Tall buildings and machines
Weave a mask we use
To conceal the face
Of a genuine progress,
As it acts in a drama
With alluring accompaniment
Of clanging coins
And spotlight from
Glittering gold.
Hypnotized by the scene,
The audience applaud
The masked performer
Who was born to plant
The seeds and help them
Grow and bear fruits.
The mask is blinding
With two narrow holes
For his clear tearful eyes,
Squinting and tripping,
Displacing a mountain
Of real treasures
In search of a nugget
Which only knows
How to mimic
The clanging of coins.
BINABASA MO ANG
Kurit and Other Poems
PoetryA poem is partly like a recipe. A poet has to have a cupful of experiences, a spoonful of creativity, a tinge of inspiration, and a bit of solitude. These pieces are combined and mixed without any external stirring but by a mere desire for self-expr...
