Splintered Lives
By choice, by fate, by force
of circumstance,
we have been uprooted from
the Motherland:
I don’t know, I wish we could
all say, “I did it for love!”
Maybe we did,
otherwise, why bother?
We surf the Net, we scan the faces
on its virtual pages and we find
we are like the broken fragments
of a meteorite that came crashing down.
All over the place, our shards
and splinters strewn.
Or, we’re like fields of sunflowers
putting on our brightest faces
for the sun god, but look
closer and you’ll find
we’re far from perfect blooms:
a little rough around the edges,
a little wilted on the side,
or even limping slightly, held up
by a stake on the ground.
Talk about sacrifices—we don’t.
We must suffer in silence.
For all the perceived gain
we imagined, we found
loneliness, frustration, isolation—
the story of our lives.
Each of our stories is unique:
whispered in circles of curiosity,
often received with fear, derision
or compassion, though
we would have preferred—
a little more understanding...
And yes, we comfort ourselves
by saying we have done the world
a lot of good, perhaps a little
too much, but who cares?
The world has been immune.
By choice, by fate, or by force
of circumstance, we left
and led our splintered lives.
To put them back together
is our only choice,
To be healed, to become whole again
our only hope.
Edgar B. Maranan
On Hearing Death News from Home
These deep
forests cannot
hush the heart’s own
darker shadows
as they grow
into thorns and traps.
Sadness
is, not death alone,
but being half
a world away
from it.
PHOTO: Boardwalk by Jury Gregorio
