old
and new
interwoven
into the
fabric
of a
nation,
the ever
evolving
the ever
growing.
city
older than
time itself
where a
civilisation
rose from
the earth
it’s offspring
scattering
to the
four winds
putting down
roots
where they
landed.
freedmen
bondsmen
men of
faith
men of
apostasy;
queens and
maidservants
maidens and
hoydens
building and
working and
wishing and
dreaming
of a
future
fit for
all.
stand alone
and close
your ears
to the
deafening
wagging of
tongues
around you:
you cannot
expect
the world
to understand
let alone
accept
who you
are
who you
choose
to be.
pity party
they say,
drama-rama
they say:
you are
always wrong
they are
always right –
but
it doesn’t
have to
be
that way.
what do
they know
why do
they care;
leave them
to their
mediocrity
to their
psychobabble
to their
envy
and hate
and ire
and spite.
go
on your
way;
there is
nothing wrong
with you;
be yourself
be true
to yourself
and let
the world
go hang.
maybe
i’m not
the ideal
you have
in mind.
i am:
short-tempered
ill-favoured
hopelessly neurotic;
terminally anxious,
world-weary,
disillusioned
by life
by love
by too
many disappointments.
plump
as the
proverbial partridge;
awkward;
two left
feet
and a
voice
like a
banshee;
short-sighted,
older than
you –
and that
can’t be
right.
and yet:
there is
poetry
in my
soul,
tenderness
in my
heart;
a listening
ear,
and hands
that heal;
and eyes
that see
the goodness
the kindness
in you.
and how
despite
the distance
i can
reach out
and talk
to you
in the
mornings
about life
and all
its possible
meanings.
but:
is it
enough
is it
not enough
to spark
to kindle
a flame
in you?
i have
a million
things
to say:
ideas
bubbling up
from the
depths
of my
mind,
emotions
spilling over
from my
heart.
unsure
if i
can talk
can write
can sing
them out
of my
system;
i wonder
if they
will shock
will awe
will hurt
will annoy
will force
others
to think
to laugh
to mock
to judge
to try –
at the
very least –
to understand.
i have
a million
things
to say:
but will
the world
listen
or simply
in its
ignorance
turn away?
(Author’s Note: The images in this particular entry are details of the late Filipino-American artist Pacita Abad‘s 2002 painting I Have One Million Things to Say. Abad and her work are the focus of an upcoming exhibition at the DLSU-CSB Museum of Contemporary Art and Design (MCAD) in Manila. The exhibition is curated by MCAD director and curator Joselina Cruz and Pacita Abad’s nephew London-based artist Pio Abad. Pacita Abad: A Million Things to Say will run from 12 April to 1 July 2018.)
you might
ask:
at what
price
our salvation,
at what
cost
our redemption?
is it:
a paltry
thirty pieces
of tainted
silver
paid to
a traitor,
a wolf
amongst the
sheep?
is it:
the denial
by a
friend
who swore
upon his
sword
to defend
his lord
only to
flee
into the
shadows
at the
first sign
of trouble?
no:
we were
bought
from bondage
with the
blood
of the
innocent;
we were
freed
from sin
by the
suffering
of one
who gave
himself,
of one
who died
that we
may live
a life
everlasting.
a man –
a god –
the son
of god
of whom
it was
said:
“i find
no fault
in this
just man.”
unsure
as to
which path
to take:
feeling lost
and at
odds
with myself
debating
to stay
to stray
to turn
away.
overwhelmed
by the
weariness
and the
unceasing
demands made
by the
world –
wanting to
feel needed:
yet
wanting to
lie abed
for a
spell.
seeking rest
but finding
none
and at
odds
to simply
stop
or doggedly
go on.
into the
gardens
of night
where the
ebony roses
bloom
and the
air
is scented
with a
perfume
sweet and
sad
and the
sky
is eternally
on the
cusp
of twilight.
here
one makes
an offering
to the
goddess
of night
who sees
what is
unseen
by human
eyes;
who knows
what is
hidden:
the grief
the pain
the hurt
in our
hearts
the tracks
left behind
by tears;
and the
hollowness
and the
emptiness
we feel
within.
and the
goddess
replies as
she deems
fit:
and one’s
enemies fall
and old
bonds broken
and one’s
pain eased
and one’s
heart soothed
and all
one
needs to
offer
is an
honest admission
that one
is too
human
and one
is too
frail
and one
is too
weary
to face
the dark
alone.
wearily contemplating
the glass
in my
hand:
too spent
for speech,
too drained
for song,
too tense
for sleep.
thoughts racing
in my
head
but no
words
roll off
my tongue
and no
words
stream from
my pen
and i
feel like
screaming
just to
release
the tension
that renders
every nerve
taut.
and i
let the
tears
fall into
my wine
and push
the glass
away
too spent
for speech
too drained
for song
and i
seek
my solace
in sleep.
remembering
how everything
changed
in an
instant,
how the
scales
fell from
my eyes
how the
hurt
of the
better part
of three
years
(and longer)
seemed
to just
dissipate
like frost
like mist
in the
warmth.
and all
i regret
are the
tears
the pining
away
for someone –
for something –
that would
cause me
nothing
but grief
but pain
but strife
in the
long run.
walking
my path
alone
for now;
heart
to myself –
though now
there is
another
(better than,
stronger than,
smarter than…)
and the
distance
of a
couple thousand
kilometres
seems like
nothing
against the
hope
of two
paths crossing
together.
everything
is different
now;
for that,
i am
glad.
yearning
at twilight
swayed
by siren’s
song
for distant
shores;
the waves
lapping
at my
feet,
salt tang
in the
air
stirring my
unease
awakening a
restlessness;
a silent
voice
telling me
to come
away
to fly
away
to sail
away.
kit bag
at the
ready
a walk
turning into
a run:
all set
for adventure
for escape –
but where
to?
take no
map,
bring no
chart:
let my
heart
do the
talking
let my
feet
do the
walking
and simply
go.
The Darker Side of Me 