Skip to main content

Morning Moon





Nakikinita ko mula sa aking pagkakaupo ang mga anino ng mga puno na nagsasayaw sa ilalim ng init na dulot ng haring araw.

Sa isa naming dako, nakikita ko ang buwan. 
Nakakatuwa, umaga na pero napakaliwanag padin ng glow nya.

Rippled thoughts – 
mga saloobing iniisip at pinapakiramdaman, mga ideyang di ko ma-organize dahil di ko mahanap kuneksyon… subalit, kailangan kong maisalawalat bago ko maubos itong unang tasa ng kape.

Bakit mas maganda ang buwan sa gabi? 
Ano nga kaya misteryo sa likod nito? 
Pero teka, bakit buwan pa din topic ko? 
Isip isip isip… hinahayaang mag flow ang mga ideya at saka ko na lang eto hahabulin mamaya.

Kapag sinabi kong ako’y isang pilosopo, maniniwala ba kayo? Katotohanan isang napaka delicate na topic. 
Lahat ng pwedeng malaman ng isang tao ay half truths lamang at mas madalas kaysa hindi, yung natitirang kalahati ay naitatago. 
Tulad ng dark side of the moon. Yung lighted side lang ang tangi nating nakikita at ang kanyang dark side ay pawang spekulasyon lang ang pwedeng gawin ng utak.

Although, di ko sinasabing di natin pwedeng pag usapan ang dark side of the moon, ang punto ko lang di ito maaaring pag-isipan dahil ang lohika ay merong limitasyon, kung kaya’t paano ba malalaman ang kanyang dark side? O kaya kalimutan ang analohiya, sabihin nating, paano ba natin makikilala ang personalidad ng isang tao? Simple, Pakiramdaman mo sila. 

Tulad ng pagpapalaki ng bata, di mo kailangan i-analyze ang isang bata, makikilala mo sila sa pamamagitan ng pagmamahal at pakikiramdam.

Sa kabilang dako ng aking pagmumuni,

tinititigan ang buwan, at sa isa nanamang kabaliwan, naiimagine kong ito’y nagdurusa. Nakikinita ba ng mga tao ang pagluha nito? Sa kanyang pag iisa at pagdurusa, narerealize ba nila na meron din itong pakiramdam? 

Maaaring meron din tulad kong umiibig sa kagandahan ng buwan, pero kahit ganun pa man, palagi pa din itong nagiisa. Malayo sa mga taong umiibig sa kanya, pero pilit pa ding nagbibigay liwanag, nagbibigay pag-asa. 

Sa ilang araw na ibinigay nito ang lahat, muli nanaman syang mawawala, parang endless cycle of rebirth and reincarnation. Oo na, hopeless romantic ulit, but in a poetic way of putting it, the moon’s ‘death’ is an ultimate sacrifice to shine light and hope in the darkest of our nights.

senseless?

Malamang.
Kasi nga,
I am LUNA-tic.


Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

A Blank Verse Poetry

I ran this morning. Gray sky, nothing special. Weather that doesn’t force you to feel anything. Usually, I wander without purpose. Today, something stopped me. Time is a trap. We pretend it’s limited, but it isn’t. So we rush through it—steps, choices, life—until it all blurs. The small things disappear. The smell of earth, the quiet air. Gone. A song got stuck in my head. “I’ll stop the world and melt with you.” Unwanted. Persistent. How did it get in? Maybe fate. Maybe nothing. I don’t believe in destiny, but here I was—stuck in the sound, stuck in a loop. The world paused inside me. I didn’t move. The day went on. Hands trembled—not from connection, but from the weight of existing. Scars on skin—maps of past failures. Nothing clean, nothing clear. I touched a cheek. No softness. Smoke? Habit? Grip loosened—like sanity slipping. Wanting to let go, but afraid of the emptiness that follows. I kissed a cheek. A stupid move. A laugh broke the silence. A glitch. A mistake. Coffee a...
Post a Comment
Read more

The Slow Death of the Familiar Lie

The 2025 elections just ended. Not with fireworks, not with riots—just the quiet unraveling of yet another chapter in our nation’s long and complicated dance with democracy. There’s something different in the air this time. Something subtle, like the way dusk falls before you even realize the day is gone. You feel it before you name it: a shift. Not seismic, perhaps not even visible to the untrained eye. But there, like a whisper at the edge of a crowded room. People have grown wiser. And no, this isn’t naive optimism. It’s not the kind of blind faith that wears campaign colors and chants slogans. It’s the kind of wisdom that comes from repeated heartbreak—from choosing hope too many times, only to be betrayed by men in suits and smiles. From believing in change only to see it morph into the same old trapo politics dressed in newer fonts. “Pain is a brutal but effective teacher—especially in a country where memory is often the first casualty of every election cycle.” But maybe ...
Post a Comment
Read more

The Tension Between Hope and Despair

This is w here the light breaks just to drown. Hope isn’t some pretty thing. It’s a slow burn that keeps you awake at night, fooling you with a whisper, “Maybe this time.” It digs its claws in, even when everything screams you’re done. Hope’s the hook you can’t shake, even when it’s tearing you apart from the inside. Despair doesn’t wait politely. It crashes in like a storm, cold and sharp, and it doesn’t care if you’re ready or not. It doesn’t dance with hope—they fight. It’s brutal, ugly. Despair wants to swallow everything whole, leaves no room for mercy. There’s no peace between them. It’s a war you didn’t sign up for, but you live it every damn day—grasping for that fragile flicker, even as the darkness tightens around your throat. You hold hope like a lifeline but feel despair pulling the knot tighter. No balance. No graceful dance. Just a mess of broken promises and shattered dreams. Hope keeps you chasing ghosts; despair waits, patient, knowing it will win. And the worst p...
Post a Comment
Read more