PROSE AND POETRY

Wallflower

All eyes on her

and they started to stare

that deafening silence

are   loud voices glaring 

those asking gazes and rhythmic sighs

those  crazy facade of the norm

caught her captive once in awhile

for  without the crowd, she’s sure about

she could put up her best smile

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PROSE AND POETRY

Head Over Heart

it took her sometime
to think through this sublime
when the choice didn’t rhyme
between what’s in the heart and in the mind

the one cried for the truth
while the other craved and sought
the happiness that it brought
to search what was lost in thought

when the no was half a yes
and the stop was a go unless
the verdict was frantically raised
by the heart that played a mess

when the high descended to low
taming the kindled fire below
to cringe away, put out and blow
by the mind that warned to take it slow

it stayed to be unsaid
but the musing turned into a creed
“when the mind disagreed;
the heart is hard to be freed”

Image From: Pinterest

 

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PROSE AND POETRY

Let Her

She will once again tread
into a far-flung land
in which she alone will escape
from the vulnerability of her labyrinth.

No bags to be packed.
No luggage to mind about.
Neither travel pillows nor comfy scarves will count.

She will once again take a trip with nothing
and no one to load on her back.
She will take it light and slow.

If and only if you will let her to.
If and only if you will let her go.

Entry: Passport

Image from Google images

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PROSE AND POETRY

Unoccuppied

Like an uninvited visitor, something’s trying to knock and to be opened. It was years ago that this house as her heart welcomed a stranger who needed a space to sleep upon, sheets to cover from the cold, couches to cradle a weary and a broken soul. It was years ago when someone  fill in the house with a smell of a black coffee, of fragrance from daffodils and roses standing at the living room’s table every morning, of an incense so strong yet comforting. It was years ago that the books and magazines occupied every empty chair that held ideas of fictional characters. It was years ago that the windows were unlocked for believing that a tiny light from the outside would cast off the darkness of memories inside that dwelling. The house was then a safekeeping of untold stories, hidden scars, meaningless regrets that he read and heard through and through that the guest turned into a home by himself.

Yet, on one solemn night, the door shut closed, just when the stranger needed to travel another path ahead.  Yes, the doorknob, the pavement and the gate that once greeted a joyful hello seems like bare, void and untouched by now.

And here it comes another one.

Photo: GoogleImages

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PROSE AND POETRY

It Was

It was

simple

back then

Pokes are taps on shoulders
Follows are long leisure walks
Likes are smiles that are brighter
Shares are midnight talks

It was
simple

Back then,
Pictures are on photo albums
Under the table
in your living room

Back then,
walls are bricks
with decors of medals
earned from school

Simple as the
“Hi and Hellos”
from neighbors
passing by your home

Simple as the
stories written
on diaries at the
bedside under the moon

Back then

How simple

It was …

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PROSE AND POETRY

Just a Minute

Just a minute
You uttered it on the phone
I was on the other line
And I used to hang on

Just a minute
And you talked to me again
Telling me soothing words
Like ” You’ll never wait in vain”

Just a minute
It took you for a while
I patiently held on
Just to make you smile

But hours and days passed
And you never again called
Missing your favorite line
Just a minute

Entry for the DailyPrompt: Waiting

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PROSE AND POETRY

Promises or Premises?

It was Saturday, 7:15 in the evening here  at the West Hartford, a suburb in Connecticut where I  pursue my  Degree in Fine Arts. It’s a usual thing that I ought to imagine the customary happenings in the Philippines when I know that it’s Sunday in the  morning there. The busy markets, stereos in loud mode, where everyone in the household prepares foodies to accompany an indoor or outdoor activity– strong family ties that goes on from the grandparents to their grandchildren.

Nostalgia strikes at me at this typical Saturday night. It was two long years and I’ll never unlearn to miss  the  bonding at  home.    I tucked into bed early without minding  taking off my shoes. I was an hour ago facing teenage aspirants and giving them workshops about art– a leisure pursuit that I sincerely enjoy and a source of income too. Unlike my colleagues that are used to live a life in the lap of luxury, I am here risking my own world to offer a good life for my family. As a scholarship grantee, I took it as my best shot to succeed in my chosen course.

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