So give them the plow’s share

He walked across the miles of time in endless pace,
Barefooted steps on thorny path towards the wall of life.
Where seems like shrapnel hit by sunlight beam,
On shoulders weigh the heaviest iron balls.
His only will to feed a hungry child. . .

Who heals the misery she bears for long?
She looks at husband’s bounty yield of grains
For every harvest dreamt of luck or fortune
Disgraced by truth that only pinch be left
‘cause all the rest will go to landlords home.

Not one nor two, nor six. . . not even ten,
But millions where in countrysides they live.
A crowded roof, no food to eat, not even clothes,
No lands to till; their future dwells in naked fields,
But owned the greatest share of country’s wealth.

Why thou forsake thy farmers’ right to decent lives,
Thou let them pay how ever big the nation’s debt?
Aware for facts their farm produced will only go
to other countries’ benefit; and most to shark elites
who manned the nation’s topsy-turvy politics!

What end shall be which caused by farmers fate?
Oppressed; deprived by sacred right . . . survived!
How soon will rise in fullest metal strength
if won’t you spare and give the share they meant?
Thy plow may turn in red and sticky mist of daybreak new. . .

by iam

transformation

. . . tik tak tik tak tik tak tik
tak tik tak tik tak tik tak tik tak tik . . .
haaaaaaaoooooooooooooouuuzz z z z z z z
. . . z z z zzzzmmmmmmmmmhaaooofffzzzzzz!
zzzzzhhhhaaaauahhhhh. . . uhaaaa. . . uhaa . . .

uuhaaa uuhaaa uhaa uwhaa uwhaaaa whaaaa!
whaaaa whuaa whua whuuu huhuhuhuhuhu
tik . tak . tik . tak . tik . tak . tik . tak . tik . tak . . .
huhuhuhuwhaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaargh!
ghhhh . . . tik tak tik tak tik tak tik tak tik taka . . .

tak tikatak tikatak tikatak tikatak tikatak tikatak
tak tikatak tikatak tikatak tikatak tikatak tikatak
tika tak tika tak ti ka tak ti ka tak tik tik tak . .
tik tak tik tak tik tak tik tak tik tak tik
tak tik tak tik tak . .

by iam

Passing Thru the Heart of a Successful Woman

Trapped on top of this monument built of dreams fulfilled,
is it a vicious everyone willfully wanted to be at peak?
Of youthful wishes, a come-true after years of traversing,
towards a utopia in the land so strange becomes
a home, faraway America.

At first; excited, scared, overwhelmed by opportunities,
and promises of life abundance grasped by a child.
Then ignoring nuances and bitterness of self survival;
believing those that doesn’t kill would make one strong,
a wisdom unguaranteed by pain.

Strength is confidence, wit, and hardships of past combined,
were only weapons to fight boulders of unwanted obstacles?
Of people staring suspicious; of science’s advancement
unreachable; of sophisticating civilization; of racial
multiplicity cutting across boundaries.

Twenty five years ago, was only delusion, . . wishful thinking,
or perhaps an obligation or moral aptitude?, doesn’t matter now.
Today is happiness unmatched; however real that deep in
the heart is tiny lonely hole, filled by unknown emptiness,
pinching, hurting, disturbing.

Ah. . , here and now standing apart from rest after winning,
what else undone to harness the curves of life’s successes?
Amidst respect, security or trust gained thru times; by caring,
loving, serving utmostly authentic; accomplishing professed vow
in the land so complicated.

Past twenty five years or so. . , there left behind a homeland,
a sublime nature’s gift to a race so cared by touch of God.
Where birds, rivers, plains, mountains and trees kiss each
others feet, united in one breath by a mother called Creation;
at peace in the humble village Maasim.

by iam

Bago magka-EDSA

natingala’t, tumatagos ang paningin sa alapaap,
animo’y itim na saplot sumusukob, sumasaklob
sa balat ng sanlibutan.

mula rito’y makikita; mga panginoon at sakim,
unti-unting kinakain ng mga alagad at alipin,
dahil sa kapirasong pangarap . . .

. . . habang tumatangis ang araw, sa pagkabigla’t
pagkalungkot; sa pagsayaw na galit ni hangi’t ulan,
upang itakwil ang kamalian.

at natutunaw ang kabundukan, maging kabihasnan
umaagos sa pagmamakaawa upang maging buhay
na mga alon sa karagatan.

sila’y abot tanaw lamang mula sa kinalalagyan,
naaamoy, nararamdaman hinagpis ng kalooban
mga pusong uhaw sa pagmamahal

sila’y abot tanaw lamang mula sa kinalalagyan,
mga nakataling pag-ibig, pumipiglas, kumakawala
sa batong dibdib ng tadhana,

hangari’y makapag bigay, lubusang pagkalinga
sa mga naulila’t kinakapos na mga kaluluwa dito
sa madilim na sulok ng buwan . . .

. . . hanggang nagka EDSA na nga!

by iam

What if we’ve never met?

(A birthday tickler for Allison Perry)

What if you never left the place
where you like and love most,
because it’s your place?
What if you never came to Handumon,
a quite place where we like and love
most because it’s our place?

What if we never met and see
each other’s faces; our funny faces. . . ?
share good times, songs, smiles, food,
drinks, bedroom like the payag and mosquitoes. . .

. . . and what if you never came to mix
your beauty with ours, tenderly touching
each other’s hearts with compassion and romance
during meals while Banjing, Michael, Gavin
and the rest jealously watch

What if you never celebrated your 24th birthday
with us; it would never be like this
today . . .

by iam

Scent of Amida DM

Sword cutting deep the senses;
crossing every nerve following the
ethers of consciousness,
now bear the triumphs and victories
to every man’s wildest fantasies. . . and ecstasy;

one by one, kneeling down, bowing heads,
falling in love the smartness and wit in you possessed.

Admiration no words expressed the spell;
mark of elegance, pride and gentleness they smell. . .
inside the heart they stay magic deserved of a girl,
descend from nowhere the power in you forever
allowing myth to be real once or never

Doctor of charm, the songbird of dreams

Maiden of beauty, the finest of things.

HAPPY 24TH BIRTHDAY!

by iam

Halad Kaliwatan

Halad ngadto sa tinahud ug pinalanggang kapikas, inahan, apohan, igsoon, iyaan, ig-agaw ug higala


Mapasalamaton KAMI
sama sa kabulakan ngadto sa haring adlaw,
sa iyang mainitong bidlisiw matag sayong buntag,
ug sa iyang alindahaw nga naghatag kanamo’g kinabuhi.


SALAMAT . . . sa imong pagka tipik sa among kinabuhi;
ug sa pagtugot nga ang among kinabuhi gilalang diha kanimo.

Ikaw ang adlaw nga padayong nag-iwag sa among gilaktan;
ikaw ang bangaw nga naghatag og mabulukong kadan-ag sa among kinabuhi;
GASA KA gikan sa kahitas-an!

Kanunay kang uban kanamo sa tumang kamatinud-anon. . .
ug dayag ang imong gugma kanamo susama sa GUGMA ni KRISTO kanimo.

Ikaw ang TAKSANAN sa mga grasya nga among natagamtaman –
anaa ikaw kanunay sa mga panahon sa among kahaw-ang;
sa mga panahon sa among pakigbisug;
ug sa mga higayon sa among kalipay ug pagmaya.

Way sama KANINDOT ang imong kinabuhi
kay abli man kanunay ang imong pangisip sa pagtug-an kanamo sa kahulugan sa kinabuhi.
Ug bukas ang imong kasingkasing nga kanunay andam mosapnay ug mogakus kanamo . . ,
aron maumol ang usa ka PAMILYAng hupong sa gugma ug pagmahal sa usa’g-usa!

Busa, niining gutlo sa pagpasalamat, tuguti’ng kining mga pulong nga natagik,
mahulma’ng mga mainitong HALOK nga mopatik sa imong aping, sa ingon mobusilak usab sa among kasingkasing ang imong mithi, ug amo kining IKABILIN sa among mga anak ug sa anak sa atong KALIWATAN.

DAGHANG SALAMAT!

ni iam

I Am a Soldier

I must kill in order to live

A life of honor and valor I must be
made of steel the armor of me

alone I fight, my conscience my enemy

Sealed by allegiance I must protect
only my master I am bound to obey
leading a path I wonder where?
destined to die for my people I swear
i am a warrior, a daring soldier
eager to fight to set you free
resolved and proud for flag my country

by iam

Deep Inside

What is it like to be a bird?
her colours shining: blue, red, yellow and green
bright as sun at noon beneath
the thickness of leaves . . . and branches
of trees and bushes in the wild,
a jungle familiar to me

What is it like to be a bird?
her voice humming: a sound of silent music from
the finest string, strummed by warm breeze
at dawn amidst the vastness of
ocean surface, a place where no one else
has fortune to hear but me

What is it like to be a bird?
of beauty, of songs, of strength, of courage
to seek for something unknown
to fill an empty space inside her
a lonely heart wond’ring and craving
for joy like me

And what it feels to be this bird?
a wonderful creature gliding with me in my path,
while I traverse the wild jungle across the
widest ocean in a space wider than
the space that the universe is placed
deep inside me . . .

by iam

The book that open once

The book of life is strange: once written
it is sealed; our life it is no matter what,
the pain and anguish that came across
the milestones, our dreams.

We have been through to many places,
learning excellent things, coupled with worst,
meeting people, crossing pathways;
making chances out of luck. . , begging the prize.

How much worth our life we’ve tried to make?
pleasing all on earth while still alive;
who can judge the fortunes we’ve missed?
the book is closed we can’t open twice.

Maybe we are, or maybe not
what we’ve longed for us many years back;
Dreams are dreams forever then.
The only thing on earth without a price.

Whether we like, whether we don’t it doesn’t pay;
still we write the book, our life everyday.
Of wishes and failures. . , of the past. . , of the future;
as if the past is future turned side down up.

And when the peak of the story is reached,
and the last drop of ink falls as it stains the spot
of the endest word, retell the story to everyone
at once, ‘cause it won’t ever be opened twice. . .

-iam

A silhouette of somewhere

Waves. . , water current, seabreeze;
wind, trees. . . mangroves young and old;
crabs crawling; white sand, seagrasses, corals,
fishes big and small inside cages. . . and baskets

huts on stilts, concrete houses, school;
flag ceremony; in the morning,
noise of children, singing out of tune,
inside the rooms. . , teachers teaching aloud

child vendor chanting (sud-an! sud-an!);
shell gatherers, nets hanging on fences, or
fences made of fish nets. . . and concrete water tanks;
high tide, low tide. . . of people staring suspicious

wives weaving nets, lone pathway; . . . afar
roaring motorboats, moonlight drinking and procession;
birds singing, footsteps at midnight or dawn,
shouting young men . . . old livelihood panagat!

soft drinks in the store, biscuits, no cold drinks,
or ice please! only rainwater available,
hot sunny days; women building . . . madjong blocks;
and gossips everywhere is what life it is?!

crabs, fish, shells, sea orchins, kinilaw;
meals on table, breakfast, lunch and dinner; everytime,
proud Ellen, adobong nokos; eleven siblings;
a symbol of hope . . . and miserable survival

peace . , faces of innocence . . . when I came,
nothing has changed . . . when I left; behind a
staffhouse built beyond laughters and petty quarrels,
shared in a time longer than it will be forgotten . . . forever!

-iam