Raymond Cabrera

For now you turns at age of eighteen,
Like a princess during ancient scene
Wearing gown of lovely colors of red,
Dancing through the melody of life
...

I dream to be that we are rational numbers,
So much alike the smile of rejoicing integers;
Though we're always amidst between the negative,
Here I am for you to just make it positive.
...

I think it was all just a hypothesis
The moment I saw this beautiful scientist
She was so lovely like the glow of Neon
Erratically smart as if like Newton
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You shall be chained and hurled to you all the projectile
Until it turns out to a havoc towards your corpse
Now I’m consumed by demur because you’re so vile
I guess killing for you is a modest or an art
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On the flight of the moon to aflame the night,
A firefly's looking up to the light he much adored,
Seem a light of a firefly that he's longing for.
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For the people who seek for comfort or dead mercy,
Their fairness sob and yet still strife for their right,
I rage against the death of justice before it will be.
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I can see poverty...
In the eyes of the crying children,
In the the poor minds without any education,
To a person who have never known Christ
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There in my frozen milieu of our place made me,
Shiver from placid snow and how it could be
That dreary and arctic midnight snow
Over the icy twigs that thwarts the stream to flow.
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Our two musical worlds collided by sorrowful destiny
Or perhaps it was a modest stunning rhapsody,
But I could no longer hear, her cheerful symphony
Full of enchanted rhymes that brings me misery.
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This is a story of a lady with some of angelic light,
Her name was Miss Alice Scott Mallory White,
She was a lady, who would never learn how to fight,
For the abuses she didn’t knew if it’s bad or right;
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Love, your starry eyes, my love, and snow-like skin I love,
Crimson lips, yet I love; your cheeks I love, then most of dove
Will love your raven hair, my love, so with those birds above.
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In sweep the time waves of the moon,
Away flow the tides of time;
Emotions revisit an age gone by;
Carving their trail in time,
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Can you feel it…?
The sad effects of what we called…
‘Tis the oil lamps in houses without electricity,
Piteous girl selling sampaguita along the road,
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Poverty? I guess it is…
…the milk for the infant from boiling rice,
A roaming kids who search for scraps of metal or plastic,
A student that’s only relying on a scholarship,
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Go, lovely rose!
Go to whom I deeply love
Tell her the sweetest words I want to say
Go tell her how much I love her
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From where wild roses growing red and gold;
And sun gently sleeps upon the shore,
Within my heart, a sad story was untold
Of a lovely lady whom I loved before
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Poverty is my friend..
the one who cries with me on my hunger
the one who buried me on my lends
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Their melody of sweetest sound;
So pleasing, so profound,
Soothing and gentle and strange
Like heavenly piece thwarts to change.
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“My pen is the blade I wield…
Its ink is the raging flow of my blood…
My will is my strongest shield.
Better to die a thousand times for something,
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Thus far not, Rizal, still not.
The land you die for has yet to suffer,
The land you loved; your dreams have faded,
The land has need of a patriot’s blood of audacity
...