asian poetry, bent, broken, charlotte aninion-de guzman, Creative writing, falling, Filipino poetry, heartache, hurt, Life, loneliness, lost, Love, love lost, pain, Poem, Poetry, relationships, saintcharlotte, sanctuary
I thought I saw you cry,
in the darkness,
while I was falling.
My heart stopped,
for a minute — questioning,
if this is wrong.
But it’s too late now,
just like you and me
spiraling out of control,
nothing can stop
this juggernaut fall.
bencab, casualties of war, charlotte de guzman, Creative writing, death, death of a son distress, destruction caused by war, Filipino poetry in English, hurt, Life, loneliness, mother losing a son, pain, Poem, Poetry, saintcharlotte, sanctuary, war, woman in distress
Twilight saw them coming.
Knocking our door down.
Shadowy figures ….
Men in shadows … shadows of men —
Reaching, dark arms enveloping,
my precious boy.
They dragged him out — screaming!
Into war, into darkness, into the night —
the womb of madness that bears no light.
Traitor to the people, they spat out.
Snatching his dog tag,
they broke him down.
Made him kiss the ground.
They roared, hitting him.
I begged and I cried,
for my son,
my precious boy ….
who was six pounds when he was born.
A tiny baby with innocent brown eyes,
who barely made me sleep with his cries.
My precious boy,
who started walking at eight months old,
who curiously touched and tasted everything,
while I watched the wonder in his eyes unfold.
who hugged and kissed me when I got home,
and told me stories about his friends,
and how much of his allowance did he spend.
My precious boy,
who fell down from a tree when he was eight,
who was always running late,
and chucked the veggies on his plate.
who fell in love at eighteen,
got his heart broken by the Prom Queen,
and then decided that he’d join the Marines.
My precious boy,
who told me he loved me,
that he’d take care of his Mama when she is old,
who would patiently fetch me a coat when I was cold.
My son ….
They never knew that about him.
They only saw what they wanted —
My son is the brass and the trim.
Blinded by their cause, locked up in hate,
they refused to see the man inside.
These shadows of men —
stood dim and grim.
Passing judgment, passing sentence.
Reducing men to just two kinds.
And my son, my precious boy,
for them, belongs to the other side.
They found me cradling him.
My tears bathing him.
His rotting body in my embrace,
while I sang his favorite lullaby
from his childhood days.
My son, my precious boy ….
They brutalized him — in front of me,
like he wasn’t human, like he was a nobody.
He was my son.
My precious boy … slowly died ….
And when the light went out of his eyes,
everything, for me, went dark inside.
“Woman in Distress” by Benedicto Cabrera aka Bencab. National Museum, Manila.
The painting portrays a woman silently suffering because of poverty. Although it is tackling a different subject, I still decided to use it for this poem, because one can palpably feel the pain, loneliness and hurt emanating from this artwork. I thought that such a visual presentation of said emotions is apt for the tone of my poem.
betrayal, charlotte, charlotte aninion-de guzman, charlotte de guzman, cheating spouse, Creative writing, de guzman, hurt, Insights, Life, Literature, Living, loneliness, Love, NaPoWriMo, people, Poetry, realizations, relationship, saint, saint charlotte, saintcharlotte, sanctuary
I watched my daughter play
as she thoughtfully envisioned,
how the paper in her hand
the masterpiece in her mind —
Carefully she traced
every line and curve.
With furrowed brows,
she shaped rows upon rows;
lovingly creating the art
of bright red paper hearts —
We were like her then.
Full of plans and
So sure of ourselves,
living on hope and love,
like a pair of turtle doves.
how we stayed up late
lost in each other,
bodies and mind
how you gazed at me and said,
that every mistake I did
was adorably cute and silly.
how life seemed
full of possibilities,
and we believed
will turn out perfect,
and every wound
can be healed by a kiss.
But time flies ….
The heart forgets.
Promises are replaced by lies.
The heart whispers its bitter goodbye,
and love tragically dies.
A tug on my shoulder
brought me out of my revelry.
My daughter held out
a sundered art,
a bleeding paper heart —
She asked me to find a way,
to mend what has gone astray,
and I struggled for something to say….
how I saw you with her.
How I felt
my world crumble
with the pain I could not bear.
how she laughed
as you gazed into her eyes,
before saying, that she is
adorably cute and silly ….
Then my heart bled
at the sight of a kiss.
“Mommy, are you listening?”
I turned to my daughter,
roused from memories.
Slowly and sadly I told her,
I am sorry …
but when paper hearts
are broken ….
They are forevermore