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DoodleScribbles

Scribblings and scrawls of a hopeless romantic soul

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Poetry and Prose

On histories and mysteries

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I remember standing in this corner of the street. A once timid soul staring blankly at the stoplights, waiting for a signal if I should stop or go. Cars speeding to and fro with blaring lights, I remember my heart beating like a drum. Too afraid and too cynical if I could make it to the other side of the road. Seconds turned into minutes, I waited until the hour hands forced me to move along. Day after day, this has been my routine. Until I found you you found me.

Eyes on the map, you were looking for this corner of the street. Strange and hilarious — that is how I thought back then. Perhaps you heard about the girl that was always stuck in the crossroad. Or you wanted to know what magic draws her to this place. And so in this corner of histories and mysteries, things have changed.

I no longer dread the stoplights. My feet now know when to stop or go. And when I’m afraid or cynical, I have a hand pulling me close. Leading me to the other side of the road. Heart still beating like a drum, I know it wasn’t because of the speeding cars. It was something else. It was you.

The trees kept quiet
As a new story unfolds—
Two souls, one crossroad

MS


In response to dVerse’s Haibun Monday: Transitions hosted by Merril D. Smith who asked us to write about change, but specifically, to write about a transitional time in our life.

This specific corner in IT Park has always been a special place to me. It has inspired a number of poems before— and it still do. Looking back at one of the pieces I wrote, I find it amusing how things have changed. I used to write about chaos, but now this place reminds of being brave.

Head over here to join the prompt!

dverse

Their blanket is the sky

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Their blanket is the sky.

He listens to their  voices, whispering and laughing as they play with the shadows beneath the waxing moon. A girl, about four, stretches her hands. Her thumbs interlock to form a butterfly’s body, her fingers extend to form its wings. Arms high in the thin air, the shadow begins to flap. She is Haya and her brother, Alan, joins the fun.

“Yanam,” he shouts from a distance and the two dancing butterflies stopped. Colored mats cover the pavement. Linen bed sheets create a makeshift room in the dim space that is now a home. The children race towards their father, laugh as if they haven’t jumped over dead bodies during the day. As if they weren’t chased away and reduced to sleeping in the streets.

Their blanket is the sky.

In a parallel universe the night is undoubtedly romantic. In another world the moon and the stars are poetic. But this is reality. The asphalt still smell of blood. Life is still a ticking bomb. And his wife is still dead.

His lips curved into a weak smile at the thought of his wife. For the first time he was glad she picked their children’s names. Haya means “life” and Alan means “rock.” The woman must have seen it coming.

“Yanam,” he repeats and they all went to sleep.


For the months that I haven’t been blogging, I find myself immersed in the world news. Most specifically with the pains and pathos of Africa and the Middle East. What these people are going through is painful in its reality. It is disheartening in its truth.

I wrote this piece few weeks ago, inspired by an article about Syrian civilians fleeing Deraa. I was half-hearted then but decided now that I should go ahead and post it. Just as Banksy tries to make a voice with his art, this is my attempt with words.

Image source: Favim

A Sunrise Vignette

I remember the first sunrise that I wished to have seen with you. It was glorious and warm and almost perfect. Almost— because I wanted you by my side. And that one time when the sky was painted with a light shade of pink, I thought you would have loved it. You said it reminded you of the blush on my cheeks. I remember that beautiful Rayleigh, too. That early morning when the eastern sky was a soft blend of purple and blue. The air was cold and I missed the comfort of your hug. God, I lost count of the times I fell for sunrises and the thoughts of you. When will you come back?

She is a bad liar, that girl.

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She is a bad liar, that girl. She can seamlessly hide behind words and metaphors but her eyes will always betray her. Beneath the layers of finery, if you look closely, you can see the pale glimmer of blues she has bottled inside. Wounds from years of baring her soul open only to zip it back up because she’s either too much or not enough. Scars from falling in and out of love too deeply. Stains, flaws, imperfections all trying to claw out of her skin.

She’s a bad liar, that girl. But if you stare long enough, she won’t look away. If you listen a little closer, she will tell you her story. No lies this time. Will you stay?
MS


In response to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie’s Photo Challenge #191 hosted by Nekneeraj.

Head over here to join the fun!

The Lies Of A Fool

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The Lies Of A Fool

Four days. It’s the fourth day since you left yet the flowers are still in full bloom. They bask under the sunrays with the colors of whites, greens, and purples. A madman would drink opium down to the last drop after a heartbreak and abdicate the lust for life. But not me. I only needed lies. Lies, you see, lessen the pangs of sadness. I will live with lies if it means climbing the stars with you. I will trick myself with a vague truth if only to get back to you. Back to where we started. A neolithic era of planting love with polished stones. And if, one day, you suddenly reappear, I will thank lies for being my nepenthe. The flowers will never perish and so will this fool.

© 2017 Maria. All Rights Reserved.


In response to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie’s Wordle #164 hosted by Yves and Sunday Writing Prompt: Fine Dining Kitchen Tricks hosted by Pat of Scribbler’s Dipstick.

I managed to jump into blogosphere (after another hiatus) for a quick peak but when I saw Pat’s storyboard, I couldn’t help but write. Argh! Who could resist Bukowski?! ❤
Anyway here’s my take combining the two prompts. Though I’m not sure this has something to do with fine dining kitchen tricks. Hehe. Will be reading your posts in jiff!

Head over here to join the fun:

I Will Look For You


I Will Look For You

I will look for you in beautiful lines of every page I read
In poignant lyrics of every song I listen to, I will look for you
In the tears and joys of an actor in a movie that we may have watched together
I will look for you in gentle melodies of a playing beautiful piece—taking away my fears, like rolling waves, from the shores of your love
Love, I will look for you

I will look for you in every shining star in the sky
In the darkness of a moonlit night
In the touch of the squalling winds
And if I ever fall asleep amidst the crickets’ hymn, I will still look for you
I will look for you in my dreams
I will gamble and play until you’re found
But if a brand new day starts and
As I wake, rise, and realize
That you are not here, I will look for you again.

As a part of my 2016 list of desires, I expressed my want to explore and try our local poetry, to eventually write poems in our local dialect (Tagalog or Bisaya) and share it in this blog. I have written only a few as it turned out, writing in my language was quite a challenge. Sigh.

The poem above is a translation of the Tagalog spoken word I wrote entitled, Hahanapin Kita. I am sharing this for my dear reluctant poet friend, Chuck. Have a great weekend! ☀️😊

A Soulful Duet ~

A Soulful Duet

Your words were
the soft breeze that tickled
my ears. They whispered
sweet nothings, and I melted
at the hum of your love.

The ribs which caged
my heart, crumbled at the sound
of our song. And this promise
that the wind has brought
will be a soulful duet.

Between two faraway hearts
but never apart.

© 2017 Maria. All Rights Reserved.

Image Source: Favim


This poem was inspired by a piece entitled, Whispered Reassurances, by Chuck of The Reluctant Poet. Please feel free to check this beautiful poem and the rest of his works. Muse and I just couldn’t resist but write an answer to it.

Also, I noticed some of my blogger friends, Vanessa, D, Gina, and Chuck himself, are meeting at a place called, Go Dog Go Café. Anyone who’s up for a cup of macchiato or perhaps an espresso is welcome. Have some poetry on the side and you’re all set!

Lastly, I would like to thank Charley of Life in Portofino for the quick lesson about playing with line breaks. Learning is a work in progress but this is how I can go so far. 

P.S. Something went wrong with the first post so I am posting this again. My apologies. Have a great weekend everyone! 🥂🌹

Filth

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Filth

Let’s plunge into a hive
Where honeybees nests
Kiss my lips until they bleed
Trace this body with those fingers—
Every convex, every depth
Deconstruct my being
Lift my flair until I am nothing
But a sullied wraith;
A keepsake of a night’s spark.

© 2016 Maria. All Rights Reserved.

Image Source: Favim


In response to dVerse’s Quadrille– 18: Spark and MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie’s Wordle #126.

Head over here to join the fun:

dverse

Etchings

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Etchings

a beast awakes in her sleep
recounting all of her defeat
etched on her skin are downfalls
broken hearts and failures
but day breaks with renewed faith
trampling over the nasty beast
the odious markings on her skin
she wears with pride again

© 2016 Maria. All Rights Reserved.


In response to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie’s photo challenge #134.

Head over here to join the fun!

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