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Gianni Pansensoy

(October 31,1980 / Zamboanga Ctiy)

The Yearning

Painted on murals,
Vandalized on walls,
Written on daily newspapers,
everybody yearned about it,
Yet everybody resorted into violence to attain it.

From the very first kiss of the morning dew,
Nothing could be heard on radios,
But wars from Jerusalem to kabul,
Till midnight when the nectar of the Dama De Noches flowed through the petals,
Nothing could be seen on televisions,
But mutilated cadavers from Damascus to the streets of Zamboanga City,
And everybody sought for PEACE through all ages.

If am dead and gone,
It would be sweeter to be buried before darkness,
Beneath the blooming flowers of yellow roses,
Where the scent of them would hug my corpse,
When the windy afternoon comes,
Their petals would perfume my decaying flesh.

Under the falling rain,
When my soul crosses the river styx into the other world,
Where the angel of death's guitar strums flow underneath
The rainbow bridge of soft pillows,
perhaps I could find peace across the river.

Submitted: Friday, October 18, 2013
Edited: Tuesday, October 22, 2013
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