ika’y hindi naninirahan?
Pakaisipin mong mabuti
ang ibong pipit na nakapiit ay pihadong kakain
anumang sandali, minsan nga’y pinipilit
samantalang ika’y wala man lang kahit ano
umaasa lamang kung anong sasapit
na tila baga isang aso
nakatali at nag aalumpihit.

I can imagine how your morning went.
You calculated how much toothpaste
to put on your toothbrush.
You parted your straight hair with your favorite comb,
favored your black shirt over the red one
and checked if your white pants
were ironed well before putting it on.

I bet you never knew
you were not going home tonight.

You sat down quietly at the table,
said grace before your meal. You spread butter
over your toast, gave out reminders
to your kids like not to stay
late

you never knew
you were not going home tonight.

You shined your shoes and put them on.
You kissed your wife goodbye
and headed for the door.
With your hand holding on to your youngest,
laptop clutched on your left shoulder,
you stepped out of the gate, walked a few steps
and turned around to look back at your house.
You missed your wife’s wave of goodbye
for she was engaged with household chores.

If she only knew
you were not going home tonight.

I noticed the slur on your speech
how your tongue rolled out the syllables.
Maybe it was just an accent you had
you slumped like a candle.

A leaf does not cling to its twig forever.
And the bird perched on a tree has flown.
You may be an unnamed stranger,
but to me you shall forever be

someone who did not go home
tonight.

rolly