The very first time i taught David and his sister Sharon, they were these cute 8 and 9-year-old siblings whose strikingly different personalities explained their mutual dislike for each other. That was almost nine years ago. Last year Sharon graduated from senior high school and went back to their homeland for college, whereas her poker-faced brother David was left behind, along with their little brother Samuel, to finish senior high school at an international school here. How these kids have grown right before my very eyes! It makes me feel proud to have taken a good part in molding them through our regular weekly writing and Literature classes. David, though still reticent and unimpressionable as always, is now several heads taller than me and has quite a head for numbers. Though i can already surmise how he would be like as a young man once he gets past the awkward teenage years, to this day, i am still amused at how David "squirms in his seat" whenever he is pressed to stay put for 3 long hours of writing classes with me LOL. It was during one of our agonizingly long lessons in poetry writing that i realized i did not really lose my natural penchant for poetry. This one, a sonnet with specified parameters indicated, served as the example i wrote for David on the spot to serve as his pattern. And as is my typical style, my sarcasm came to the fore. Thus, i came up with this amusing poem detailing my observation of David while he secretly squirms as he stares at his blank sheet of paper for hours on end. Shaking his head, until now it still puzzles him why i can manage to pen poems in half an hour or even less at times, when he could not even finish given the 2 1/2 or more hours he spends trying to write one.


Numbered Words


David, all baffled, wracks his sorry brain hard
To make grades worthy of his report card.
One word, then another to make a rhyme,
And write a fine poem done in perfect time
His mind built for numbers, how do words fit?
He thinks and thinks, oh, how long must he sit?
Till the right words come and enter his mind
Think, think harder of words of every kind.
Till then he struggles, squirming in his seat;
He thinks without halt not even to eat.
Night becomes day, he remains oblivious.
Is he done? Why ask? Is it not obvious?

Long distance love can be maddening at times. But with a little faith and a whole lot of sincerity, love would take over and cross oceans, bridging limitations and uniting hearts. (For you, St_____. I miss you so damn much.)



My Heart Speaks


Let my words bridge the distance between us
Every letter, every space, every nuance of expression
Conveys feelings, numbering a multitude
A hundred, a thousand, a million; too many to mention
Each one intense-pulsating with life, moving with passion
Let my words banish the times spent in isolation
Dry up our tears of loneliness, warm our freezing souls
Melt the icy coldness of our hearts; revive our spirits 

Free us, so we can embrace eternity, entwining our paths
Let my words calm your weary heart, assure you of tomorrow
Bring light to your days, and be the sunshine behind your smile
Words, though nothing more than a jumble of letters and spaces
Are all we have at this moment-whether spoken or written
Conveyed through the softness of this voice or the dexterity of my mind
For now, my words alone can open the doors for us
And set our minds, unite our lives en route to the path of understanding

An understanding that belies reason, transcending meaning
Making you see beyond your fears and apprehensions
Telling you how my heart stays true though I am not before you
Soothing your heart and mine, and banishing the loneliness of the years
Let my words take presence and paint the promise of love
Color our somber gray world a blazing red and orange
Let my words be the loving kiss to lull you to sleep
Every night that I am not there to be by your side

These words...these words...Are all that is given to us
These words...these words...They are my freedom
They set my feelings in stone, so waste them not
Take them, absorb them, let them pierce your heart and mind
As you are lead to understanding 
Understanding that true love is what I have for you
The kind of true love more than any word I can say,
That kind of love so true nowhere else you can find. 

I've had it with pain brought on by unrequited love. Though i rise up time and time again, the death i had to go thru every time my heart breaks anew cannot be denied. 





Ballad of the Broken Heart


Where once there was love
Only ashes remain
Carried by the wind
Transformed into dust
No trace of distinction
Or a hint of the beauty
That once existed 
In the image that is yours
An unforgettable face I engraved
So lovingly in my soul

Where once there was trust
Only uncertainty abides
A vast ocean of blackness
Littered with broken dreams
Moving with the current
A rhythm of deafening emptiness
Lamenting through pursed lips 
Shrieking loudly in silence 
A distinct sound heard from the depths
Of many a clamoring voices
A million and one questions
Raised high to the heavens
But not a single one answered

Where once there was you and I
Only the ghosts of our past linger
Traces of your smile hovering
Flitting in and out of consciousness
That yields helplessly to the call of lunacy
Adamantly refusing to be engulfed
In these memories that taunt my being
Though I clearly remember how the sun had looked
On those days I lovingly beheld its reflection
As it shone brightly through your soulful eyes
Never ever wanting to be buried 
Beneath what came before yesterday
Or what could possibly come tomorrow
As I listen to the crying, dying voice
Of this heart so profoundly shattered

Buna, my white cat, died mysteriously many years ago. Though some people can't understand why there are people like me who get too attached to pets, i only have  this to answer, "Love is love and does not change regardless of whom or what you give it to."


The lights have gone out for Buna.

Of this, I am particularly sure. Although I have no way of proving it, I remain steadfast. The overwhelming dread and melancholy that has been nagging me for days is enough to confirm my suspicion.

The last time I remember calling out to her was three days ago. She didn't come. That night, upon returning home from work, I searched for her again. I combed every lawn and bush in the entire street where I live, hoping to somehow catch a glimpse of her pristine white fur. But there were only the shadows cast by the trees and tall grass as they danced under the faint light of the crescent moon.

The next morning, I decided to stop hoping. It was then that an inexplicable fear swept over me again. The uncontrollable thumping of my heart overshadowed what little hope I had left. With deep sorrow, I resigned myself to the inevitable truth: Buna would never come home.

At that moment, I could feel her life slowly slipping away.

And that night, as though in lamentation, the heavens sympathized with me; it cried. While the rain was drenching the world outside, I envisioned Buna as she desperately clung to her last remaining breaths. 

Through my sadness, I managed to utter a brief prayer, asking that she yield without having to experience so much pain. Though it killed me, I had asked for her to give up her fight and embrace her fate. 

I knew my prayer was heard. "It would not be long now," I thought to myself. Buna's suffering was about to come to an end. Finally.

Weakly, I got out of bed and went to the window facing our lawn. As I looked out, the world was reduced to a hazy blur of images and colors moving rhythmically along with the beat of the raging wind. 

Somewhere through the din of the roaring downpour, while life continued to churn despite the uninterrupted wailing of the sky, Buna, at long last, gave up her battle and breathed her last. 

With unwavering grace, she closed her beautiful green eyes, never to open them again.

I wrote this poem more than five or six years ago. Inspired by Seong Yeon, my Korean student who was then only 9 or 10 years old, this embodies how i see my role as a teacher/tutor. 




The Candle


Look up my child and behold this visage before you.
My eyes unveil a threshold that only a few men knew.
Its twists and turns would lead to valleys inside my head,
Where wisdom flows, knowledge grows, and dreams rise from their beds.

My voice would then be your torch; my hands serve as thy steed.
From this acumen the words would spill to fill your need.
As you bask in wonder, your mind would move to greatness,
Shedding light to your strengths, defeating your weaknesses.

What you thought was not there, reveals itself to you.
Giving the force you need to do what you should do.
Immense courage lies at the back of trepidation.
When you say you "can't", that settles your limitation.

So little angel, have faith in my understanding.
Revel in the excellence my intellect can bring.
With my careful guidance as your friend, as your mentor;
Your triumph is my reward. My patience thy shelter.

Riding the trains here during rush hours, especially in the morning, is a comedic hell of sorts. Written four or five years back, this poem reflected my daily struggle and musings during those days when i jostled my way to work almost every single work day.


On the Train


The minute I got on the train,
No one was there who was not sane.
Of men and women, strangers all,
Whose faces bore no trace of pain.

Not a hint of joy or sadness.
A glint of fear or loneliness.
Yet underneath their worries hide.
Each one on the brink of madness.

Life has its ways for every man,
And we strive as best as we can
To get a glimpse of the sunrise,
While some waited, the others ran.

And there we were headed somewhere.
As to where not one seemed to care.
Of one thing we were all aware,
Hope awaits us when we get there.

Obviously, our planet is on the verge of a major decline in terms of the current state of our natural resources.  Sadly, most of us still turn a blind eye at the destructive ways we deal upon nature and continue to live like we own the world. Things may have made a turn from bad to worse, but it's not yet too late...


The Last Raindrop


The last drop of rain has finally fallen.
A faint whisper so clear amidst polluted skies.
Floating to a tune, bittersweet yet solemn.
Man closed his eyes and witnessed not her demise.

Softly, she lay in the arms of the noon breeze.
Cradled like a baby, sweet and innocent.
Her mother wailed along with the burning trees;
Cries were made to the heavens, strong and fervent.

Although they were heard by creatures great and small,
Man was deaf and continued his ways supine.
He mused at his brilliance, a god above all.
Faultless in his ways too perfect and sublime.

The day comes when he is thrown from his pedestal.
Along with this world he had claimed to be his.
The last drop of rain purer than a crystal
Is the mountains' farewell, nature's final kiss.

In silence, I waved goodbye and watch her fall.
The river bared her bosom and received her.
Engulfed in black filth--her innocence and all.
Gone to this world; gone with man. Together.

Written during another stressful day at work many years back, another poem of mine depicting my longing for some reprieve from life's usual challenges.


Whatever I Fancy

The hands of time are racing for midnight;
By now the sun has made its way back home.
The darkness has spread its wings and took flight.
Swiftly, it swept across the sky alone.

As I trudge through the woods cloaked in stillness,
The fireflies flitted along with each stride.
I moved on unawares, my eyes listless,
Without a hint of the secrets I hide.

This world knows not whatever I fancy.
In the light of day, I showed not my face.
Nothing more I want than tranquility.
Hence, to be free from winter's embrace.
So there I will go where many stars dwell,
And tears are made into pearls as they fell.

Anger was rising and i was left with no choice but to hold it in...I penned this several years ago at the office, as i tried to refocus my mind on my work and away from the hassles of that day.



The Cliff


The heat is definite
Rising from within.

Seething with rage; cloaked in sin.
Murderous thoughts swirling
Through a confusing haze.

Slowly gravitating 
To this soul's rotten maze

A clandestine whisper
Passing gently in silence.

As the fire burns higher,
The more I deny its presence.

Once patience is consumed
And reason stands doomed,
The cliff poses a threat;
I tether at is edge.

With the darkness all set
And thinking no further...

I plunge forth.