|
| Tuesday, August 31, 2004 |
| Puppet |
Dead.
Like a piece of wood
With a painted face
Come.
Pull my strings. |
|
posted by Rax @ 17:49 |
|
|
| Coffee |
Its cold and raining outside. Perfect for coffee. No this is not an ad, i am simply enjoying little dependable things in life --amidst all the chaos in this so-called life.
|
|
posted by Rax @ 17:42 |
|
| Monday, August 30, 2004 |
Mapa by Adrian Furing |
Another gem by my good friend Adz. Enjoy!
Mapa
may darating na tagsibol na hindi mo na ramdam
ang bawat taludtod ng iyong mga kanta...
na halos wala ka nang mahahawakan kundi amuhin ang iyong mga luha,
umawit at managinip pa habang ang mundo ay mahimbing;
kapagka dumating na ang panibagong bulalakaw ikaw ay maaagnas...
hindi ka naman daw umiiyak, umuulan lang ang iyong paligid
wala ka namang inuungkat dahil dalisay ang iyong pag-ibig
at kung saan man patungo ang agos ng tulang ito
na nais kung isiksik sa bawat hilatsa ng iyong buto-buto;
magugulat ang iyong mundo sa pagkadapa ng anino ko
gayunpaman, umaawit pa rin ang hinaing ko sa lugmok na katawang ito
paano ba tayo magtatagpo sa yumaong mapang ito,
gayong hindi ko pa nababasa kahit pabalat ng iyong libro?
marami akong nakita sa mata ng aking kaluluwa
at halos lahat ay hindi matangggap ng aking sikmura
ang mga nilalang na ito ang pag-ibig ko!
at hindi ko alam kung kailan ko isusuko sa iyo ang lokasyon ko sa mapang ito;
o baka hindi na tayo magtagpo
malulungkot ako, malulungkot ako
ngunit bago pa man dumating ang tinadhanang tagsibol
ako ay aawit at mananginip;
at magiging masaya - kapiling ka
|
|
posted by Rax @ 23:21 |
|
| Thursday, August 12, 2004 |
| Why I Am Quiet |
This was written 4 years ago... Now people say that I'm also DEAF... go figure. Hmmm must've been those construction drills and rock music! hahahaha
One of the reasons why people keep asking me to repeat myself is because I am quiet. No, I have not mastered the art of incoherent speech, as some might like to think, neither do I mumble in hopes of passing it for an apathetic response and most certainly I am not shy. I am simply not gifted with a loud voice. I spend my time on things where only my hands and eyes are involved, and it's a setup that doesn't require me to be vocal. And you can't very well exercise your larynx when curling up with a good book, or better yet, playing solitaire on the computer.
I remember people in my childhood, most especially my mother, telling me to speak only when spoken to, and mind you; she would shrill at my ear so I'd get her point. When you're young and your sensitive eardrums are taking a banging like that, you would be very eager to submit to anyone's will, just so you can stop that throbbing in your head. My mother never had to tell me twice because I had discovered that a nod and a swift execution of her orders could subdue her. Not that I didn't suffer, unfortunately, my brothers were not as smart as I. They resorted to answering back with endless whys, which left me to keep score on various shouting matches both inside and outside our home. I daresay I'm proud that my ears have the capacity to bear with construction drills, bass drums and rock music turned up to full volume. That is more than I can say for my inexperienced vocal cords.
I have attempted to sing, in the bathroom that is. The tiles do such a wonderful job at amplifying the voice don't you think? When I am not in that magical, voice-improving place, my singing could be described as breathy as if I was just humming. In any case, my music career will be limited to playing the piano. At least I don't need to sing, hitting the ivory and ebony keys will make it sing in my stead.
I have attempted to join discussions and debates in hope of sharing my philosophical views but too many times the words "pardon me?" put out that tiny flame of argumentation on the tip of my tongue. It is not that I cannot explain my ideas well, indeed I can, just not loud enough to be coherent. Funny, I can write dissertations on a single concept yet cannot utter a single paragraph of it without someone asking me to repeat myself.
Don't get me wrong, I am fully capable of carrying on a conversation, but that again would be a conversation that involves me repeating a sentence or two for my listener. But most of the time I am content to just listen to others speak, taking mental notes so I can ponder them at home and launch arguments in my mind wherein my voice is so loud it echoes through the silent room. I think that is what they mean by loud thoughts. Thoughts can be really loud even though you don't hear a thing. Ironic don't you think?
Once I'm in a classroom, I try sitting up attentively in hopes that people may not mistake my silence for apathy or shyness. I jot down notes for future reference because as I said, I like doing things that involve only my eyes and hands. So gradually, trying not to look too snobbish or nerdish for that matter, I write and I write and I write. Writing, like reading, playing the piano and solitaire is quite comfortable, a good excuse for me not to use my voice and avoid those loathsome words, "sorry, I didn't hear you."
I am quite sure that I am more the quiet type, and will most probably stay that way.
|
|
posted by Rax @ 09:58 |
|
|
| Mirror Universe |
Mirror, mirror, hanging on the wall,
Who is the fairest of them all?
Did you ever wonder why the mirror has such a powerful effect on people? Take for example Violet, she stares at her reflection for hours on waves of vanity, constantly checking if her face is still as perfect as it had been thirty minutes before. Then there's Michelle who takes a glimpse and nods her head in her happy-go-lucky mood. She smiles at herself and whisks off to school. And finally there's Jane, she is one of those who fear the mirror and would turn her face away every time she sees her reflection. But all three are beautiful by the world's standards. Is it not then only a matter of external features that the mirror has the ability to reflect?
Like in Snow White, the Evil Queen's magic mirror chose Snow White as fairer than she. How could this be? If beauty were subject to relativity then both the Queen and Snow White need not compete for they were both raving beauties. And if Violet, Michelle and Jane were truly beautiful externally, why do they not stare at their reflection for the same period of time? What then is the standard of beauty? Who then sets this standard? How do these mirrors work?
Violet, a question of vanity, she takes pride in her appearance and spends endless hours enhancing her assets, applying blush, lipstick and all sorts of cosmetics. What does she see in her magic mirror? I don't like the color of my lips, I should change it, she thinks. My eyes are too made up, I should go for the natural look, where is that tissue? God, is that a zit! Oh dear, I better cover it up before anyone notices. They might think I'm ugly. Will Hannah approve of this look? Will Steven be pleased if I wear pink? How about this skirt? "Nah!" She walks to her closet and pulls out another outfit...
Michelle, happy-go-lucky, she's comfortable in her own skin and takes care of her appearance only to please herself. She thinks, Hair, check. Teeth? Check. Any dirt? No. Good. Are my clothes wrinkled? Just a little, I'm fine. Ok, got to go. And so she waltzes out of the house and waits for the school bus to come pick her up. It's a good day today; I've got it all figured out.
And Jane lies unhappily in her bed. She watches the mirror reflect the window on the other side of the room and the little bird’s nest on a branch outside. I don't want to get up. I'm so lazy. I have no purpose whatsoever. I don't know what to do. I feel so useless! I hate myself. Look at that beautiful baby bird! She stands up and pulls a towel over the mirror. There, much better. She crawls back to her bed and within moments she's fast asleep.
Like in Snow White and the Seven Dwarves, all mirrors are magic. They not only reflect the external but also the internal. In the case of Violet, Michelle and Jane, their mirrors were screaming out auras of self-esteem. Beauty is not objective, that there is a specific description to what is beautiful. Beauty is not relative in the sense that anyone can judge another if they are or not beautiful. However, the ability to recognize one's beauty lies in the individual. It is the individual that sets standards of beauty and applies those standards to her and to others. Beauty is a combination of external and internal.
The hand that holds the mirror asks that famous question: Mirror, mirror, hanging on the wall, who is the fairest of them all? And she will get the answer she already knows in her heart. To Violet, her answer is uncertain, her mirror will answer back, "I don't know your majesty, why don't you ask your friends?" To Jane, "Certainly Snow White is fairer than you, heck, any girl is and will be prettier than you. You are damn ugly!" And to Michelle, the magic mirror will faithfully answer, "You, Michelle, are the fairest of them all." And so Michelle closes her compact mirror and gets on the school bus to start her day.
Mirror Universe
By and by the light doth descend and steal
In hours of pondering and solitude
Time stays still to mirror that I do feel
In my mind's quickening and my pen pursued.
Epiphany, a glimpse, as words race by
Where mortal mirrors whisper and reveal
Sorcery that drains that life and soul dry
That potion can't cure nor time can so heal.
Oh sensitive mind, a word or a thought
Reflection of evil lying beneath
That a Queen's mirror will give the truth sought
Even when death is a burden bequeath.
Ivory towers can be made to fall
The mirror will seek the fairest of all.
|
|
posted by Rax @ 09:31 |
|
|
| Kite |
More of my old poems
It was the last harvest we shared our hut together.
I remember a speck of plastic white
in the expanse of blue as it swooped
toward the corn fields- the deftness of
each fold, the accuracy of angles, its proper
height and breadth even the strength of string
my Kuya maneuvered it with.
The breeze is finicky he said.
There would certainly be a storm.
Clouds began to form and the wind swept the ground
of its fallen leaves. Low rumbles of thunder gave way
to sheets of rain that tumbled from the sky,
splashing in muddy streams at our feet.
He hurriedly tied the string to a tree
as the wind howled and whipped it
around in circles.
Father called us off the fields,
waving his arms like branches of Acacia.
The wind laid waste half our crops.
The palay stalks are still dry,
The soil, cracked by the sun is now barren.
We had planted our lives
to the earth we love,
rooted ourselves like the trees
and still the kite was severed from the trunk.
|
|
posted by Rax @ 09:27 |
|
|
| knowing but not intervening... |
| About Me |
|
Name: Rax
Home: Makati, Philippines
About Me: I am many things: aspiring poet, advocate, lawyer, with a good grasp of reality. I am also passionate when it comes to chasing dreams. After all, a childlike imagination is just something I cannot outgrow. Which is why I write(...and refuse to give up anime, fantasy novels and video games... :P)
See my complete profile
|
| Previous Post |
|
Links |
Afterglow
Intelligent Ash
Extraplanar
Soul's Phantasm
Unguarded Utterance
|
| Archives |
|
|
| Shoutbox |
|
| Powered by |
 |
|
