Wednesday, April 25, 2012

Dream and blur

Linda Bansil


With a thousand dreams
of some vivid and those I don't remember
I choose just one 
when people were many 
and they wore modest hearts
and chose to die only when its time


With a million dreams
of some lucid and those vague
a smile and some are tears
those that heart can't contain
I choose one when I can see 
the one who died and happy
in this scene of great health
I come to see a young father
my father in sweaters


We walk in a garden with stairs
and he gives me books and magazines
and helps me fix my bag
the scent of roses fill me up
my eyes blur and love it 


April 25, 2012 

Monday, April 23, 2012

Taking pictures of peace


Befriend peace take a picture of it
and wear it like a turban
it would cover your head
and it will embrace the heat of the sun
a joyous light it goes with you
wherever you go and no matter how far
carry it in your hands and put it on your finger
it will keep you warm like a velvet glove
in a time that feels like winter

Sleep with peace and embrace it like a pillow
it will leave you wonderful dreams both
for your neighbors and their children
as you wake up a warmer sun
awaits for those who made blankets
of good deeds and knew how to plan

Wednesday, April 18, 2012

Maghrib

Linda Bansil


Be not afraid
for what you fear
is not a thousand grain
that will bury you
it is just a few hairlocks
a few strands
so light it may stir
your heart to hurt a bit
and the wind can blow it away
just like those furry things that fly
coming from weeds
from cat furs
from worn out carpets
they fly
but not decay
be brave as a firm prayer
a bird in flight
praying in Maghrib
the sun prays too
before it sleeps




Written while on break April 18, 2012

Monday, April 16, 2012

Know me first

Linda Bansil

Know me first 
before you strangle me
I am a flag
I wave and move towards
the current all ours
ours , ours , ours
Know me first
before you sell me
I am their mother
I wave and move towards
only to my children
my children, children ,children
Know me first
my blood is spilling
I am their flag
and we are saying this
we are waiting 
all waiting 
for you to leave

Sunday, April 15, 2012

The warrior

by Linda Bansil


Worry you are
worry worry not
worry not a warrior


bleed him not
he has blood in his face
his hair
he has blood 
everywhere


blood is running
in his fingers
with this he paints
an anger of a hundred years
he writes what you fear


You can't bury him in a crater
he has war
it is his mother


Worry you are
worry worry not
worry not a warrior


don't teach him how to cry
blood flows in his eyes
bleed him not
he has blood in his face
his hair
he has blood 
everywhere





Friday, April 13, 2012

A newspaper

by Linda Bansil
I found a newspaper older than my grandfather
and all of the things I read was new to me
so please don't throw that newspaper 
it might be just a little bit older than me



Wednesday, April 11, 2012

The trees were wailing

It's not peace if it's coming from one side of the fence
and it's the eloquence of a land grabber
that keeps me ashamed of swords
suddenly it dulls my battle and occupies my peace

the trees were wailing
between bullets and flesh
in communion with the silence
in a crater marked
women children men

You are never silenced by your graves
trees
leaves
until there was a moon
the trees were wailing
shaheed

Monday, April 09, 2012

Walk with the moon

Linda Bansil

He used to be up in the mountains
the kris and his son
with guns blazing saving every inch
of respect a homeland
that should have been handed in peace
but he the fierce one
put his gun down together with his comrades
sold out each of their hands
no more defiance
no more fighting
today  became not
a shaheed

lost in an arm struggle
a shielded comrade
goes down
down
down
naming the streets with the name
of his oppressors
to remember the colonizer
to shake hands with a fierce enemy
and to eat burgers at mcdonalds
but he died too in exchange of paper
and the spirit of the dead
that can’t let go

how dare you
walk up our mountains
coming with your white aspirations
deploring acts of barbarisms
in the name of your stripes
you flaunt your stars
our moon doesn’t care



blocked by concrete

by Linda Bansil


there are no sands 
no stones 
rays of the sun
winds that chime
waves that belong
mountains that sit beyond clouds
birds that trap seeds 
there is no sea no tranquility
not even a single tree
or grass
but there's a moon
blocked by concrete
not a sight of a tree on my window
a feeling of breeze
no there's none 
on the 29th floor

Friday, April 06, 2012

Mother of Tides

By Linda Bansil


I listen to the stars and hear how they twinkle
I touch the moon and it changes shape
I cover the sun it is grateful for this blanket
I step on the ocean it sways as if to dance


I sleep wishing the moon will make its way
to the ocean and to the sun
to dance together in a harmony of blankets
of shapes I wish it to the stars



Thursday, April 05, 2012

A life with eyes and ears

By Linda Bansil


With these eyes
I can see ocean waves flapping its wings
to shores
like blankets on a mission
to embrace sands 
stones , sand and sturdy drift woods
in a foam of salt in unwavering push and pull


With these ears 
I can listen to the voice of the sea
when it arrives 
and leaves
water and air collide then collect themselves 
to commune in cascades
invisible stairs 
patterned 
strong 
heavy 
then 
weightless


April 5 After coffee 9 a.m

Monday, April 02, 2012

Seashells

by Linda Bansil

His words to me sound like its carried by the wind
which stick to your throat like hot soup in a stormy day
as leaves fall out from its branches 
or the wind blows a whistle as if to say
stay where you are and do not move
invoking such command into a stand still
somehow time knows
that is  how powerful words can be
like waves in the ocean
its currents can sway to places you wouldn't have a courage to go
Say the far stretch of the shores where big hard stones places
its foot firmly to the sandy thickness of waters
whose hands are outstretched to the outskirts of the raging sea
the whispers of winds and shapely shoulders
of the angry oceans whose fingers can no longer be touched
by one so frail and unsteady
It drains the warmth of bodies who entangle themselves to willingness 
and unfathomable longing to the wide space
which words will never be able to complete or resemble
such death silence that words cannot truly catch
like fish that  swim  without fins or those seashells
who stay beautiful even when succumbed by death
shell then be and nothing more
held by those who walk this shores
makes ones attention close to its touch
as if it lives to be right at their necks
to be with the one who adores the sea
to adorn the living who can still walk the shores
waters lined in blue and green
hair tendrils swaying by the sea in shorts

July 2007

Sunday, April 01, 2012

Confessions of an almost Grade 3

Linda Bansil


I haven't attended  kindergarten or preparatory class  and those fancy levels which are intended for play. Had I've known I would have a fun time before flunking. I could say that I started learning the basics of a loser just right after grade two , yup in grade two it  started and since this is a confession I might be mistaken a bit . It started much earlier. I grand slammed grade one . I took it two times.Talk about practice makes perfect . I am a loser with all it's glory if there was one . No wonder I always take the side of a losing boxer in almost any ring (except Manny Pacquiao). I also don't believe in winning the sweepstakes and that makes me more realistic than the tagline "May swerte sa lotto" or "may libreng eleganteng platito sa Wings powder soup" the last one must be a sure thing.


Grade one was a very difficult time. I was in a foreigner's class and I couldn't understand a word. The teachers were nice and polite but nothing can escape a facial gesture that spelled -are you clueless ? So one day my teacher in English teacher told us to think of names of animals that have three letters. I have two seatmates . Seatmate one said "bat" , seatmate two said "cat" . I thought of something logical and I said "dat". My teacher tried to be polite but her facial expression showed "sorry". I don't want to talk about what happens in Math class . If there was something I love with school it would be watching movies or a play in the dark auditorium. Every time we get to watch a play or a movie I felt like the smartest kid on earth! I will say that again- the smartest kid on earth!

I thought it was beginning  bad at grade one and that it will end sooner and so when I was in grade two , I flunked again and that summer I was the only grade two in remedial classes (this time I am not repeating really , its just I need to retake certain valuable subjects minus PE. Think about the consolation : no uniforms and flag ceremonies and that usual hands- forward, side- ward and jumping jacks ). Rolling my stroller filled with English and Math books when I should be having vacation or something better. Instead of going to the beach or watching cartoons I needed to make an impression to my summer class teachers and prove to them that I am learning like reading and solving math problems . Hopefully by this I get to solve my own problems which is how to move on to grade three (Oh! the ladder of success). I had to attend computer classes (this is pre- windows )  memorizing commands was one of the tortures I had to endure. Everything was a syntax error and this recurred in my dreams. I played pacman games for play before I reach insanity and focused in learning conjugation , nouns and verbs. More than how to communicate I learned how to respect my pace. I cannot  compare myself to other students and that in life there are no shortcuts are the things I have learned. I have to deal with life with my own grading system and that is something I can honestly work on.  Over and above -patience. Patience in learning and patience to others as we fit in a balance. A few weeks then I was all set to becoming a dead serious grade three.




My lovely berber

by Linda Bansil


My grandma was a berber
she wrote how many children she had in her face
proud just like the desert and its dunes
the oasis that made you shiver 
for just a thought
to be in the middle of nowhere
I know who carved it with his hands