patawad, Pilipinas (forgive me, Philippines)

Patawad, Pilipinas
Hindi ako makakaboto bukas.
Ang mga paa ko’y nakaapak
sa isang malayong landas.
Kumakayod para sa pamilyang
hugutan ng lakas.

Subalit, Pilipinas,
dinig ko ang iyong hikbi.
Umiiyak din ang aking puso,
na para bang ako’y sawi
sa nakikitang mga pangalang
sa malamang ay magwawagi.

Oo, Pilipinas,
mahina ako sa Filipino.
Sa simpleng ng at nang
ako nga ay litong-lito,
subalit hinding hindi
sa mga taong dapat iboto.

Oo, Pilipinas,
nagtatanong din ako
kung bakit nga ba mas marami
ang boboto sa mga manloloko.
Marahil mas mainam ang kilala
kesa sa mga bago.

Oo, Pilipinas,
nakakatakot nga ang bukas.
Marahil may himala,
baka matalo ang likong pantas.
Baka ang nag-iisip,
sa wakas ay magsilabas.

Patawad pa rin, Pilipinas
hindi ako makakaboto bukas.
Baunin mo ang aking dasal
mula sa malayong landas.
Kainin ka man ng dilim bukas,
Pilipinas, hindi ito ang wakas.


Translation:

Forgive me, Philippines,
I cannot vote tomorrow.
My feet are stepped on
a far land where calm winds blow,
working for my family
the home where my strength grow.

But, Philippines,
I can hear you wimping.
My heart cries with you
like I am also breaking
to see those names
whom most may be voting.

Yes, Philippines,
my Filipino skills isn’t good.
In simple use of “ng” and “nang”,
I’m like lost in the woods,
but not on who to vote
for your greater good.

Yes, Philippines,
I am also wondering
why a lot will vote
for experts in plundering.
Perhaps old names are better
than a new beginning.

Yes, Philippines,
tomorrow is quite scary.
Perhaps, there’s miracle,
the fools will lose, maybe.
Perhaps those who think
will be heard finally.

Still, I am sorry, Philippines
I cannot vote tomorrow.
Please bring with you my prayers
from a far land where calm winds blow.
Even if the darkness wins tomorrow,
Philippines, this isn’t your end, no.

05.12.2019
©2019 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo by Jeremy Perret on Unsplash

Please help me pray for my country.

f l u i d f a i t h

Feeble waves made
of infant dusk’s soft wind,

liquid mirror glows
with sunset’s pastel rind.

Fallen plumeria floats,
decaying but still blooming,

faith, be fluid like water —
rippling, shape-shifting, unending.

04.10.2019
©2019 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo by Chelsea Audibert on Unsplash

Inspired by dVerse Poetics: Water, Water Everywhere . 

A Look Back to Move Forward

blue wooden door

It’s almost two in the morning, I am supposed to be sleeping, probably paddling through the river of dreams this night has to offer. My eyes are sleepy, my body at less than 5% of mortal battery, still I get up, still I write.

The soul would never let this wee hours — when the road outside closed itself to the roars of the rubber tires; when even the nocturnal insects have stopped their midnight jam; when good nights were said, when the world is quiet — be wasted without spilling what’s inside it. Why?

Because today is my birthday.

The nanosecond gap in between two different years has never made me pause, reflect, and think. But my birthdays, oh they never fail.

So tonight, if you have reached this part, forgive my grammar and spelling mistakes, please bear with me as this soul speak out through the method it has always loved — writing.

Perhaps the restlessness roots from the milestones this new year has to offer for me. I am turning 27, and perhaps 2019 is my year of bravery.

This year I will move out not just from my the comfort of my house, but from the land and water territories of my motherland, The Philippines. This year, I will be doing a milestone which for others might be too soon, but for me, is it His time.

This year is the year of changes. Major ones. To say they are not scary is hypocrisy. When I have sometime to think and pause (which rarely happens nowadays), doubts creep in. Did I decide right? Can I really do it? Am I worth their trust? Did I dive too early?

Deep inside I still feel that what I am trying to do is bigger than who I am, greater than what I can, beyond what I used to do.

But that itself is the miracle of it all.

This year is the year of bravery where the old rooms of fears must be locked, securely and tightly, and the keys of them buried six feet deep.

There is no space for fear. There are a lot for faith.

And I write this to remember that yes, my old-self you were afraid. Yes, you probably will fail (both big time and small time). Yes, you probably might cry, get frustrated, reach that brink of giving up.

But you, you must remember that when you heard the first gong of this war, you already  declared bravery, you claimed declared faith.

This ocean might be too deep for someone who cannot even swim in a lake. But you are in a ship where the captain is He who made you.

“Fear not, for I am with you. Do not be dismayed. I am your God.”

Look back. But don’t forget to move forward.

barefoot (a wayra)

Wayward, barefoot steps
search the path untamed, cluttered
with rocks of doubts, holes of flaws
ready for blisters, scars,
knowing to rise means to fall first.

03.26.2018
©2018 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Unsplash

In response to Blogging from A to Z Challenge and NaPoWriMo 2018.
W is for Wayra.
The Wayra (Quechua – wind ) is a popular verse form of Peru and Bolivia. It appears it originated in an indigenous Quechua language but has found its way into Spanish literature. It is a short syllabic verse form found at Vole Central and some other sites around the internet.
The elements of the Wayra are:
  1. a pentastich, a poem in 5 lines.
  2. syllabic, 5-7-7-6-8
  3. unrhymed.

images.jpeg

winged dreams (a lanterne)

Let
hope be
the wings of
your uncharted
dreams.

03.23.2018
©2018 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Unsplash

In response to Blogging from A to Z Challenge and NaPoWriMo 2018.
L is for Lanterne.
Lanterne are:
  1. a pentastich, a poem in 5 lines.
  2. syllabic, 1-2-3-4-1 syllables per line.
  3. is composed with no punctuation and no rhyme, each end-word should be strong.
  4. centered on the page. Since this is a concrete or shape poem, the length of the word on the page factors into the equation, syllable count is not enough to determine the selection.
  5. title optional.

images.jpeg

kiss of faith (a fib)

Come
out
of your
self-made cave,
new morn’s warm kiss waits
to end your night sky’s loss of faith.

03.23.2018
©2018 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Unsplash

In response to Blogging from A to Z Challenge and NaPoWriMo 2018.
F is for Fib.
The Fib is the brain child of American screenwriter, Gregory Pincus found in his blog at GottaBook in 2006 . The Fib is his solution for the need to write Haiku with a few more syllables. Based on the Fibonacci concept of the sequential numbers 0-1-1-2-3-5-8, It is a hexastich with progressive syllable count and has become very popular on the internet. The elements of the Fib are:
  1. a hexastich, a poem in 6 lines
  2. syllabic, syllables 1-1-2-3-5-8

images.jpeg

tick tock (a butterfly cinquain)

It takes
many tick tocks
before your wings open,
to taste its first lick of earth’s wind
before
your lightweight feathers kiss earth’s breeze
While the clock is singing
learn patience in
waiting.

03.23.2018
©2018 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Unsplash

In response to Blogging from A to Z Challenge and NaPoWriMo 2018.
B is for Butterfly Cinquain.
Butterfly Cinquain isn’t a cinquain at all:it is a nonostich (9 lines)and uses the syllable count of the Crapsey Cinquain and then reverses it, therefore the misnomer.  The elements of the Butterfly Cinquain are:
  1. 9 line poem.
  2. syllabic, 2-4-6-8-2-8-6-4-2 syllables per line.
  3. unrhymed.

images.jpeg

T o M y D e m o n s

As I grew older I learned
to stop hating you,
and start loving you.

For your ruthlessness
is the lamp showing me
to keep my heart kind.

For your darkness
is the night teaching me to find
my own light,

no matter how hard.

02.28.2018
©2018 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Unsplash

O v e r f l o w

In Psychology they say,
the glass will be half empty
or half full based on
how you see it,

on my way home
late last night,
I paused a minute
to look up
to the hundreds
of the stars I can see,
and the thousands more
I cannot see.

For some reasons
they reminded me
of the many things that stains
my heart with melancholy,
and the much more things
unknown to me
that should paint me happy.

So I choose
to start my journey
to discovering
each unchartered joys
life has hidden for me.

I’m sure the glass
will not only be full,
it
will
overflow.

02.25.2018
©2018 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo by Yeshi Kangrang on Unsplash

Happy Monday, everybody! 🙂

Music Monday: Into The Deep

Your love is a flood and I’m
Caught in the current of Your living waters
It’s Your love, it’s Your love
Your presence is a flood
And I’m caught in the wonder
You have taken me over
You have won my heart

Citipointe Live, Into the Deep


Have a blessed week, beautiful souls!

I’ll be revealing a book news soon!