Little girl

Little girl

run regally now

    like the black panthers of old

    inside their realm so mystical

    where kings reflect on things vital

    and where leaders get their fix so spiritual.

    But do not just follow the kings of old and new, 

    rather pave your own path

    and rule your own queendom

    as you rule over the course of your fate.

Little girl 

fly freely now

    like white clover heads 

    floating along hot summer air, 

    landing on sweaty little palms, 

    granting wishes youth whispers, 

    floating once more when prayers

    blow them softly back

    to the blue skies

    where wish-granting gods reside;

    to deliver the soft little prayers

    they carried off of sweaty little palms. 

    But do not just carry their prayers:

    rather take yours also with you

    as you soar to the blue skies

    where wish-granting gods reside. 

Little girl

grow gaily now

    like sunflowers shining brightly

    as the sun they look up to

    when they line up to welcome

    the wondrous exit of 

    scholars clad in green and red. 

    But do not just spectate, 

    rather be a part of that culture

    of victory amidst challenges,

    of caring despite knowing,

    of honor before excellence.

#

Ode to the old

I walk with you arm-in-arm

like I used to

when I was young. 

I walk with you arm-in-arm 

as we go towards

the narrow white corridors, 

with marble-tiled floors, 

and "the doctor is in" doors. 

 

I walked with you arm-in-arm 

and back then I felt

your skin tight, yet lined

with the labors you had had;

your arms strong and stable

as you carried me over the flood

so my black leather shoes won't sop. 

 

I walk with you arm-in-arm 

and now I feel

as if your very skin

is gradually melting,

gradually softening

gradually sliding off your bones;

as if the lines that were

your battle scars

are fading like spider webs

pulled away too far;

as if the flood

anytime now could

wash you away from me, 

from everyone you love, 

from the world. 

 

I am not ready for that. 

 

I am not ready

because in my mind

yours are still the arms

that carried me over the flood

so my black leather shoes won’t sop;

yours are still the arms

that hauled my heavy bags

when they were too hefty to lug;

yours are still the arms

that I clung to the first second

I tried to swim, tried to stay afloat;

yours are still the arms

that carried me gently to bed

after I fell asleep learning my numbers;

yours are still the arms

that I hugged for the afternoon naps

and golden evening slumbers;

and

yours are still the arms

that I dearly treasure

even if I rarely

get to hold to them anymore.

 

Now

I walk with you arm-in-arm

in silence

and in dubious nonchalance

that all still could be well

even as for your fading health

I guess, now, only time can tell.

#

Isn't it ironic?

When the man who has nothing becomes your everything.

        "no darling. i'm sorry. i have nothing at all."

When you just don't want to talk to the person you miss the most.

        "please leave. please don't talk. please end the call."

When you see him to share but all your tales got lost

        "it's a long story. don't mind it. skip it."

When you've known him only for a few months

        and you can't live without him.

When the one whose womb you've lived for months

        can't talk to you on a whim.

When you're stuck in traffic on the way to the gym

        so you can move your body, your waistline, too, hopefully

When you save, save, save for the future

        but in the future you're just ailing so hopelessly.

When they require you to wear a mask

        and you've already been wearing one for a long time.

When the pillars of quality education fail to comprehend.

When the teacher's son does not have tools to learn.

When there's money for sand but not for bread.

When infidels make you straight.

When Christians kill your faith. 

#

On the Go

Rush, rush, rush
to get my works done
fastly, fastly, fastly...

Trying to beat the clock's
second hand;
Trying to slow down the clock's
minute hand;
Trying to maximize
the time determined
by the clock's hour hand;
Trying to go on
step by step
like a cheetah on the run.

I pant,
I cram,
And now I can hardly breathe.

Time flies by, and
As I try to overtake it
in this race
we call life,
I carry on the guts
to make myself
be productive as I can.

Rush, rush, rush...