by: Ernest John B. Tamana
There are people, who trust our weakness,
Of people who blame the moronic beauty we bear,
Of people who see our young faces, the long tender deceptiveness.
For we sit in chairs,
And thinking about the dark dim holes that have looked on us lately.
Of people who created us intro the cold whimpers of air,
Of people who see our blissful wishes coming true.
We, are, strangers.
Yes, we never wake up; until we ask where have been, or have we remained hungry
Of innocence, gasping, hunting and whipping, of truths,
That will kill and spare us,
Of the undeniable moving of moments, and trips of waiting.
***The poems are not mine. They’re just nice so I posted them. And mind you, both poems won First Place in Poetry Writing in the 13th Gawad Genoveva Edroza Matute.