Sunday, May 8, 2016

your kingdom gone

if you were half as decent
as you dictate for me to be,
would you take time to step
outside your kingdom in your clouds?

would you measure jars of honey
that overflow from your mouth today,
against an ancient tragic joke
that slipped from the mouth of a man,
never mind the two decades and excess,
of hard work a man has put together?

never mind that honey from your mouth
has gone stale, ancient in its own way.

would you listen?
to the little stories, to the little events,
even if they come from who you might deem
as little people, insignificant, indecent,
from your kingdom in your clouds?

i know you know how their words fall together
like puzzle pieces across the land,
upholding a legend you are bent to smear,
blanketing parks like Luneta in red and blue,
but i doubt if you know why.
still, you could ask: Father, Mother,
is this how it was like,
to have the little people carry you?

listen to the trickle of blood, sweat, tears,
the very drops of ink we use to paint our hopes
on self-made placards, and would you tell us,
how much further have we to bleed, labor, and weep,
to be worthy of your definition of decency.


2016.may.08

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