Category: Poetry

Through the foggy windows to my right, I rise before the sun does,
Limbs all heavy from the night blearing into the exhausting dawn.
In the silence of a misty morning just before the traffic buzz of beeping cars,
I bow to the sunlight and glorify its grace, let the breeze of daybreak kiss my skin,
And while the sun listens, I breathe my wishes into the morning dew.

The street post lights from the night before glaze yellow on the ground,
Foolish and cold, the early birds bask under the faux warmth they offer
True to their attempt to envelope the past’s gloom
And who are we to judge the inclination?
The night is only pink in a painting and the cold is always blue.

Peace is sleeping soundly in the creases of fast-paced cities,
Spilling from the yawns of open-mouthed gossips, desperate to latch onto something.
The morning brews like a scalding black coffee and the night is ever so humid.
Maybe in the waning moon I’ll find my tranquility,
Maybe in the torrential downpours I’ll sit through the silence.

Gone are the days that I can feel the tangy earth between my teeth,
Replaced now with the heat of the noon on my tongue;
And although the puto cheese of the old karinderya tastes the same as before,
Still mild and sweet; the tang of the grease reminds me
Of how much closer to the sun I seem to be.

If this much distance entails unbridled proximity
Then allow me to hold hands with your ashes that have scattered to the wind.
Permit me to voyage to the native earth you call that has once caressed your grief,
Or God willing—to the heavens that now repose your ambitious soul.
Perhaps it is alright to desire a moment’s whim.

Much has passed and more is to come for our countrymen, I fear to say.
In the tumult of the backdrop with women on streets and men on highways
The stink of power and pretense permeates the air all-year
Flickering, this is what’s left with the residue of hope you have ignited
And I can only hold your visions close to my chest.

There is no refuge in a rowdy town, no haven found in cataclysm;
Hands on the neck, eyes on pale blue skies, head full of volatile dreams.
I dream in broad daylight. I dream in the sky without stars.
I dream, I dream, I dream…. Holding your memory close is a serene dream.
La vida sin usted es la vida en desorden. (Life without you is life in disorder.)

Fatima Aiza R. Majad is from Basilan. They are an undergraduate student of BS Biology majoring in Microbiology, now in their third year in MSU-IIT. Born ambitious and resolute in maintaining self-reliance, they dream of both the big and small things in life.