Section 19, Row 38: My End in Sight
A reminder, a truth I so often forget:
All things come to an end.
La Vida
Life is meaningless, but humans can't accept that. They believed that if they didn't find the meaning, they would not be successful. They believed that without money, they can't do everything they want and be what they wanted to be.
The Night Boseman Died
Each of us has known someone with cancer, and many of us have lost someone because of cancer. Cancer isn't political. Cancer doesn't normally attack people based on skin color. Cancer doesn't discriminate. But apparently tonight, some people are slightly skewed in their thinking and believe that this man's death doesn't count.
I saw a funeral from my bed
The end of an old life and the start of another.
That's what the Buddhists like to believe.
To be reborn once again.
Dapit-hapon
paano ko nanaising magpatuloy kung sa bandang huli ay maraming mawawala?
sapat na sakin ang dalawampu't walong taon na nasilayan ko ang kariktan ng daigdig,
Gone and Departed
Hearts shed people throughout life-
like broken angels crossing time-
in the form of lovers and loved ones.
In Funeral
How can you not cry in a funeral? How can you not cry? How can you not ask yourself if people would come to yours? How can you not question life when parents bury their child?
What people say while you live is no match to what they’ll say when you’ve passed
That despite all the struggles and failures, the criticisms, the eyebrow-raising, eye-rolling, and all the name-calling, I choose to be happy. And that’s what matters.
Lonely Claim
I am your time that is up
Your story that’s come to an end
Your regrets and words unsaid.
Your what ifs and maybes.
Your whys and cries.
Your hows and tries.
Your breaking point and last stand.
Your surrender and longest slumber.
DEATH
Does it really hurt to die?
Adieu
Not much of him was left lying there in the casket, just a figment of his formal self.
We quarreled the last time we had met, threatened we would kill ourselves.
Death has always been interesting
Bare fingers stretch the feeling-bands, the poet poseur, Bakes his poems on a fire, he says, that blanches his heart:
A fire that blanches his heart, makes breathing hard and feeds his art.