The Roving, Ronin Hare

The beauty that still mesmerises us Of the mountain who used to be a lass Every time we set our eyes on her Something makes us wonder For how can Mother Nature be so gracious To give us something which, though, we need not choose Is, nevertheless, spectacular That no other mountain is at par? She’s beyond magnificent Though she explodes every now and then Her many eruptions Conjured rousing captions What would scare us to leave? The magma? The raining of ash? The broken debris? The boulders? Or the lava-fountaining and showers? But these are the same matters That add to the volcano’s wonders Because from a safe distance You would see some other-worldly trance... For tourists and visitors, Even to locals and natives, Its explosion and eruption Are tourist attractions Why are we not afraid then, Do you ever wonder? Because we always see her… As a beautiful lady with the usual temper. But at most times, she’s calm and collected,...

I wrote a poem from way back October 13, last year. After ten months, I looked it up again. Because I was bothered by my thoughts, I tried to edit it. However, I realized that the edited version appears to be a response to the earlier version, which is probably the result of a change of mind. The earlier version appears like this... I want a life of simplicity Of peace and felicity Away from complexity And webs of intricacy But I'm competitive I won't settle with Good, old mediocrity Just to be happy A person of irony That's who I am A guy so lazy But can be so dreamy I'm now a cpa lawyer But wishes to be A singer-songwriter A mayor, a governor A prolific writer A bodybuilder What else could I be? Oh an impressionist painter I have so many dreams But nowhere to begin While I love swimming In a pool of dreams, I'm drowning And this is the new version... I live a life of simplicity Of peace and felicity Away from complexity And webs of intricacy ...

Regardless of mood or circumstance, it remains? And when it fades because of a tweak here or there, it is but a mirage? I guess I’ve felt what it’s supposed to be – for ladies I cannot be with. It’s the emotion I feel when I see someone to be perfect or perfectly beautiful despite the flaws because for no reason but love, her allegorical scars – the mistakes of God – are forgiven. The feeling doesn’t change. It's a constancy of company and connection, a perspective that endures day by day, moment by moment, even after years or decades passing by. Because I see her in exactly the same way as the day we met, and the more we get to know each other, I unravel more things I like about her, all justifying the imperfections, and giving me memories that add spice to mundane moments. I may have sought the wrong women, looked love in the wrong places, defined it by wrong standards. Age does not matter, everybody says. But my youth is done; my potentials to develop young, sweet...

When we were young, we would regularly attend Sunday masses at this ordinary-looking church. It seemed to us that it's just the usual church people would flock to every Sunday. So when we saw a few tourists taking pictures of this 'regular' church, my siblings and I were confounded. "Well, this was just the church we go to every Sunday. What was so special about it?," we murmured in our local dialect. Unbeknownst to us is that this church which we often overlook and ignore is actually rich in history and architectural value. One dawn, after waking up early, I decided to see if Mayon's beauty can be captured by my camera. The skies were clear, fortunately, so the plan was pushing through. On our balcony, shots were taken. I was not satisfied. Our town church was visible from the balcony. Tempted, I decided to visit it and take more pictures. Popularly known as Daraga Church (named after our town, Daraga, Albay ), I fondly call it the ' P...