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Jesson Rata Poem
Star-crossed lovers? Not even close
The two were brought together at first sight, it seemed no future
Came from different families. One with an alcoholic mother. The other, never even saw a glimpse of his father.
The tale of two, both had only one pursue.
The feeling of gentle, soft, light, addictive emotion.
None had no clear dreams of tomorrow.
The nights are filled with courtship, a chase to impress the other.
One moment hot, one moment cold, the rest, just right.
Like a ripping mango, once green, now grew shades of yellow.
The days came, after one another. Filled with tears both of melancholy and joy.
Trials after trials, the tests made them tougher, stronger, milder.
Fights came about, shouts, screams, pure disaster.
Struggles were like winter. A way to make them closer, together, sharing warm laughter.
From there, the fruit of their shared endeavors resulted in four successors.
Each one varies, much like the seasons.
Yet all dream of creating presents to give to their creators.
Time ages all. Time heals it all. Time makes it all.
The two continues to smile together.
Reminiscing the past, revisiting memories that lasts.
They both continue to live, only to paint a better picture.
Time creates it all. Time tells it all. Time knows it all.
When will the two fall? When will it all dull?
Together, the two will awaken, the two will never be broken, the two will happen.
Copyright © Jesson Rata | Year Posted 2013
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Jesson Rata Poem
Four corners.
Stands, four players.
Quarrels of foul cries, collided.
Facing each nemesis into quadrants, divided.
Individuals motivated by objectives.
Devising plans, careful detectives.
Goal to achieve the highest rank, careful steps--discriminate.
Going by the hit-list, tunnel vision, hindrances must eliminate.
Scoping intensely, measuring opponents, methodical evaluation.
Staying alert, mind assessment, sedulous investigation.
Shrill of the first struck, the red bullet--bounces.
Instant reflex, ricochet the shot, violence--denounces.
The King may bend the rules, charges swift modification.
The Pawns are summoned, critical prosecution.
The Bishop prays for the suspects, classified praises, flattery denunciation.
The Queen cradles a heart, each beat rebounds, battery probation.
Copyright © Jesson Rata | Year Posted 2013
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Jesson Rata Poem
Today is earlier than usual.
It's not like any other days,
it's becoming a ritual.
Tasks at hand were once confusing;
like riding the waves slowly, you're cautious to not make mistakes,
yet, you were falling.
Eventually the ride gets easy.
Even when the water is raging,
you continue believing--
moving is breezy.
Relax your mind and your body will follow.
Allow your soul to take over,
release all the sorrow--
soak in all the positivity,
spirits, swallow.
When things get crazy,
your vision gets hazy.
Just close your eyes, imagine a world where there are skies--
of no lies.
Where the ground is stable;
not shaken by any label.
Now open your eyes;
Do you see a world of disguise?
Capture that vision, now you realize.
The politics, views, the price of arguing--
the war, hunger, win a prize of suffering.
Today is still early.
It's never too late.
When are you going to make a change?
Start by breathing, speaking--
let your message reverberate.
You're getting used to the ride.
You're moving steadily--cruising.
Skipping your steps, you don't mind bruising.
Your journey extends through space--traversing.
Eventually the ride gets easy.
Even when the water is raging,
you continue believing--
moving is breezy.
Relax your mind and your body will follow.
Allow your soul to take over,
release all the sorrow--
soak in all the positivity,
spirits, swallow.
Copyright © Jesson Rata | Year Posted 2013
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Jesson Rata Poem
The sound of the alarm wakes me back to reality
Lazily, I get up, confused of my locality,
Forget punctuality!
Even if I try to wake up early, I'm still going to be late,
Forget formality!
"Every day is a new day" said they
They who prefer to see things in a new perspective way.
But when everything gets too hectic and things not coming my way,
I get weak, exhausted, not ready to play,
Just about ready to decay
And all I think about is hitting the hay
Why can't I do that everyday?
If not working, I'm busy in class
Learning about issues that affect the mass.
Like the social class, always contrasts,
We even worry about the fluctuating price of gas
In this generation, things are hard to surpass
At the end of the day, I'm back where I started
I stay-up late, following agendas I have charted,
After that I go back to bed, the sun far departed,
I leave the world again, wake-up, and set the day restarted.
Copyright © Jesson Rata | Year Posted 2013
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Jesson Rata Poem
Pressure. Oh I wish I'm not struggling to free away from under.
They continue to push down with words of threats, only bringing me down.
They think it's easy, when in fact, they only suggest the easy way out. . . they're very concern, afraid that I fail on my own; Failure.
The only way I'm going to be able to pick myself up is to fall. . . down to
my own mistakes, aches, for my own sake, this is what I need to endure, this is what I have to take.
Like them, I am also afraid, but I've come to believe in myself. Have they come to believe in me?
I ignore their blasting of rhetorical. A blank mask I put on, only to space them out, I stare at nothing while they resume to pester me with their knowledge about what I should do. In reality, they know nothing.
They compare me to others. They assume nonchalantly. They don't know me.
I feel trapped. Contained in a bubble of oppression: hindering my ability to sprout and nourish On My Own.
Perhaps, they still think I'm the little boy they once adored. They've forgotten that time aged me to this tall, slim, song bird who never stops dreaming.
Now, I'm pursuing to achieve inner peace. For that is what gives me strength, courage, and determination--whilst in the midst of the noise and trouble, I keep my composure. . . and still be calm, in my heart.
Copyright © Jesson Rata | Year Posted 2013
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Jesson Rata Poem
You try. Everyday you try.
You get up, search, write, you hit apply.
You do the same cycle; wash, rinse, clean.
You hope that in every solitaire, a reply will come after.
You wait, and wait, and wait.
Sometimes, you get nothing, sometimes you get objections.
You try. Everyday you try.
When will you do? Do you know what to do?
That one day will come. In time, you'll know. . . you'll do.
Copyright © Jesson Rata | Year Posted 2013
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Jesson Rata Poem
These dreams.
Psychedelic dreams.
Untouchable yet, describable-- in some ways.
One moment turns into something else--
like mixing drinks, experiencing a different taste--
between sweet and sour--hot and cold--
the gray area mushes, turning into a hybrid form.
Interpretations will only add to a stack of questions.
Trying to figure out--deciphering the meanings behind what's already confusing.
The brain fiddles and play with scenarios. Like an unsolved mystery--cliffhangers.
Perhaps it reveals our deepest desires.
Perhaps it reveals our truest natures.
Waking up is pointless.
It ends the adventure.
Even nightmares can be fun--heart races.
Sometimes we try to revert the traces.
Clues are left behind like memories--quickly faded.
These dreams.
Psychotic it seems.
Prescriptions--Doctor recommendations.
Insomniac relations--day dreaming of immeasurable temptations.
Deprived of ecstatic doses--medicine will only nourish addictions.
Shut your eyes and try to fall.
Wake up and it will all dissolve to nothing at all.
Dreams are what we strive for.
Dreams are what we yearn for.
Dreams---they are what we live for.
Copyright © Jesson Rata | Year Posted 2013
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Jesson Rata Poem
I always look at the ground . . . whenever I walk. . . on the sidewalk I barely make the effort at looking straight ahead. Instead, I look at my path. . of where my feet are making contact . . with the pavement . . made to be stepped on. . . bounded to the earth that people don’t appreciate enough. . like the unwanted crust from a slice of pizza or a homemade sandwich, disregarded and not wanted. . . I look down to not engage contact with the walking bodies of strangers. . . from the street corners of conjoined houses, to the bustling system of train stations and around alleys for financial institutions. The ground will always be there. The only time I look up is when I see an architecture worthy of my attention. . . the complex engineering of constellations beyond the blueprints of hand-made skyscrapers. . . it doesn't take long before I fix my attention back . . down to the ground. I will forever look at it knowing that I will one day be buried in it.
Copyright © Jesson Rata | Year Posted 2015
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Jesson Rata Poem
Gasping for air. . . you strain your neck; stretching..you look around, checking.
Struggling to keep the pace. . . you're movements, fluctuating; you panic, you try floating.
Screaming for help. . . no one is around, you wish for a miracle; you're wheezing, yelp not helping.
Giving, no one is reaching. . . the waves starting to bring you down; you fight, your Will diminishing.
Vanishing. . . your light dimming; They look from afar, will they notice you're drowning?
Copyright © Jesson Rata | Year Posted 2013
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Jesson Rata Poem
To my future lover,
Why me? I feel that I don't deserve you, that there are way more attractive, smart, and funny individuals out there--fit to match the mold of your heart. I can't even act properly when I'm around you. Every time you call my name, my ears tickle. Every time you stare, my knees weaken, my face warm-up, and I'd look away ashamed--not worthy of receiving them. Every time you hold my hand, my entire body melts like ice, heart liquefies, spreading throughout my veins, I bleed of pure love. The affection you constantly show, the care you constantly provide, I cry just thinking about them. I know it seems pretentious and superficial, but know that it's all natural--my feelings as authentic as the wild flowers that grow beyond the peaks of mountains; it's as clear as spring water; it's as delicate as fine china. You'll soon discover my discrepancies and become familiar with my mannerisms. You'll lose interest and think that I'm too clingy--a key stuck in a chain. You'll quickly recall disappointing moments when we argue--I'm always to blame. Despite my imperfections, you'll stick around for a while to see where this path will take us. Relationships are unpredictable. We can only evaluate the value of it through moments we've spent. . carving our names on picnic tables and aging trees. Speaking as if all of this will eventually happen; it's all wishful thinking. Pinning all the possible visionary interests on a drywall--bare and taintless.
I am growing impatient by the day. Where are you? Are you waiting for me--to come to you, to be presented on a special occasion, to be neatly decorated with characteristics you find desirable? Perhaps we've already met--on city sidewalks, train stations, supermarkets, restaurants, gathering commons, elevator rides, church benches, museums, food lines? There are so many versions of you that I sometimes get distracted by the perfect image I expect you to be. When will you come to me? When will you whisper my name? When will you hypnotize my full attention? When will you caress the surface of my layered soul? When will take my sins away?
You are only a dream I look forward to reliving at night. A show I would buy all the tickets to. A song I would sing to last forever. It's possible that we will never truly meet, but know that I'm hopeful for that day to come. Know that I'm here. . . ready. Should you decide to appear, no need to warn me in advance. Just be there, ok baby?
Copyright © Jesson Rata | Year Posted 2015
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