Bottled Air

You wake up in the woods, you get a clear, refreshing, crisp air. You wake up in the city, you'll get a lung cancer for free. Living in the urban, you get to see and smell various aromatic toxic wastes and pollutions starting from cigarette smokes, to burning wastes, to fly-infested garbage scattered all around the corners, to clogged drainage and to the ever famous car fumes. Mm-hmm. Well, this might only be the case in the third world countries but as a whole, the world is still suffering and slowly deteriorating.
How long would it be till we start inhaling air from tubes and tanks? And how long would it take for the CO2s and the NO2s to completely dominate the pure O2s? Before we know it, we might be buying bottled airs! Imagine that?! Stores hanging signs that read: "Air for Sale". How much would that cost? 1000? 2000? or 3000? just for a bottle? And what kind of unit should we use? Would it also be like psi? bars? or CFM? We certainly cannot use liters or ounce now, can we? How much time is still left for the air to remain breathable? We can't know for sure. Little by little, what once was a God-given blessing is now turning into something profitable for businesses. What would it be like years from now. Would everything literally have it's price? Every breathe we take might cost us our life's savings, may it be money or health.
I really do pray and hope that one day people would all unite and save our Earth. May it start from small deeds like using unleaded gasoline and changing car oils more frequently to bigger deeds like joining a cleanup of soot pollution. If we could all contribute in our own ways, I strongly believe that we could all live in a more healthier and less hazardous place. Planting a tree could go a long way.







Stranger Passing-By
SP-B/10/27/12

One Glimpse

 

Many stories can be told each day even as we simply walk down the street. A vendor's life, the stare of a woman standing by the road, a child's playful innocence and even an old man's guarded eyes, each having their own tales to tell. Right now, I'm sitting at the front seat of a jeepney car, writing this. Holding a pen on my right and a little notepad on my left, the driver had already glanced once or twice at me. Guess I might have been a little peculiar to look at... or oh Yeah! a fair fare price of 11 might be what he was looking for at me. Touche! But what really made me bought my pen and paper out was a little something I saw earlier. Sometimes when I look, I just simply stare; not really seeing what I saw. But as I look out of the doorless pane beside me, I happened to see a little girl staring intently at what I believed are Yemas (a sweet custard candy made with egg yolks. One of the popular delicacies in the Philippines) set before a kariton (pushcart) where a vendor keeps his watchful eyes. I saw how the little girl smiles and fixes her little beady eyes at the sweets with pure joy. Beside her stood a tall, young man pointing at the goods and talking to the vendor. Their muted conversations, I cannot hear for I was too far away. My gaze were still fixed to the little girl when the man bought her one of those delicately wrapped in shiny, orange-cellophane, yemas. It was such a wonderful picture of a loving father and a lovely daughter. My eyes were now focused on the father and saw how warmly he had smiled. I was still thinking about that smile when he waved his hand and the little girl scampered away happily, still clutching the yema around her two hands. It took me a while to realize that the man was a total stranger to the child just as I was with the jeepney driver beside me, blasting his horns, loudly. A part of me was left there with the scene. It was so beautiful and so wonderful that it had somewhat completed my day. At least, goodness can still be seen these days. My destination is arriving soon. I must get myself ready to unload. The infamous words of "Para Po" are already starting to form in my mind when my mouth said: "Sa tabi nalang po, para..." Soon, I won't need to deal with the jerkiness of the vehicle and soon I would be writing at ease and with a peace of mind. No more pakielamera people looking behind my shoulder. Oh well...
So many people you see each day. So many faces you meet each day. Some you could still see again, but some you could never see again. Only fate could tell and only time could have it's last words. Love and thank God each time you wake with the rising sun and for each sleep you rest with the shining moon. This is all that I can say as I now retire to my house, eager to greet people who had made it a home.


Treasuring this day.




Stranger Passing-By
SP-B/10/19/12 

The Melody Man

A song, a strum, a graceful bow,
happy or sad, the melody man woe.
Singing, leaping, dancing waltz,
he did it all for the crowd he owe.

A harp, a flute or a guitar he play,
each note, each tune, he struck with gay.
Making people spin and sway,
forgetting all of their dismay.

His life he own as long as the curtain's up,
rattling tunes for hearty clap.
Big smiles, big cheers, big applaud on top,
brought tears for every coin that had dropped.

But when the lights had died and the floor started creaking,
there stood on the stage, a lone old man singing.
Telling the tales of a melody man dancing,
coming from a place where people once remembered laughing.

A bow, a gesture, a tip of the hat,
every show I know will have its last.
Time would come again to past,
covering the artist with memory and dust.

But when the curtains are drawn again,
the spotlight will shine brighter than flame.
This time people would all proclaim,
No joy nor happiness had escaped his reign.

For the melody man would keep sorrow in bay,
By singing the songs of the early jays.
Because music is the world he lives each day,
and music are the words he would say.


The Melody Man.




Stranger Passing-By
SP-B/10/01/12