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Best Gianni Pansensoy Poems

Below are the all-time best Gianni Pansensoy poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Details | Gianni Pansensoy Poem

BLOOD TAINTED MONDAY


Semi - collage dreams suddenly collapsed, 
While the chill of September's dawn crept into my veins, 
And the scent of the wind outside smelled with horror, 
Gunshots from ak-47 disturbed the airs' silence instead
Of the sweet melodies from cock's crows, 
Blood tainted streets of bombs and tanks turned the beauty
Of misty sunshine into a perpetual nightmare, 
This blood soaked Monday witnessed the gruesome strangulation
Of PEACE in the land of Zamboanga Hermosa.

From the small opening of our rusty gate, 
Astonished eyes stared helplessly, 
Streams of naked children running away, 
Going nowhere, 
But deep into the wilderness where they do not know
What lies ahead of their horizons, 
And they were just floating adrift on another river of bloodshed.

All around me were so many faces, 
Too many unfamiliar faces, 
Paled by the brutal yet senseless intrusion
Of the MNLF bandits, 
Hundreds of thoughts blown away, 
While the roaming savages seized women as hostages, 
Human shields, 
And prized items for ransom, 
hands tied men beheaded in cold blood, 
Bodies hacked into pieces by the moros' kris of greed, 
Raped young girls' dignities hidden under the shadow
Of the looters' flag of death, 
And the petals of the blue roses along the street of Sta. Catalina withered
Beneath the drops of blood from the innocent victims.

Crying mothers rushing everywhere, 
Clueless kids over their left shoulders, 
While packed clothes hanging under their right arms, 
An exhausted woman with eyes filled with bitter tears, 
A child on her lap asked intelligently, 
Is this the war for liberation? 
No Son! 
This war is all about a struggle for self glorification, 
A conflict armed with deceptions, 
An ideologically bankcrupt upheaval, 
Most certainly is a self interested business.

When darkness fell, 
With the full moon, 
Heavy exchanges of gunfires murdered the deafening silence, 
Trembling explosions tore every fiber of social justice on this broken land, 
Fires everywhere razed thousand of homes into ashes, 
Just like death that could steal everything from you, even your soul, 
And the night sky turned into hell, 
Illuminating the ugliest picture of war.

Underneath the hell of blood, 
A father's eyes kept on shedding tears, 
Kneeling before his burning house, 
While in his arms is the dead body of his son caught in a crossfire, 
Too helpless and numb, 
But to curse this moronic war.

Between the burning houses across the street, 
A child came out with her little teddy bear doll, 
Her face lined with anxieties, 
Constanly looking for her dead mother and father, 
She looked inside the burning window, 
Screaming the name of her sister burned alive, 
But a brave army soldier took her away from the war zone, 
While in his arms, 
She asked, 
Would this war be over tomorrow? 
He answered not a single word but tears, 
Because he certainly knows, 
As long as human greed exist, 
Then war would always be the chronic disease of mankind.


Details | Gianni Pansensoy Poem

Tales from the victims of Yolanda

Through the storm surge and chaotic sky, 
the scale of destruction: hell on earth, 
towns flattened into a horrible wasteland, 
the deluge created ghost cities in a second, 
every night spent is a horror painted with gothic madness, 
and the survivors live in an unthinkable nightmare, 
their throats are left dry, 
there is no water everywhere, 
they have never eaten for straight 5 days now, 
with dignities blown by the diabolic wind, 
sense of decency fades into the darkness of hunger, 
in order to survive, 
they resorted into looting to preserve lives than to live like zombies, 
walking dead souls in a state of anarchy.

'All are dead and gone except me! 
Don't come home anymore ate! 
Mom, dad and our little nipa home is swept into the sea by the huge waves! '

Crying with tears of shattered soul, 
herself is in total ruin, 
Marga told her dramatic story to a Journalist, 
It has been five days since the Super Typhoon Yolanda battered her city, 
her eyes are tortured by the gruesome pictures of unexpected deaths, 
the tone of her words sounded very traumatized by the deluge, 
and the deeper cut on her forehead is still wet, 
never been medicated, 
when even the hospitals turned into rubbles.

'Kuya in Cebu City, 
if you are listening, 
Forgive me! 
Here is Aya, 
my daughter: your beloved niece, 
I am sorry not to protect her from the violent wind of the storm, 
it was too strong, 
I thought it was the end of the world! '

He said, 
shivering in the darkness of living hell, 
crying while asking for absolution, 
every drop of her tears flow on his daughter's violet lips, 
his heart is broken into pieces, 
the pain he could not bear, 
his hug is tight and he cried till the last drop of his tears.

' mommy, 
if you hear me, 
if you could still remember before you left us, 
we took an oath before you that what might happen we will remain as one happy family, 
nobody will leave and separate, 
but kuya Roel and ate Ella are both dead, 
they were drowned in a flood of 12 feet deeper, 
I tried to give them a decent burial, 
even the funeral homes are devastated too, 
their cadavers were in advance state of decomposition, 
I am very sorry, 
I was forced to bury them in a mass grave! '

An eight year old girl told the media man, 
he could not withstand the pain the girl is feeling within, 
his emotion is breaking into rubbles, 
and he cries too.


Details | Gianni Pansensoy Poem

Scarecrows

Innocent child,
wake up from your rainbow colored dreams,
listen to the red feathered rooster,
it crows the early dawn's burden,
hang on me,
dance along with the swaying golden weeds
among the fields of corn,
watch the trees of blue and gray,
follow me on the dikes of rice fields of amber green,
look at the scarecrow,
it looks like death,
open up your eyes to the sad realities,
the common farmer of tattered clothes,
his pockets filled with mud,
he is a prisoner of a violent semi-feudalism,
with hands wrapped in callous,
bleeding while tilling the bone-dry land,
he works like a slave for his landlord.

Little child,
even the plain smells with fog,
moistened leaves keep on falling over your head,
but never close your eyes,
do not be scared to see the toiling man's stomach,
it has been empty for ages,
he is nailed on the cross of ferocious poverty,
dying,
suffering,
yet our politicians live in luxury,
do nothing but to corrupt for eternal power,
they keep on pretending as common farmer's saviors,
but they are actually scarecrows,
the angels of death,
do not trust even you admire them with sugar-coated words,
sooner they will give you the worst blow.

sweet child,
open up your mind to the relentless cruelties of this world,
the common farmer's skin is burning,
still toiling under the hell of the sun,
sweating with blood,
and his eyes are flowing with tears of agony,
yet the government does nothing to give him a decent life,
he goes to church every sunday morning,
confessing everything about liberation,
asking for freedom from the madness of hunger,
but he realizes not,
people around him,
including laymen,
also are victims of brutal political corruption.


Details | Gianni Pansensoy Poem

Lakbay Lansangan

Halika nga muna binibini!
Sa aking mga braso'y kumapit kang maigi,
maglakbay tayo sa masalimuot na realidad,
tuklasin natin ang hiwaga ng lansangan,
pero'y huwag kang kukurap baka ika'y madukutan.

Masdan mo si mang Pedro sa gilid ng estero,
dati'y nakibaka rin sa People's Power noong 1986,
nagtiwala sa pangakong kaunlaran at pagbabago,
hanggang ngayo'y  barong-barong ang tinitirhan,
maralita at lagi pa ring ginugutom.

Ang masikip na eskinitang iya'y stambayan ng magandang si Milagrosa,
sa kadilima'y nakikipag-digma sa hanap-buhay,
nakipag-buno sa mga militar noong Edsa 2,
dala ang pulang bandila ng rebolusyon,
akala'y mapigilan ang kurapsyon,
subalit ay lalong tumindi at lumaganap pa ng lubusan,
hanggang ngayo'y lugmok pa rin siya sa kahiarapan,
naka-lubog ang kaluluwa sa nakaka-baliw na kawalan,
napilitang lumipad ng mababa,
sa putik ng prostitusyo'y dumapo.

Kung mangyari lamang ay batakin mo ang iyong pantalon,
baka ika'y mabasa,
umapaw na naman ang tubig sa kanal,
huwag kang mahimatay sa nakakasukang baho nito,
dulot ng matinding pangungurakot sa kaban ng bayan,
mga imburnal ay nagkagiba-giba na.

Huminahon ka't magbuntong-hininga,
ito's pagaalog-alog lamang,
hayaan mo,
kalsadang lubak-lubak,
sa iyong kamalayan ay mabubura din,
putok na putok sa mga balita,
tila'y bomba atomika,
pondo nito'y ginamit ng alkalde noong nakaraang eleksyon.

Oo nga pala,
isipan ko'y nakatisod ng isang ala-ala,
naitanong mo kanina,
iya'y burol ni aling Juana,
sa gitna ng lansangan ay bantog na tsismosa,
magaling magpa-away ng kapuwa,
kaya napaslang kanina.

Lumingon ka't mga mata'y buksan,
iya'y pansitan ni mang Chua,
tanyag na mangangalakal ng mga droga,
nagpupuslit ng mga pekeng gamot mula Tsina,
halimuyak niya'y abot hanggang sa palasyo ng Malakanyang,
malaking halaga ng salapi ang ibinibigay bilang pampadulas
sa mga buteteng pulitiko,
buong bayan ay inilalagay sa masaklap na sakuna.

Binibini,
tahan na sa pag-iiyak sa harap ng puntod ng kalupitan,
ito ay nakakamatay na bangungot,
balang araw ang mapapaslang ay ikaw,
manindigan at huwag gumapang,
boses mo'y taasan,
isigaw sa mga tengang bingi ang harapang
pandudugas,
pukawin ang bayang natutulog sa mahimbing na panlilinlang,
buksan ang mga matang nabubulag sa lason ng mga pangakong
napapako,
pagbabago ay makakamtan din.



Details | Gianni Pansensoy Poem

THE YEARNING

PEACE! PEACE! PEACE! 
Painted on murals, 
Vandalized on walls, 
Written on daily newspapers, 
everybody yearned about it, 
Yet everybody resorted into violence to attain it.

From the very first kiss of the morning dew, 
Nothing could be heard on radios, 
But wars from Jerusalem to kabul, 
Till midnight when the nectar of the Dama De Noches flowed through the petals, 
Nothing could be seen on televisions, 
But mutilated cadavers from Damascus to the streets of Zamboanga City, 
And everybody sought for PEACE through all ages.

If am dead and gone, 
It would be sweeter to be buried before darkness, 
Beneath the blooming flowers of yellow roses, 
Where the scent of them would hug my corpse, 
When the windy afternoon comes, 
Their petals would perfume my decaying flesh.

Under the falling rain, 
When my soul crosses the river styx into the other world, 
Where the angel of death's guitar strums flow underneath
The rainbow bridge of soft pillows, 
perhaps I could find peace across the river


Details | Gianni Pansensoy Poem

Sharp Contrast

Look at them Papa, 

Sleek: 

They appear dignified, 

listen to them, 

Smart: 

With intelligent words and quotes of academic excellence, 

very persuasive indeed, 

yet too many filipinos are dying in extreme poverty, 

naked souls swept by the storm of sheer ignorance.

Never trust politicians whom you love admire most, 

whom inspired you as a youth, 

your consciousness will be raped by their deceptions, 

your pockets without you knowing it will be robbed by their witty tricks, 

by their wicked lies, 

they are the modern political magicians, 

with the spell of scholastic credibilities, 

at the end of the day, 

under the constitution, 

every single cent within the national treasury

will be gone.

It is sad, 

very very mind-blowing, 

justice can be bought like a chocolate bar, 

corruption is everywhere like a rose, 

and hunger is forever like a diamond.


Details | Gianni Pansensoy Poem

Stitches and Dreams

t was half past five before sunrise, 
when darkness faded into the misty Saturday's dawn, 
just an hour after a bloody confrontation, 
but a brave woman descended into a blood-bathed
street of Lustre, 
with hungry cats and mice on that battleground, 
walking while her purple robe turned pale
with agony, pain and pity, 
completely depressed by the horrible aftermath of war, 
where bullet-ridden houses pounded by an insane belief of
terrorism as a means towards a divine end, 
and victims died as tools for selfish political propaganda, 
while thousands evacuated from the satanic bangsamoro reality
that enriched the few, 
and too many had died under the brutality of corruption, 
some were murdered by extreme poverty, 
where social justice was just an unreachable dream, 
she bled for such an elusive dream.

Yet she strolled in between ruined homes and
broken aspirations, 
through the portal where blood drifted into nothingness
and souls decapitated by a turbulent past, 
while her veil of blue moistened by tears of sorrow, 
with eyes saddened by relentless conflict, 
when the status of civilization was measured 
by the degree of human barbaric atrocities, 
and she knelt down before the walls collapsing, 
torn into pieces by an extreme hate, 
razed to the ground by religious fanaticism, 
When would they realize to co-exist in harmony? 
she asked her thoughts, 
while tears tasted like bitter almonds, 
flowing between her sweet scented cheeks.

The reason behind this violence she could not grasp, 
but to shed tears of blood, 
within her confusion was a lightning, 
where palm leaves fell without solution, 
yet she appeared with an angelic face, 
with eyes shining brighter than diamonds, 
while the moonsoon wind blew her veil, 
floating over the decomposing corpse of a soldier
entangled between electric wires, 
and the dead was brought to life like Lazarus.

He knelt down from death, 
with his camouflage uniform torn by bullets, 
but the wounds recuperated, 
he recognized the blue veiled woman in front of him, 
the divine blessed mother of Jesus, 
he wept like a child, 
and when his eyes opened, 
the  woman went back into
the holy Fort Del Pilar, 
he forgot not the message from her, 

'Son! When humans learn to depart from hatred
then there is no reason to pull a trigger against someone.'
It was half past five before sunrise, 
when darkness faded into the misty Saturday's dawn, 
just an hour after a bloody confrontation, 
but a brave woman descended into a blood-bathed
street of Lustre, 
with hungry cats and mice on that battleground, 
walking while her purple robe turned pale
with agony, pain and pity, 
completely depressed by the horrible aftermath of war, 
where bullet-ridden houses pounded by an insane belief of
terrorism as a means towards a divine end, 
and victims died as tools for selfish political propaganda, 
while thousands evacuated from the satanic bangsamoro reality
that enriched the few, 
and too many had died under the brutality of corruption, 
some were murdered by extreme poverty, 
where social justice was just an unreachable dream, 
she bled for such an elusive dream.

Yet she strolled in between ruined homes and
broken aspirations, 
through the portal where blood drifted into nothingness
and souls decapitated by a turbulent past, 
while her veil of blue moistened by tears of sorrow, 
with eyes saddened by relentless conflict, 
when the status of civilization was measured 
by the degree of human barbaric atrocities, 
and she knelt down before the walls collapsing, 
torn into pieces by an extreme hate, 
razed to the ground by religious fanaticism, 
When would they realize to co-exist in harmony? 
she Asked her thoughts, 
while tears tasted like bitter almonds, 
flowing between her sweet scented cheeks.

The reason behind this violence she could not grasp, 
but to shed tears of blood, 
within her confusion was a lightning, 
where palm leaves fell without solution, 
yet she appeared with an angelic face, 
with eyes shining brighter than diamonds, 
while the moonsoon wind blew her veil, 
floating over the decomposing corpse of a soldier
entangled between electric wires, 
and the dead was brought to life like Lazarus.

He knelt down from death, 
with his camouflage uniform torn by bullets, 
but the wounds recuperated, 
he recognized the blue veiled woman in front of him, 
the divine blessed mother of Jesus, 
he wept like a child, 
and when his eyes opened, 
the miraculous woman went back into
the holy Fort Del Pilar, 
he forgot not the message from her, 

'Son! When humans learn to depart from hatred
then there is no reason to pull a trigger against someone.'


Details | Gianni Pansensoy Poem

Bayanihan

Tacloban City, 
Heavily Damaged: 10,000 feared dead, 
cadavers of ripped children litter on the streets, 
Ormoc City, 
Totally Devastated: People are desperate, 
the streets are infested with terrible hunger, 
looting is everywhere, 
The whole city: State with anarchy, 
Most of the communities on the coastal areas around the Visayas region: Literally wiped out, 
defaced from the map in a blink of an eye, 
washed away into the ocean by tsunamis of 15 feet higher, 
After the apocalyptic deluge of super typhoon Yolanda, 
sufferings plagued with painful sadness reign, 
dead mothers hugged by crying children still wet with gushing blood, 
a confused father carrying the cadaver of his young daughter, 
whole families uprooted, 
died in a split second, 
an old woman eternally searching for her dead sons and daughters, 
the old man shedding tears before the church's sacred altar, 
his mind could not imagine the magnitude of the devastation, 
an unthinkable natural calamity, 
such a tragic phenomenon he just experienced in his lifetime.

My heart bleeds while watching these heart breaking news flashed 
on television, 
in every corner of the victims' eyes are unimaginable sufferings beyond human comprehension, 
not even a poetic thought could find a word to describe the sorrow they are going through, 
even an artist's passionate hand finds it hard to portray on canvass the agonies of homelessness, 
worst than nightmare is that their dreams are swept away by heavy flooding.
how depressing to see them trembling under the bitter coldness without clothes.

Even the wrath of nature is terrible, 
the very nature that we abused for so long, 
but never loose hope, 
there will always be calm after the storm, 
as beautiful rainbow appears after the rain, 
you'll never walk alone through your endeavor towards rehabilitation and restoration, 
in spite of the political scandal of corruption that afflicts our country, 
the politicians that put us in global shame, 
the disease that we are trying to cure day by day, 
but always remember, 
we are filipinos born with a spoon of resiliency, 
deep in our hearts are true compassion for others, 
the spirit of bayanihan still dwells within us, 
hand in hand we help each other like a one big family, 
together we stand united, 
this tragedy will be overcame, 
and realize that this enemy is just but a small problem to beat.


Details | Gianni Pansensoy Poem

ETERNITY

Everytime our ways cross, 
This motive of mine could not be seen through my expressions, 
But look deeper into my eyes, 
They would show my heart beats with sweet sweet melodies, 
Within them where thoughts fall into hallucinations, 
Neon green orchids and violet wild flowers bloom along our pathways, 
butterflies of black and blue lead us through the aisle of purple grasses, 
And into the candle lighted altar of an endless love.

Whenever you come closer before me, 
Shyness conquers all of my soul, 
Tongue tied as if condemned to being mute, 
Not even a single letter of love could be spoken, 
But to whisper words of passion in the lemon scented wind, 
Perhaps its breeze might bring a message of love into your eyes, 
A love so pure yet innocent, 
Sweeter than red red roses, 
And i promise to love you all through eternity.

Every second is spent dreaming about you, 
Wishing to touch your face prettier than venus, 
Yet i do not have a cent to buy you gifts, 
But poems and lots of poems, 
Every word is written by my heart, 
Sentences are ended with burning desires, 
Between those lines are my real intensions, 
Love and burning passion, 
If you can read them someday, 
Perhaps you will love a poet madly in love with you, 
With a love so warm you never dreamt of, 
Beyond your wildest memory, 
The happiest woman on earth will be you.


Details | Gianni Pansensoy Poem

Climate Change

It's the last breathe of the dying land, 

maybe an enchanted wind passing, 

perhaps the spirit of a vanaishing forest, 

everybody's specualting, 

they are asking, 

Who created that spectacle? 

Their eyes are mesmerized and wider, 

wandering towards the natural phenomenon, 

it's something new to them, 

never they have seen it since birth, 

it's something spectacular, 

a MIRAGE growing wilder on a dead river.

 

Perhaps the wind created it, 

they thought, 

while its scent, 

blows very dry and getting drier, 

no longer soothes, 

but drying those woods cut from the forest, 

they are charcoal woods for expanding

barbecue market in town's plaza, 

everyday they will only be for charcoal business.

 

Forest, 

you are not made for death, 

but to live and let live, 

yet you are not immortal, 

you are getting balder, 

and you stopped feeding the rivers with water, 

your death is getting closer, 

filter weaker the sun's heat, 

getting hotter without you, 

the land's temperature: 

Feverish and rising out of control, 

turning soils into pebbles and stones, 

everything dried dying and thirsty, 

everywhere, 

from dead cornfields and deserted ricefields, 

MIRAGE appears, dances and wilder.

 

For the greed of charcoal, 

chronic abused of forest, 

killing along their right to exist, 

MIRAGE a symptom of uncontollable warming, 

till everything die.


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