My heart is filled with strain and sympathy This picture that I never want to see A loose feeling borne out of misery When I looked on someone as frail as she As she calmly gazed the camera lens Beside the grass of the surrounding woods A somber scene in a secluded dense For an old woman of mere livelihood A gloomy eyes with wrinkled hand and face With a shred of cloth tied on her forehead Hanging gray hair in brow that interlace Wearing old garments cast in flowered beads While she gently holds a sickle in hand She’s slightly stooped with the weight on her back She holds firmly with a string as she stands The bundle of sticks behind like a pack As I contemplate and looked more closely In her eyes, I saw, a suffering heart This woman who was deprived of plenty To some, it’s like life being torn apart It’s not the load on her back that I see But a life of pain and adversity The real truth that it can only be A burden of poverty she carry As to our life’s daily and constant strife To this old woman born of tragedy And all who have no power to enjoy life To my God I ask why this mystery?
Mr. Jesus Diaz Llorico hails from the beautiful province of Iloilo, Philippines. He was a former member of the Police Force in his hometown for a couple years and later on joined the Bureau of Fire Protection wherein he was assigned in several parts of the Visayas. He then decided to go abroad and work for 22 years in the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia and is now connected with the Prince Sultan Airbase in Al kharj. He is a regular contributor of the PANAY NEWS, a daily newspaper in the Visayas and the KABAYAN WEEKLY, one of the leading weekly newspaper in the United Arab Emirates. Working abroad, away from his native land and loved ones, it is in writing poetry that Jesus finds comfort in times of solitude in a foreign land.
The bones are brittle as are the thoughts they crumble events of yesterdays that never happened things that happened not remembered today becomes another time faces and events mingle become a crazy quilt He sits and stares unaware of a
When a rose turns old petals fall but the rose bud remains and its beauty and fragrance leaves a lasting impression in our minds Sure the beauty and fragrance of a rose lasts but briefly but the rose garden goes
That essence Those hands, that body that caresses who breastfeeds us that gives us life starting an eternal struggle who always leaves his teachings Their loves his consolations That essence that multiplies in the sister, in the aunt, in the
(1) In old time, Before the sun stopped circling around us; Before it started to work as a painter of our shadows and the shadow of time over place; Before it adopted the hobby to boil sand inside a vessel
Our dawn falls with smile falling blind What constructed me, out soaring mine All the insecurities that you have shed Chained my glory in your empty dread I saw your imperfection and every flaw Still I could not resist, the