Little baby, lying in mama's arms,
Tell us how diff'rent her affection is
(Especially to those made deaf
In the arms of insolence);
Tell us that every word from her tongue
Is a berceuse, making you sleep
On the cradle of boon,
Not on the hammock of bane;
Tell us that every touch made by her hand
Is a panacea, making your withering hope
Prolong its life,
Making your dim future a golden sunrise;
Tell us that her every kiss
Wipes your tears away,
And her every hug
Brings you warmth and joy every day.
BINABASA MO ANG
Kurit and Other Poems
PoesíaA 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...
