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Grief (Nanay)

It is night again, and sleep still evades me, The night before last, I could not sleep at all, Yesterday, I could not eat, This morning, I barely finished a single bite of food, No matter what I do, everything feels empty, What will ever make me feel okay? My mother, yes, my mother, She is in my thoughts and in my dreams, My mother, right, my mother, I wish for her, hoping she might change, The way I feel. My mother, where exactly is my mother? She is gone, taken by death already, Perhaps that is why I feel like I am also dead. Life has no color, life has no lif e. 😔  
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The Gone Father (a poem for my father)

Dark ice freezes deep, Horizon crashing on rocks, Silent voices beg. Cold words never sent to save, Faith withers on dying vines. No arms cradle you, Nightmares ravage all your pride, Doors to safety locked. Deafening demons scream loud, Keys to haven locked away. Stormy seas rage high, Standing on the edge alone, Candlelight goes out. Foggy dark is far too cold, Father will never come home
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The Voice Gone Left Memories

The morning sun never caught Maria sleeping. For years, her life was a rhythmic blur of dry-erase markers, printed spreadsheets, and the quiet hum of her desk lamp at 3:00 AM. She poured her soul into crafting flawless lesson plans, calculating fair grades, and leaving encouraging, handwritten notes on every single test paper. Every morning, Maria stood by her classroom door, perfectly prepared, smiling warmly, and ready to transform her room into a vibrant sanctuary of learning. Her lessons were legendary for their energy and productivity. She turned challenging math problems into thrilling races where students cheered each other on at the chalkboard. She hosted high-stakes classroom Quiz Bees, using cardboard buzzers to test their knowledge. During recess, she stayed behind to provide patient, one-on-one tutoring to students who were falling behind. Every Friday afternoon, she gathered them in a circle to read Bible stories, instilling values of kindness and faith. She even bonded ...
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Pleading... too late?

We have a goodbye, Two paths fade in the dark night, Hands hold nothing now. Words left in the dark, Your loud whisper cannot reach, Love silently screams. I gather the dust, Wave a tear to what we learned, Let the healing in. Silence in my mind I wish that I had spoken up Now you walk away.
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Merit Illusion ?

  In the glow of fluorescent lights, we toil, Each desk a fortress, each chair a soul Where dreams are planted, hopes take flight, Yet shadows linger, dimming the light. Voices rise in the morning's hum, But some are silenced, their words go numb, A nod, a glance, a whispered sigh, Unseen battles, as time slips by. The clock ticks on, a relentless beat, Yet some climb ladders, while others retreat, Merit ignored, as favoritism reigns, A heavy burden, a weight of chains. The coffee breaks, a fleeting chance, To share a laugh, to join the dance, But whispers echo in the break room air, Of dreams deferred, of burdens to bear. A promotion promised, but never bestowed, While others ascend on a well-trodden road, The talent unrecognized, the effort unseen, In a world where the loudest are often the keen. Yet in the silence, a fire ignites, A spark of courage, a call to rights, For every voice that dares to speak, A chorus rises, strong and un...
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Rainy Saturday Vibes

The glass was cool against my forehead. Outside, Saturday morning arrived in shades of slate grey, a soft rain blurring the horizon where the sea met the sky. After an exhausting week, the quiet of the room was exactly what my mind needed. Down on the shore, the weather didn't seem to matter at all. A group of children had claimed the beach as their own. Five of them huddled together, their small hands dripping with wet sand as they constructed a massive fortress against the incoming tide. A few others chased the surf under the heavy clouds, while the rest simply stood in the shallows, laughing as they splashed handfuls of saltwater into the air. Even through the thick windowpane, the faint sound of their drifting laughter reached me. Watching them find such pure, simple joy in the middle of a storm completely washed away the last of my stress. I took a deep breath, leaned back, and finally let the weekend begin.  Then  I went to my desk to write another poem. 😎 Saturday ...
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Mama... Mom... Can You Hear Me?

The clock strikes 12 AM, yet I'm still awake, Tired from all day's work, yet the bed doesn't call me, Lips whisper from a dark distance. Mama…Mom, do you hear me? The clock strikes 2 AM yet still awake, Tired body unwilling to cooperate, Mind spinning in a dark space, Mama…Mom, do you hear me? The clock strikes 5 AM yet still awake, Tired hands refuse to rest, Scratching words on the pad, Mind thinking on the dark past, Mama…Mom, do you hear me? The morning light begins to break, Before I close my eyes, I have one wish in this fading night, To hear you say again, "That's my Girl"  Mama, Mom, can you hear me?  I wish I could hear your answer back.      
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