Eyes That See


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Beware the eyes that see —
they drill up to the core,
and know much more.

These eyes will one day speak
and reveal the concealed
for the blind to see.

 
*This is in response to the The Daily Post’s Photo Challenge, “Creepy”.

A Girl and Her Mirror


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Mirror, mirror, on the wall,
who’s the fairest of them all?

Is it she whose face
no paint has taint?
Or she who wears
a camouflage of maquillage?

Is it she whose body fair is wrapped with care
(not even an inch of skin to spare?)
Or she who wears hers with pride
(not even the finest fabric would it dare hide)?

Is it she whose neck and arms
are unadorned with charms?
Or she who wears
litter that glitters?

Mirror, mirror on the wall,
here my plea:
In my nakedness,
let it be me!

Missing the Moon


It was only after reading Fr. Jerry Orbos’ Sunday column that I finally realized why there were countless posts about blue moon yesterday —- there was a blue moon last Friday and I did not see it! It was a little heartbreaking that I did not. As a little girl, I have read about the rare phenomenon and ever since, I have been fascinated by it. Someday, I told myself, I am going to see the blue moon for real. I missed my chance last Friday.

Coincidentally, that same night when the moon made its royal appearance, I sat on my bed thinking, When was the last time I saw the moon? Probably December, when I was home for Christmas. I turned to the window above my bed and looked out but I saw nothing of the night sky. The view was blocked by the condominium beside my dorm. Before going to bed that night I wrote in my notebook, I miss the moon!

I never gave the moon much thought as a kid, except the idea of it magically turning from boring off-white to majestic blue. Then, when I learned in Earth Science class that it has no light of its own (it merely reflects the sun’s light), it dulled even more in my sight. But the moon gained my admiration shortly before I left high school when, in English class, we were made to interpret a poem that likened the moon to a beautiful woman (or was it just me who interpreted it that way?). Suddenly, the moon, for me, became the ultimate symbol of perfection and womanly elegance that does not seek adulation. Since then, on nights when I could not get myself to sleep, I would stare at the moon, often trying to capture its enthralling loveliness. But I never did. Somehow, all the verses that I could muster in its honor could never match up to the real thing.

What secrets are you hiding, dear Moon?
What secrets are you hiding, dear Moon?

Lately, I have not seen much of the moon, except maybe in pictures. I am too busy with exams and papers that I forgot the nightly ritual I used to have. My obsession with catching up with school work has kept me from seeing an old, dear friend. But tonight I have nothing to do. I’ll see you later, dear Moon. 🙂