Deeper by Danica Denice Epino As I open your body I traveled to another world A world that only you and I know As I traveled deeper in your place I understand why it’s a magical place No worries, no pain just your tale But as it comes to an end I was shaken by the reality That your story will just be a story of thoughts, Unspoken words and never felt feelings Children’s cry is all I hear Babies’ eyes are filled with fear A flow of blood all over the ground A fog of smoke all around A second bomb was dropped A loud crack started to pop What on earth is happening now? Can we still help them somehow? We click the trigger to post Trying to beg the most We share, we tweet and we push the links Are these enough to help these kids? How to move if we can’t object? Does the government still protect? We see humans but not humanity While we try to give them sympathy Can those people still live in silence? If even in their sleeps they experience nightmares Bombs and Thumbs by Danica Denice Epino
It Was a “He” By Jaevany Olavario I was five. I liked the smell of burning wood and I don’t know why. It was midnight then and I was on my sister’s nightgown. How I loved how its hem rub the wood while I walk. And as while I’m feeling like a royalty walking through the upstairs corridor, I smelled something rather odd and strange--a burning wood--for how and who would set a wood on fire inside our house? I wondered “Would it set the house on fire? Should I wake mom?” Instead, I followed the smell and it led me to the basement downstairs where our old things and the laundry are brought. I wondered again, “Why does it smell like a burning wood and not like a detergent like it always does?” The stairs were creaking as my three-inch foot journey through them. Then, I saw it. “Halt.” I told myself. I’m not sure if I was even breathing. He was big. No. IT was big. It wasn’t a man! A man doesn’t have thick coal-like hair all over his body and face! A man doesn’t have his back arched like that! A man eye’s has two colors at least and I’m sure red isn’t one of them! A man doesn’t have horns! A man has a face, but this, this only has eyes and, and... I ran. I scrambled at every fall and trip because of my gown’s hem. I can’t get rid of the smell! I have to get away from it! No. No. I must lose it! I ran through the stairs and the cor - ridors and again, I tripped and fall. Oh how I hate this gown! Then, I felt it---sticky and hairy fingers--four, five, seven--and nails that are sharp like razors and knives. I held on to the rail - ings and kicked with all my might. Nevermind that I’m cut. With my bleeding legs and feet, I reached my sister’s room. I knocked very urgently. What a relief she’s opened it at the ninth knock! I was trying to get all the air out of my lungs to let her know what “it” I saw. I panted, “Rachel..” “Have you met him?”, she said. She looked up and stared straight ahead. No. No. What is she looking at? And I saw her eyes were red. My heart escaped my chest. I have never been more afraid in my life than that moment. Today, I’m twelve and there is an urgent knock on my door. I opened it. “You have always liked the smell of burning wood”, I told Peter. I looked up straight ahead, and there it is, just where it stood when I first met it at midnight. I can sense that it is smiling--he is smiling--it was a he after all. My lips curved. “This is Peter. He is five.”
Words by HGS Blackout Poetry Original Piece: O Captain! My Captain! by Walt Whitman
Original Piece: The Fox Words by Danica Epino Blackout Poetry
Original Piece: O Captain! My Captain! by Walt Whitman Words by CJBM Blackout Poetry
The Official Student Publication of Bicol University College of Business, Economics, and Management