|
Details |
Gianni Pansensoy Poem
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.
Copyright © Gianni Pansensoy | Year Posted 2013
|
Details |
Gianni Pansensoy Poem
Between You and I,
What's going on?
torn stitches,
Girl!
Smiles of diabolical impression,
brutally appealing,
gestures of charismatic sweet melodies,
best described: very dangerous indeed,
on this brown wooden bed,
over the same bloated pillow we sleep madly in love,
within the blanket of velvet furs and moonshadow,
the nightsky so dark,
seeing everything,
yet we feel miles apart inside.
Funny how it seems,
we have been longing for our warm embraces,
listening to the same jokes and new wave songs,
hanging beneath the music of pure love songs,
dissecting every quote of Milan Kundera,
contradicting the dialectical thoughts of marxism,
eating green mango and octopus that give us indigestion,
taking refuge under the heat of our long kisses and laughters,
turning the December chill into summer,
but deep in our hearts,
we are still perfect strangers with each other,
such a perfect combination.
I can see from the shadow of thought in your eyes,
it shelters me from harm,
you give everything,
mind,spirit and virginity,
but I crave for more,
grabbing even your soul,
Sorry!
An insatiable predator comes out of me,
it gives you so much pain,
bitter agony,
worst than a diabetic wound,
an atomic bomb in your brain,
putting our love in the cauldron of bleeding constipation.
Girl!
Beauty of classical seduction,
it turns man into the verge of insanity,
but if you just can read the poetry of my soul,
every letter of it says how I really love you,
its rhyme weaves a rope of soothing lyrics and notes,
to tie you forever beside,
only death can separate us,
that is the love I render for you.
Copyright © Gianni Pansensoy | Year Posted 2013
|
Details |
Gianni Pansensoy Poem
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.
Copyright © Gianni Pansensoy | Year Posted 2013
|
Details |
Gianni Pansensoy Poem
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.
Copyright © Gianni Pansensoy | Year Posted 2013
|
Details |
Gianni Pansensoy Poem
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.
Copyright © Gianni Pansensoy | Year Posted 2013
|
Details |
Gianni Pansensoy Poem
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.
Copyright © Gianni Pansensoy | Year Posted 2013
|
Details |
Gianni Pansensoy Poem
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.
Copyright © Gianni Pansensoy | Year Posted 2013
|
Details |
Gianni Pansensoy Poem
Magdadapit-hapon na't ang kalangita'y nagku-kulimlim,
naghahalo ang madugong pagka-lunod ng araw sa sinag ng
buwang nagbu-bughaw,
ang anino ng aking pag-iisa'y namumula sa pagka-bagot,
isipa'y nagkapunit-punit,
sugat sa katinua'y walang tigil sa pag-durugo,
animo'y nahiwa ng napaka-talas na labaha,
habang ang ulo ko'y nakabaon sa mapapaklang mga palad,
parang patay na dagang nabubulok sa libingan ng kabiguan.
Sa harap ng dalampasigang nangingitim sa hapdi,
damdamin ko'y unti-unting gumuguho,
nadudurog sa lindol ng kalungkutan,
nawasak sa malakas na hampas ng palakol,
at ang mga pirasong duguan ay tumilapon sa karagatan ng kamatayan.
Sa bawat sampal ng hanging malamig,
dala-dala ang ihip ng pagdurusa sa aking pisngi,
ang tanging kanlunga'y lilim ng dambuhalang mahogany,
sa gitna nito'y ang dambana ng ating sagradong tagpuan,
nagbabaga sa tuwing naglalapatan ang mapupusok nating mga halik,
ngunit ngayo'y nag-aapoy dulot ng iyong kataksilan.
Mga ugat ng berdeng lumot sa giwang ng mga adobe'y kumapit
sa tamis ng dati nating mapangahas na pag-iibigan,
hindi alintana na ang daigdig nati'y tinatangay ng rumaragasang
pagnanasa,
mga kamay ko'y nanginginig sa haplos ng mala-sutla mong balat,
marahil ay sin-kinis ng balat ni Anne Curtis,
katawan ko'y dinuduyan ng maka-mundong kaluwalhatian,
ina-anod sa agos ng makulay na musika ng harana sa tuwing dumadapo
ang iyong mainit na mga labi sa aking leeg,
paningi'y tila naglalakad sa kalsadang yari sa malalambot na mga
balahibo ng libong puting kuneho,
at ako'y nasa tuk-tok ng kaligayahang uma-apaw sa ubod ng sarap na tunay na pagmamahal.
Subalit ang aking mga buto't lama'y nangingisay tuwing sumasagi
sa isipan ang mga ala-alang may kamandag ng iyong pan-loloko,
damdami'y nakahandusay sa putik ng naka-lalasong pag-ibig,
para bagang tinusok ng karayom ng pighati,
nakabulagta ang pusong pinaslang ng brutal na dalamhati,
at ang kaluluwa ko'y nakabigti sa bangungot ng pag-durusa.
Habang pinagmamasdan ang mga along panay ang tadyak sa mga bato,
mga luha'y hindi mapipigilan sa pag-tulo,
isa-isang pumapatak sa mga butil ng mga buhanging sin-puti ng mga nitsong nakahilera sa lumang sementeryo,
ang mga bangkay sa loob ng mga ito'y naninilaw na,
tulad ng aking mga matang naninilaw rin sa pait ng matinding pag-hihinagpis.
Copyright © Gianni Pansensoy | Year Posted 2013
|
Details |
Gianni Pansensoy Poem
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.'
Copyright © Gianni Pansensoy | Year Posted 2013
|
Details |
Gianni Pansensoy Poem
Sa isang malamig na sulok ng lilim,
girian ay lumalalim,
liwanag laban sa dilim,
araw ay palubog ng palubog,
dahan-dahan,
mahinahon,
ngunit ang iniwa'y dumudugong kalawakan,
pulang-pula,
ito ay rebolusyon ng pag-ibig,
himagsikan sa araw ni santo valentino,
tulad ng spaghetii al' amatriciana,
sa ating harapan ay lalong namumula,
tumitingkad sa sarap ng salsa de tomates,
pero ang pumupula ng higit ay ang iyong mga pisngi,
napaka-gandang pagmasdan,
makinis,
o kay sarap haplus- haplusin,
nakaka-gigil hagkan,
lalo na sa init ng iyong mga labi,
nais kong madurog,
maanod sa agos ng matinding kaligayahan,
at tuluyang malunod sa nag-aapoy mong mga halik.
Araw ay mistulang nag-laho,
nilamon ng kadiliman,
tanging tanglaw nati'y mga bituing nagni-ningning,
para bagang iyong mga matang nagpu-pungay sa tuwa,
at simoy ng hangi'y lumalamig,
mula dalampasigan hanggang sa dulo ng ating mga puso,
mabango,
sariwa,
parang ensalada de verduras verde,
guacamole,
o kay sarap lasapin,
tulad ng pag-iibigan nating wagas,
may samyo ng lubusang pag-mamahal,
sa kada segundo ng ating mga buhay,
lagi nating pinag-sasaluhan,
nakaka-aliw,
nakaka-tindig balahibo,
nakaka-kilig,
giliw,
sana'y hindi na magwawakas ang lahat na ito.
Maliban sa akasya,
mesang itim,
puting pusa,
sin-puti marahil ng fettuccine alla' carbonara,
wala ng iba pa,
kung hindi'y ikaw at ako lamang,
malaya,
nag-iibigan sa loon ng nakaka-baliw na pag-ibig,
at iyan ay maganda.
Copyright © Gianni Pansensoy | Year Posted 2013
|
|