A boy from Malate

‘Metro Manila’

Its a simple eccentric morning in Manila,

Where the mockery of birds flaunted the sky of their wings,

And people distracted to buzzing sounds and blaring lights of the metro.

The footbridge stood as the overseer of lost souls

Gathering dreamers to fulfill their quest, their visions, and prayers.

The light of their eyes paved way through the fumes,

But as eyelids shut, so does the very belief of hope is extinguished

Left in the ruins of an empire, a missing page with ashes for ink.

Marching towards the golden halls hidden in Morayta, 

Young souls anxious of greeting mask’s of strangers.

Mysterious of who they are, but their fist are raging,

Screaming for attention. Questioning God and country.

Soles of their shoes, muddy from Recto's pavements.

But stand high as towers and talk boldly to those of status, 

Ignited by decisions childish leaders have posed.

But standing in black shiny shoes spoke loudly of bluff. 

The anxious young souls seeing these protest,

Thought of their seniors so free, so bold. 

But they fail to realize, the muddy shoes they all wore,

The light of you deemed through the night.

Your sunny glow and bright eyes still there. 

But the dream of you suddenly lapsed 

And cold wind of reality alarmed me. 

To shatter the complexion i built of you. 

Truly it hurts, as veins that supply me life 

Beg me to keep you inside, and bear your pain. 

No clue what is most cruel. 

The futures written for us, obliterated. 

The memory of your touch, eradicated. 

Or the thoughts and words of your love 

I woke up half past 5 to the roars of the lady lion. 

My lola commands me to buy our daily pandesal.

With haste, I moved to get coins from our sala, 

And walk the streets of Malate, the red light district—

Where tall, frail foreign men made it their Zion. 

The dawn killed the angelic lights of Sin City.

Vendors of rice cake and soy are assembling. 

The yolk of eggs and last night's dinner are sizzling.

Funny how the street is a playful labyrinth for elites, come night. 

And a gathering for the manongs who drive them at dawn. 

The bakery across always looked like a kingdom. 

With a towering sign and the fragrance of sweet heaven. 

There, I buy the salted bread rolls for me and my lola. 

Thankful, I am, to break bread in this palace.