The Purge

On the margins of the night, come hear the fireworks from the guns,

empty shells in the cold roads

warmed by the blood in the streets.
These are the nights of the purge,

A stranger clothe with darkness touches the open windows, the light posts and damp houses

Speeds through the alleys in the blaze of his hunger

His eyeballs, a hint of command and evil

His hands, heavy with ammunition,

Gigantic and calloused,

Ready for assault.
Dinner was served in a house with empty flowerpots, where

the wheels sleep on the roof

A lady dressed the table with dried fish

waiting with disconnection notice in one hand, distress in another

Her three little girls taking shelter under the safety of their camp

made of threadbare blankets, maybe it covers the pouring troubles
The watchman just finished his shift and walks past the corner of the street,

weary with his clabbered beard and wrinkled eyes,

past the shadows and silhouettes of bakeshops,

past the shoeless shoemakers,

across the lonely intersection,

To the alley of houses damped with sweat and tears of

pauperized folks,

He knocks on the door,

the lady stared long at his eyes

and his back that carries the weight of disappointment

Sighs when he saw the notice sitting in the table

Nine more moons before the next pay

The God sits next to the television, a Sampaguita hangs on His fingers

and the guard sat in the couch

His body mirrored in the window
The long night awakens the spirit of the stranger

He saw the prey across the open window

He raised his iron hands towards the target and bang, bang, bang

The silence shies away

The cartridge gave away three bullets

Two shots in the back, one in the head

and the moon cries

Bullet casings dropped on the dirt

The blood stains the couch where a body sat lifeless,

The sound of the lady mourning

And soon, hundreds of lips talking
“A drug suspect was slain” the man in the television says

“He is innocent,” the mourners wept

“Another man shot dead”

“In other news…”
His is a little death, nameless and forgotten,

His is just a number added to the names of the dead
a stone in a cemetery

a drug war’s sacrifice in this confused humanity

The country will lament him no longer and

In the morning, another cry will come but the evening will take it away

Just like that
Whatever took hold of the man will always be remembered by the air

And when the trumpets had all sounded, judgment will stand tall.

 

 

The stranger barrels past the trash bins,

past the road signs

and the dying plants held in the water containers.

In the dirt, a badge was recovered.

 

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Random Wh’s

1

 

 

What?

What is happening with the world?

What is going on in the mind of presidents, prime ministers and our chosen leaders?

What good can countries get out of war and  violence?

What are you waiting for before you actually do something?

What really lies ahead of us?

What valuable can “now” offer us?

What will our future behold?

 

When?

When will I wake up without hearing and seeing ‘girls are sold for $1000’, ‘US begins airdrops’ , “peacekeepers attack’ , ‘Ebola outbreak spreads’ .

When will I open the television and see employment boosts and living standards improve?

When will these war that began centuries ago actually stop?

When will there be true peace?

When will people in our country accept the third gender?

When will people open their minds to a candid and fair consideration of others?

When will all these questions be answered?

 

Where?

Where did all the evil things started?

Where did all these things originated?

Where will we find inner peace and true contentment?

Where can we find a place where there are no worries?

Where is the so-called “faith in humanity?”

Where will we start to change for the better not only for ourselves but also for our community?

 

Why?

Why do religions judge other religions?

Why do most people  argue without really understanding?

Why don’t we encourage rather than criticize?

Why do we  ignore the things that we really should focus on and value material things more?

Why can’t we keep our mouths shut when we have nothing good to say?

Why am I even bothering when I know that people will just read this and said “You’re right” and then nothing next?

 

Who?

Who do you think is responsible:Is it the government or is it the mass of its people?

Who are affected by world crises and social inequality?

Who will make even a small thing that makes a big difference?

Who should make a stand and take an action?

Who do you think needs to act?

Who people, who?

Who will tell you that it’s YOU?