Posted by jen on Apr 10, '08 2:29 AM for everyone Ipinagluluksa ng alimuom ang pagtila ng ulan
kanina lang,
bago lumubog ang araw,
napansin mo ba?
umuwi na ang kalaro nating ambon
Unti-untiang umaakyat papaitaas ang bakas
ng maghapong pagtatampisaw,
Dahan-dahang isinauli ng lupa
ang init ng kalinga ng langit
Ang ala-ala ng masasayang mga ulap
na ibinuhos ang kanilang luha sa galak
Ay itinaboy nang muli
ng mapayapang kalungkutan
Ang apoy ng dapithapon ay sawakas sumuko din
sa wala namang hinhintay
kundi ang hatinggabi.
Ang alimuom ngayon ay unti-untiang napalitan
ng lamig
ng hamog
at ng pagiisa
sa muling pagbuhos ng ulan.
.
.
.
Walang ibang nakasaksi
sa dapithapong inibig
kundi,
ang mga maliliit
na lawa ng tubig
Posted by jen on Mar 24, '08 7:49 AM for everyone Response Speech by Lino Brocka upon receiving the
1985 Ramon Magsaysay Award for Journalism, Literature and Creative Communication Arts
The filmmaker, like his peers in the other media, now realizes that the artist is also a public person. He no longer isolates himself from society. Instead of working in his ivory tower he is a citizen of the slums, of the streets, of the battlefields if need be. The artist is becoming a participant. He tries to be true, not only to his craft but also to himself. What he says on the screen, he also says in the streets. For it is the supreme duty of the artist to investigate the truth no matter what forces attempt to hide it. And then to report this truth to the people, to confront them with it. Like a whiplash it will cause wounds but will free the mind from the various fantasies and escapist fares with which "the establishment" pollutes our minds.
To the best of our abilities, and even if we often times fail, we must produce films that will hurt, films that will disturb, films that will not let you rest. For the times are bad and, given times like these, it is a crime to rest. We cannot rest, and should not, while there is a Filipino starving in Negros, an Aquino crying for justice, a victim of police killing lying in a garbage heap. Although it is the duty of the artist to work for what is true, good and beautiful, first we must expose and fight what is wrong.
In these times, when the government-controlled media hide the truth, when most of what we get is silly gossip, pretty flesh and sensationalized crime, we must go to the streets to find out what is happening. We must listen to those who dare risk their lives and livelihoods, who reiterate once more the utmost duty of the artist, that he be a committed person, taking the side of any human being who is violated, abused, oppressed or dehumanized, and that he use whatever instrument is his--the pen, the brush or the camera.
I accept this award for all such artists, dedicated persons whose names may never be known or published, doing their share, whether inthe streets or in prison camps. Some of them may even have died, or at this very moment be fighting for their lives. This award then is for these artists.
They may gag and blindfold you, silence and imprison you, but they will never be able to destroy what made you an artist in the first place--your brave and continuing dedication to the human race.
Together with you I thank the Ramon Magsaysay Award Foundation for telling us that we should continue our work. Posted by jen on Feb 10, '08 11:27 AM for everyone Now I know where I went wrong. And it's always too late. Fuck. Posted by jen on Feb 3, '08 10:58 PM for everyone ... if no one gets hurt and nobody's watching. * it's an unsettled agreement
another impulsive course of action
and we're excited like we haven't done it before but this is all we get
this is all we want from each other it's a wordless conversation
both a waste and worth the time
tears and smiles and sweat we're the sweetest when alone together
and the sweetness always has an aftertaste
we wouldn't be if there was none Posted by jen on Feb 1, '08 2:53 AM for everyone Posted by jen on Jan 28, '08 8:54 PM for everyone  Ako may Scott... ikaw?
Tonight you're mine completely
You give your love so sweetly
Tonight the light of love is in your eyes
But will you love me tomorrow? -Roberta Flack Posted by jen on Jan 25, '08 12:38 AM for everyone  from Vencer Crisostomo's StudentstrikeMany activists and Filipinos are reminiscing their EDSA 2 moments today and most are reminding themselves of how great those days were, how ecstatic, idealistic and determined the people were then, and how, after seven years of suffering under this puppet regime, we badly need that People Power spirit with us again -- one that's even greater than what we had before. Not a few of the people I have been talking to, in urban poor communities, the working class, and even middle class folks, wish of seeing that glorious day when the rotten and corrupt Arroyo government gets forced to step down from office by hundreds of thousands of people marching in the streets, accompanied perhaps by churchmen and anti-Arroyo military commanders. There is a reason the nation gets excited when events of large political significance, such as the Manila Peninsula take-over, occur: people are praying for that "moment," for that "spark," hoping the the event would be beginning of the end for the regime. Heck, maybe the stock market stability that day in Makati showed that even the businessmen were not that worried over what's going to happen with their money anymore. That people have really had enough already. Mass movement not sparks and moments Many are now starting to understand though that "moments" don't necessarily lead to People Power. Not especially under a government like Arroyo, which is extremely desperate and hell-bent in its efforts clinging to office. Looking back, we might have already had a lot of those "moments" under this regime: scandals, controversies, issues, mass resignation of cabinet officials, military dissent, strong church opposition. But the more decisive of the factors, massive street protests -- hundreds of thousands of people in collective will and action --- still has to be developed. People Power 2 didn't happen overnight. It wasn't as if the nation just suddenly woke up on the other side of the bed and decided to go to the streets because they believe they are destined to do so. Before the refusal of the Senate to open the second envelope, tens of thousands of people have already participated in massive rallies, vigil protests and student walk-outs against an array of issues: all-out war, VFA, budget cuts in social services, price hikes, government corruption, etc. Various formations and organizations ranging from anti-Estrada to progressive to revolutionary, have emerged and have swelled their ranks, making them capable of leading multitudes in the streets. "Think big" How do we, the youth and students in particular, revive mass protests during these times? How do we create that muscle which "powers" people's uprisings, and thus prove ourselves deserving of being referred to as "cutting-edge" and "spearhead" of social movements? How do we create People Power in our schools and communities? First, we must look back at what happened at EDSA and believe that we can lead historically significant and radical activities. Student leaders and activists at present must learn how to "think big" and plan activities way beyond the pocket rallies and media actions we do several times a month. Successful strikes, nationwide walk-outs, peace camps, gigantic street protests, however complicated they are, all begin with simple ingredients. Among them: a little imagination and a strong determination to win. In order for the student leaders to capture the imagination of the student population, they must come up with definite programs of action, must comprehend the requirements for the fulfillment of which, while being able to implement particular tasks and attain short term objectives. They must desist from implementing rigid and short-sighted plans, in false hope that constantly repeating the same "standard" tasks, will someday lead to something fruitful. Young activists in schools today must share radical visions and plans of action, and must work hard collectively to reach such. We cannot just wait for uprisings to suddenly happen, instead, we must painstakingly strive to fulfill the requirements of building strong mass-based organizations, highly politicized studentry, broad alliances, and others. Broad Actions Students must be mobilized in their tens of thousands in different activities in-campus and off-campus. Mass organizations and progressive alliances must thus realize the need for creative, broad, activities, that will engage not only the relatively advanced sections of the studentry but the population as a whole. While maintaining that the militant actions are the more decisive, they must also utilize broad forms of protest. In danger of being branded TH (trying hard), the relatively advanced student organizations must also be careful not to artificially conduct "broad" and "creative" forms of protest (which might look broad in character but does not really engage the broad population), but instead develop the initiative of traditional groups and sectors. Sinong papalit? Contrary to government and reactionary propaganda, I don't believe that most young people are "tired" of people power and are disillusioned. Most young people who ask "sinong papalit?", ask the question not in a cynical manner. Rather, they are seriously asking for genuine, long-term solutions to our country's crisis -- solutions that progressives must readily articulate and propagate. People are not tired of People Power, rather, they are starting to see the limitations of regime change and are trying to understand the long-term solutions to the problems of our country. Activists should thus engage more young people in discussions regarding Philippine society in general and the need for revolutionary change. Discussions about the semi-colonial and semi-feudal nature of our society and its basic problems and how to change it, must flourish in the campuses. The people are asking, and this fact requires us to be, more than ever, ready to respond. Analysis and discussions of current issues are well and good, but activists must not stop there, they must be able to deepen theirs and the masses' knowledge of the roots of these issues and basic problems of society. A step in the right direction While we stress that what's most important now is our systematic and conscious organizing, propaganda and mass work, activists must also be ready for twists and turns, sudden "moments," historically significant events and turn them to our favor. We must also learn how to adjust when we fail to reach particular objectives. Mass actions might not always be successful in terms of attaining its tactical, immediate target, but if led consciously, will, for sure, always bring fruit for the strengthening of the long-term struggle for change and will always be a step in the right direction. We can and we must, for our country's sake, work together to develop another People Power uprising. One that's more conscious and organized. One that's ready to defeat the regime's fascism. One that will push the people's movement as well as the entire country forward, and will be a significant stride in the struggle for truly meaningful change.# Posted by jen on Aug 28, '07 6:26 AM for everyone (tell it like it is, john mayer) "It's not a silly little moment
It's not the storm before the calm
This is the deep and dying breath of
this love we've been working on..."
- slow dancing in a burning room she is in love with a guy who makes her happy and miserable at the same time.
some things are just not worth it
she became the third party to an existing relationship, because all she wanted was to be with the love of her life.
screw the consequences
she keeps falling for guys that are just out her reach, because the one real guy she genuinely liked became too emo and complicated.
frivolous pursuits don't hurt as much
she is happily in love, but at the back of her mind, she wonders how long it will be before their religious differences finally start to matter.
live for the moment
she was torn between two lovers. she made her choice, and her heart got broken.
we all have to grow up some time
she has become too jaded from her past relationships that she now turns to flings for gratification.
you could be scarred for life
she is in love with a guy whom her parents do not approve of because of his genetic predisposition to become insane.
it's never enough that it matters to you all real. ain't love grand? (yeah, right) Posted by jen on Aug 3, '07 8:11 AM for everyone I remember one strike at Manila Hotel in 2000, where I joined the picket line of the oppressed workers together with other activists. He stayed behind the police unit where he acted as one of the ground commanders, while I linked arms with the protesters. He never told anyone I was among the militants, not even the cops who would soon use their truncheons to disperse us. I never pointed to him as my dad either. It was a silent pact between us. We would exchange brief looks, then go on with what we had to do.
YOUNGBLOOD
On the same street
By Janice Cambri San Jose
Inquirer
Last updated 03:56am (Mla time) 07/26/2007 A police officer for a father and a militant activist for a daughter -- "What a great irony!" people would often remark about us. Most people probably think the only thing we have in common is our DNA make-up. However, we have an unusual bond that is far stronger than any blood relationship: our principles. Daddy has always been simple, silent and serious. He has the looks and bearing of a military officer: clean haircut, snappy posture, no vices, and cordial conduct. He is a bit antisocial, but remains civil with everyone, including those he despises. He prefers to read the newspapers or watch the news while sipping his coffee to chatting with the neighbors. He has never been inordinately conscious about being an officer of the law and never has he bragged about his position. His idea of fun is limited to family celebrations and playtime for him is almost non-existent. When we were young, our mantra was "study, study and study." On school days, the TV set would be locked in the closet and we only got to watch it from Friday night to Saturday night. He insisted that we take our studies seriously. Most of his expectations were impossible. But I never took it against him. After all, we did not have to plow the field and we never had to swim rivers or walk barefoot for several kilometers to go to school, with only a banana or camote for snacks. Which was what he did in his youth. Who can blame Daddy? He was a poor farmer's son who had to work his way through college, taking janitorial jobs. He graduated cum laude from law school and became an officer in the Philippine National Police. And he would never let us forget about it, saying: "Ako, anak lang ng magsasaka, nakatapos ako. Kayo, anak kayo ng opisyal, dapat mas malayo marating 'nyo." ["I was a farmer's son, and yet I was able to finish college. You are children of a police officer, so you should be even more successful." ] Despite his meager salary, he enrolled us in a small-town private school. He called it a very good investment. "It doesn't matter if we would be reduced to licking salt, as long as you have a good education," he told us. "That is the only thing I can leave you, so you better study hard." I bled from his cruel words whenever I fell short of his expectations, but I always knew he had the best intentions so I did my best to excel in my academics. Another treasure that Daddy passed on to us, which is much more priceless than our education, is integrity. At a time the credibility of the Armed Forces of the Philippines and the Philippine National Police has been tarnished by so many cases of ill-gotten wealth, graft and corruption, organized crime, human rights violations, and electoral fraud, Daddy was one of the few good men who withstood the temptations of greed and power. While many generals have their mansions, we continue to live in our small bungalow. While many of his colleagues drove SUVs and kept several cars in the garage, Dad who spent 32 years in the service, used only a worn-out, assembled jeep of the kind that you see in old Filipino movies. It was only after his retirement, when he got his benefits, that he was able to buy his first brand-new vehicle. During hard times, we were fed like we were in a military barracks, with food being measured and distributed equally among us. There were times when my brothers and I had to settle for soy sauce and calamansi with rice because we were still hungry. I learned to drink six cups of coffee a day to pacify my grumbling tummy. Most of our books and uniforms were hand-me-downs. In college, I would sometimes eat fish ball, or banana cue, or "taho" for lunch because my food allowance went into photocopying our lessons. I often wondered why we were so impoverished while some of the kids I knew and whose fathers were lower-ranked police officers enjoyed affluent lifestyles. Dad never took home anything grand -- just packs of "bukayo" and small jars of "belekoy." They were "pasalubong" [arrival tokens] from his subordinates returning from vacation in the provinces. My Dad said he did not want to feed us with dirty money. We may be poor but we would keep our dignity intact. He was afraid of karma. At 19, I came to understand what he had been saying when I joined the militant group Anakbayan. Although we had somewhat conflicting ideologies, he never stopped me from pursuing my crusade of serving the people in a framework different from his. Up to now, he does not have anything against the movement. He recognizes the truths in our advocacies. He, himself, has experienced injustice and witnessed irregularities in the armed services and the government. We would often discuss politics, and dispassionate debates became a normal happening at home. But our ideas clashed, and during rallies, we became foes. I remember one strike at Manila Hotel in 2000, where I joined the picket line of the oppressed workers together with other activists. He stayed behind the police unit where he acted as one of the ground commanders, while I linked arms with the protesters. He never told anyone I was among the militants, not even the cops who would soon use their truncheons to disperse us. I never pointed to him as my dad either. It was a silent pact between us. We would exchange brief looks, then go on with what we had to do. After every mobilization, he would be relieved to see me unharmed. It must have been terribly painful for a parent like him to anxiously wait for his child to be home safe and in one piece, while knowing what his colleagues were capable of doing to militants like me. But despite all of this, he never asked me to abandon the movement. Unlike other fathers who would ground, threaten, lock up, or beat up their activist kids to stop them from pursuing their cause, Dad just let me be. And I will always be grateful to him for that. Dad is retired now, while I remain an activist. He has his own legacy, and I am proud of him. We both love our country and this principle has been the bond that binds us, transcending age, social roles and family trees. Daddy and I stood on opposite sides of the street, and we looked like foes in the eyes of many. However, we are on the same street. The real adversary is on another. Janice Cambri San Jose , 27, is completing her MA thesis at the University of the Philippines in Diliman, Quezon City . Posted by jen on Jul 30, '07 11:27 PM for everyone Link My parents' 25th anniversary. Idol, diba? Sayang, wala ako dun. :C Posted by jen on Mar 8, '07 6:45 AM for everyone
YOUNG BLOOD
Inquirer
Last updated 03:24am (Mla time) 02/15/2007
WE rode the same bus when we were still in grade school. She was
always neat, prim and prepared for school, while I was always late and
drowsy. Her brother was the laughable bully in our community church
boys' group.
It was in college that I came to know her again. I was a sensational
kid from the mighty campus of Diliman and she was the loudmouth of
that old school along Padre Faura.
We exchanged furtive glances during the anti-Estrada rallies in 1999.
The most memorable was the mammoth gathering on Ayala Avenue in
August. I was with visiting Taiwanese students and she was the head of
their school delegation. It could have been the heavy downpour or
something else, but it was on that fateful day when I realized that I
was smitten with the girl who used to mock me in elementary school.
The formal courtship took place in the picket lines of the Grand
Boulevard Hotel. I was a lousy suitor (she has never made me forget
that), but in time she had to admit her true feelings for me.
At first we thought we were a mismatched couple. After all, our
interests are widely different. To cite a few examples: She prefers
the rustic mountains, while I prefer the rugged seas. She adores
Selena and TLC, while I appreciate the songs of Andy Williams. She is
a talented artist; I'm more of a "filingerong artista."
Our theory about our incompatibility would be disproved by our shared
passion for the writings of Marx, Lenin, Mao, Stalin and Ed Villegas.
The two of us are professional street protesters, crowd control
managers and advocacy experts. We both love pasta, Divisoria and
Chinese movies.
But more than our fondness for the same things, one secret of our
enduring relationship is our mutual respect or tolerance for our
distinct interests. She agrees to watch "Eat Bulaga," "Mr. Bean,"
"Monk" and "Frasier" for as long as I also agree to watch Sarah
Geronimo on "ASAP," "The Buzz" and "Will and Grace." She seldom
complains about not being able to eat shrimp or crab meat because of
my skin allergy, but I also have to give up mongo beans, which she
finds unpalatable.
I'm not really superstitious, but when we celebrate a special day in
our relationship, something ominous or momentous occurs in the
political life of the country. When Chavit Singson made his exposé
against President Joseph Estrada, we were on vacation in the Hundred
Islands in Alaminos, Pangasinan. When we celebrated our first
anniversary, it was the week Joseph Estrada was arrested in his San
Juan residence. When Magdalo soldiers attempted a coup in 2003, I had
just proposed marriage to her. During the Valentine's Day bombing in
2005, she was in labor at the Philippine General Hospital.
Marriage brings so much pleasant complexities to a relationship. It is
the most satisfying, if stressful, relationship in life. No more of
those mushy love letters, phone conversations till dawn and text
quotes every hour and promises of indescribable happiness if only the
woman of your dreams would spend the rest of her life with you. They
are replaced by bills from utility firms, phone conversations about
getting home before 9 p.m. (or else...), text reminders to buy diapers
and vitamins and the realization that you are stuck with this one
person for the rest of your mortal life. But I believe, all this is
what makes marriage exciting and enjoyable.
In the past week, my wife and I have had arguments and shouting
matches about who would baby-sit, who would cook, who would clean the
bathroom, how the money was spent, where were the keys, where was the
remote control, etc. But at the end of the day, we resolved our petty
quarrels. We can't sleep harboring any bitterness toward each other.
We have our own ways of expressing regret for something offensive said
or done. On my part, I always offer a soothing back massage and ginger
tea, do the dishes and mop the floor.
While the world continues to be more violent, unforgiving and
depressing, I have found my happiness in life. I find comfort in the
thought that another soul is dependent on mine in order to survive
this wicked land.
Perhaps what inspires me to be a better person is the need to prove
that I deserve to be blessed with a wife who tolerates my perverted
humor, eccentric behavior and demented beliefs. I deserve a wife who
irritates me every day with her complaints, but who is also
affectionate, beautiful, intelligent and kind. The prospect of
spending the rest of my life with this one person is the source of my
contentment, pride and delight.
I tease, argue, fight, reconcile, serve, ridicule, adore, ignore,
fear, loathe, respect, venerate and honor my wife every day. Some
would say this is a regression to the boring domesticity called
marriage. I say it is love. And love has a name: Frances.
Mong Palatino, 27, is the president of Kabataan Party List.
Copyright 2007 Inquirer. All rights reserved. This material may not be
published, broadcast, rewritten or redistributed.
Posted by jen on Feb 23, '07 7:19 AM for everyone Link
A repost from Palkups Posted by jen on Feb 23, '07 6:51 AM for everyone Link
Baguio pics (summer 2006)
Posted by jen on Jan 7, '07 7:09 AM for everyone
I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from
where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or
pride;
so I love you because I know no other way
that this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.
*Born
Ricardo Eliecer Neftalí Reyes Basoalto in southern Chile on July 12,
1904, Pablo Neruda led a life charged with poetic and political
activity. In 1923 he sold all of his possessions to finance the
publication of his first book, Crepusculario ("Twilight"). He
published the volume under the pseudonym "Pablo Neruda" to avoid
conflict with his family, who disapproved of his occupation. The
following year, he found a publisher for Veinte poemas de amor y una cancion desesperada
("Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair"). The book made a celebrity
of Neruda, who gave up his studies at the age of twenty to devote
himself to his craft.
In 1927, Neruda began his long career as a diplomat
in the Latin American tradition of honoring poets with diplomatic
assignments. After serving as honorary consul in Burma, Neruda was
named Chilean consul in Buenos Aires, Argentina, in 1933. While there,
he began a friendship with the visiting Spanish poet Federico García Lorca.
After transferring to Madrid later that year, Neruda also met Spanish
writer Manuel Altolaguirre. Together the two men founded a literary
review called Caballo verde para la poesîa in 1935. The
outbreak of the Spanish Civil War in 1936 interrupted Neruda's poetic
and political development. He chronicled the horrendous years which
included the execution of García Lorca in Espana en el corazon
(1937), published from the war front. Neruda's outspoken sympathy for
the loyalist cause during the Spanish Civil War led to his recall from
Madrid in 1937. He then returned to Europe to help settle republican
refugees in the United States.
Neruda returned to Chile in 1938 where he renewed his
political activity and wrote prolifically. Named Chilean Consul to
Mexico in 1939, Neruda left Chile again for four years. Upon returning
to Chile in 1943, he was elected to the Senate and joined the Communist
Party. When the Chilean government moved to the right, they declared
communism illegal and expelled Neruda from the Senate. He went into
hiding. During those years he wrote and published Canto general (1950).
In 1952 the government withdrew the order to arrest
leftist writers and political figures, and Neruda returned to Chile and
married Matilde Urrutia, his third wife (his first two marriages, to
Maria Antonieta Haagenar Vogelzang and Delia del Carril, both ended in
divorce). For the next twenty-one years, he continued a career that
integrated private and public concerns and became known as the people's
poet. During this time, Neruda received numerous prestigious awards,
including the International Peace Prize in 1950, the Lenin Peace Prize
and the Stalin Peace Prize in 1953, and the Nobel Prize for Literature
in 1971.
Diagnosed with cancer while serving a two-year term
as ambassador to France, Neruda resigned his position thus ending his
diplomatic career. On September 23, 1973, just twelve days after the
defeat of Chile's democratic regime, the man widely regarded as the
greatest Latin-American poet since Darío, died of leukemia in Santiago,
Chile. (http://www.poets.org/poet.php/prmPID/279)
Posted by jen on Jan 7, '07 6:59 AM for everyone The Man Who Loves Me by Gioconda Belli
The man who loves me should know how to part curtains
of flesh
Fathom my eye's depths
And know that in me nestles
A tender, transparent swallow.
The man who loves me
Will not covet me like a commodity
Nor exhibit me like a sportsman's trophy
He will stand by me
Loving me just as I love and stand by him.
The man who loves me
Will be strong as the ceibo trees
Solid and sheltering as they are,
Clear as a December morning.
The man who loves me
Will not distrust my smile
Nor fear my hair's profusion.
He will respect sorrow, silence.
And with caresses, he will play upon my stomach,
As on a guitar, making pleasure issue from
my body's recesses.
The man who loves me
Will discover I can be
A hammock on which to rest his burdens and cares.
A friend with whom to share intimate secrets.
A lake on which to float,
Without fear that the anchor of his commitment
Will prevent flight
Should it occur to him to be a bird.
The man who loves me
Will make poetry of his life
Structuring each day
With his gaze set on the future
But above all else
The man who loves me must love people
Not as some abstract category
Mentioned carelessly
But as something real, concrete
To whom one show devotion through actions
Giving up one's life if required.
The man who loves me
Will recognize my face in the midst of a battle
And with knee bent to the earth,
he will love me
As the two of us fire together at the enemy.
My man in love
Will not fear giving himself
Nor fear finding himself magically smitten.
In a plaza filled with great crowds,
He will be able to shout "I Love You"
Or make extravagant announcements on top of buildings
Proclaiming his right to feel
The most beautiful and human emotion.
My man in love
Will not flee kitchens
Nor the diapers of our child
His love will be like a refreshing breeze
Carrying away among mists of dream and the past
Weakness that, for centuries kept us divided,
As beings of different worth.
My man in love
Will not want to stereotype and standardize me
He will give me air, space
Nourishment to grow and improve
Like a REVOLUTION
Which makes each new day
The beginning of a NEW VICTORY.
Posted by jen on Jan 3, '07 1:56 AM for everyone
mula kay eco - kapwa pilosopo at anak ng bayan...
aug.10, 3:20 am
sapat na sa akin ang pagsisiping ng ating mga utak sa malamig na
gabi, sa samyo ng kapeng mainit at ginhawang dala ng cigarette puffs.
habang buong layang bumubuhos sa kalangitan ang ulan nagtatagpo naman
gaya ng mga tubig sa ilog ang agos ng ating isipan.buong lakas at sabay
na aabutin ang karagatan ng nirvana...
*philosophy- (Gk. filosofia) philo- love of, sophia- wisdom
Posted by jen on Dec 22, '06 7:54 AM for everyone
Ganitong panahon
nang ang mga bulaklak mo'y
apoy na naglalagablab sa parang;
hinintay kong tupukin nito
ang mga sanga,
ngunit sa mga daho'y
waring nakikipagsayaw lamang.
Ilang buwan kong ipinagtika
ang muli mong pagdalaw
sa aking paningin, ngunit heto ka't
isinasangguni
ang pagtatapos ng tag-araw,
ang pagsisimula ng tag-ulang
papawi sa 'yong apoy
at titingala kang parang nakikipag-usap
sa langit;
salamat, sa muli.
ganito ring panahon
nang walang awang patayin
ng ulan ang apoy
sa aking puso.
Posted by jen on Dec 22, '06 7:27 AM for everyone Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you, yet they belong not to you.
You may give them your love but not your thoughts.
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which
you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them, but seek not
to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.
You are the bows from which your children as living
arrows are sent forth. | |
