Reflections

Small, delicate fingers,

Foreigners to these barren lands,

Scurries thoroughly, rummages, and pillages,

These villages of,

Metal scraps: her mirror,

She hides behind her reflections…

You see those dirty diapers: her head rests upon?

Used cotton substitutes,

Is where her head hangs down.

Her pillow of comfort under the dark starry night.

Punctured tires: her only friends,

There they roll…

See those race cars down our street?

She can never beat them.

Smoke inhalation from the gas fumes,

Incubates the small part of her living room of a….

Cardboard box keeps her separate…

From you,

She yearns for compassion,

As her….

Small, delicate fingers,

Foreigners to these barren lands,

Scurries thoroughly, rummages, and pillages,

These villages of,

Metal scraps: her mirror,

She hides behind our reflections…

Resist!

They say that they empathize with our problems and pain.

Yet, they fostered an environment,

For us to become crack-brained.

Equality and rights for all is guaranteed.

Yet their actions show otherwise,

Again, we are deceived.

Credit: http://mrg.bz/OdunbD

We are ensured complete protection and safety.

Yet, they enforce “assume the position,”

A constant reminder that we are the detainee.

A good education and work experience is always emphasized.

Yet, the glass ceiling they created prevents us from success.

Once again, our dismal futures are set to be jeopardized.

We are assured all help and assistance.

Yet, they slowly take away funding for social services.

So, we must unify against their resistance.

Credit: Photo taken by Bamboo's Daughter

The poor get poorer and the rich get richer.

Yet they sit and watch many of us barely get by everyday.

What’s wrong with this picture?!?!

Do not subject yourself to be devoured.

Let us secure the futures of our children,

We must be educated and empowered!!!

RESIST!

Letter to My Fathers...

Dedicated to my father, grandpa Ramon and grandpa Mariano:

In this photo: my grandpa Ramon and my mom

Manong,

Why did you leave your family?

“In search for a better life,

Opportunity and equality!”

Manong,

Why are you in so much pain?

“We face discrimination and poverty,

Human rights taken away with nothing to gain.”

Manong,

Why are you so depressed?

“Opportunities lost and taken,

Beaten down and often oppressed.”

Manong,

How do you maintain?

“Our perseverance and aspirations,

Keeps us alive without disdain.”

Manong,

When will this arduous journey cease?

“When we all achieve our dreams

Of equality, opportunity and peace.”

Street Symphonies

Tantalizing tunes hearkens deep into the darkness,

Piercing through the dense fog of the night,
Evangelizing,
Awakening,
And calling forth,
Its audience,
Where shady’ shadows lurk.

I see ‘em doin’ paper chasin’ dances,

Singin’, their euphoric notes of,
Adrenaline pimpin’,
Needle humpin’,
In dark, menacing corners,
Of a hustler’s famous stage. 



On the corner,
I see spilled,
Permanent blood-stained lyrics,
Of the same ol’ song,
Of red streams flowin’,



Down,


          Down,


                    Down,



These concrete pages,
In the hood again.



Led by another illusory maestro,
Holdin’ onto his hot steel baton,
Finger trigger twirlin’,
Performances of gun smokin’ exchanges,
With another lead conductor,
Facilitating a new following of,
Devious,
Instrumental,
Death playin’,
Nocturnal,
Angelic musicians.
There’s always a new breed…

Waiting.

Pied Pipers of the street,
March to this acclaimed symphony,
Arousing the attention,
Of shape shifters,
Architectural mind gamers,
And street pharmacists,
Ready to medicate,
And regulate,
Your obituary.

Still, there is an alarming following,

Of these scrape steppin’,
Robotic drones,
Cultivated,
Manipulated,
And entranced by,
The disconcerting,
Haunting rhymes,
In these,
Symphonies militias.

This deafening overture of battles,

Is eerily familiar,
Reverberating its usual cadence,
Of maliciousness,
Rhythms stealin’,
And disappearin’,
Into the night,
Amongst those who choose to be,
Deaf and blind listeners.
It dissipates into,
Faded,
Ghostly whispers,
Forcefully heard and impacted,
By those few,
Dedicated,
Discarded groupies.



Everyday,
We all pray,
For these street symphonies,
To,

End.

Listen…
Can you still hear them play?



.........I can.