P[e]NORAMA

As individuals and as parents, Mom and Dad are by no means perfect. Just like any other parents, they, too, have their own weaknesses. But as their child, I admire how well they have played their roles. Here are some of the things I appreciate about them.

1. I appreciate that they always listened to us. And not only that, they solicited our opinions. Even when we were still in our elementary years, our voices were already heard on family matters. Like for example, they would ask us if we should get a house help. They would share the pros and cons, and ask us if we could add to the list. Then, we would decide as a family. When we were in high school and we were beginning to become financially burdened, we made together the decision to swap our residential land to an agricultural one so Dad could farm it.

And when one of us kids commit mistake, we were always given time to air our side and explain our actions. Only after we all have spoken would there be a decision as to the kind of punishment we would be meted out.

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Dear Failure,

I tried to court Success, but I guess she wasn’t looking when I jumped.

So though she was sitting right next to you, it was your torn net that caught me — sending me spiraling fast

down…

down

to the dark abyss of your trap.

Hearing an echoing thud, you hurry to me, imagining me lying on my hearse — still breathing, but already dead.

In your mind, you hear a dirge. You imagine the sky darkening as it wails.

Your phantom voice whispers for me to keep still, beckoning me to hug the misery of your embrace, urging me to welcome Death’s cold, unfeeling kiss.

You sing to me your eerie songs of despair, filling my heart with thoughts of nothingness.

Slowly, I succumb to your numbing company.

But now I see Success peering through your unsightly crevice — calling out to me; reaching out to me. Holding out to me Hope and the beauty of her dreams.

Weep! Weep, Angel of Darkness! Weep, for I was yours, but only for a fleeting moment.
Weep and wallow in your wretched defeat because once again, you lived up to your stinking name…

… and I in mine.

I am,

Survivor

(Original version is in poetry form.)

For someone who had always had everything he needed, even if he had to work hard for it, imagining how it is like to be poor in the real sense of the word would be very difficult. It requires one to experience getting on in an empty stomach to know how it’s like not to have a roof over one’s head, or to send your kids to sleep without supper. Seeing emptiness on the eyes of people whose only possession is ‘nothing’ would never be enough to comprehend the desperation and the self-pity that set in in them who subsist on almost nothing.

I’ve been poor myself. No, not the kind of poor that required me to walk on streets to beg for alms, but I’ve experienced not eating three square meals a day. And I tell you, it was so hard, it brings tears to my eyes just thinking about the things my family and I had to go through.

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(A Photo-inspired Poem)

The voice of worry reigns over
my jaded soul’s fitful attempts
to rest my eyes from the landscape
of my broken dreams in the forsaken
sky of busted wings; its discordant tune
humming a boisterous music that knows
no melody; chanting lyrics
that cut through the hope that resides
within me.

I fumble for the white handkerchief
to throw it into the arena
of my struggles. But then I get
a glimpse of you just lying in your cradle;
and suddenly, my lips refuse
to pronounce the name of surrender.

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.
From a distance, Dream could see Man staring out of his tiny window, gazing unseeingly at the clouds that were almost completely concealing the rising moon, sadness hugging him tightly. The soft breeze was sighing, and the crickets were eerily quiet.

Dream’s heart went out to Man, despite himself. After all, they used to be inseparable, the best of friends. A tear threatened to fall down Dream’s cheeks, which he was quick to control.

“Ah, my friend,” Dream whispered through the air. “It saddens me to see that the bright light you once had has considerably dimmed. I would so much want to comfort you, if I could. But I need comforting, too. Because like you, I am also feeling wretched, for I failed to become what destiny designed me to be.”

Dream paused, feeling silly. He knew Man couldn’t hear him. But then, he thought he saw Man look in his direction, but maybe he didn’t.

After some time, Dream continued with his anguished whispering.

“I feel bad that you failed, because your failure is mine, too. But what can I do? I did everything to steer you in the right direction. I made myself your inspiration, your driving force. I always accompanied you in your youth; I used to sit by your side as you planned your moves back when you still thought that the future looked so bright. Wasn’t I the one who kept whispering in your ears to keep going whenever you were down? I held the torch for you every time you walked along dark alleys.

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I could have been the ripple

That reached very far

In the pool of compassion;

I could have been the dream

That inspired hope to soar

From the void of drunken stupor;

I could have been the hymn

That enthused peace to ease

The pain of tortured spirits;

I could have been the tiny spark

That lighted the dark alleys

Of restless souls’ meanderings;

If only I didn’t die;

If only I didn’t succumb

To diseased silence.

//Sherma E. Benosa

27 June 2008; 10:47pm

When we give our souls some wings, they will surely soar, up above the clouds, to the stars, to the heavens, and to dimensions beyond the reach of time. My soul is here, with me, yet it is really gone. It’s somewhere beyond the depths of the deepest sea, above the highest mountain, in a plane indefinable by me.

//Sherma E. Benosa

08 May 2008; 2:25pm