Poem for the rainy days--and a super typhoon named 'Pablo'

"Be still, sad heart! and cease repining;
Behind the clouds is the sun still shining;"
   --Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Upon knowing that the super typhoon “Pablo” had already entered the Philippine area of responsibility and landed somewhere in the eastern part of Mindanao, in Davao Oriental to be exact, I started to become more vigilant by checking up on the news every now and then. "Pablo" was only named as it is when the said typhoon with an international name of “Bopha” entered the Philippine area of responsibility. Typhoons, which are a regular visitor to the country every year, are nothing new in the Philippines. This is because the country's location in the globe, being just above the equator and getting sandwiched in-between by two great oceans (the Pacific Ocean in the east and the South China Sea in the west), has become the passageway for any tropical depression that develop somewhere in the Pacific ocean to become a full-blown typhoon en route to the western direction reaching as far as the mainland Asia.

Instead of thinking for what negativity the super typhoon Pablo may have to cause on, I wrote a poem that brings in the bright side of every situation by trying to go beyond superficial seeing; something which we can draw a lot of hope from by changing the way we look at things, and to learn to deal with what is going to happen good or bad and move on. So this was it, fresh from conception, and impromptu the "Poem for the Rainy Days--and a Typhoon named Pablo" would like to have you puzzled, or, perhaps, convinced:

something was taking place everywhere and my face didn't ring a bell but
in the process this still face wakes up--this other person calling to invite me
only now i can actually experience--and how long?
moving in at a thrilling speed
and this evanescent joy
being over and above:
an easy pattern blowing
with greater force upon
a crowd of tiny
liquid crystals.

because i would love to see it, and feel, fully comprehend.
not as the highest possible conception of a landscape but, in full view, something
i would rather see with the morning glow than discover.

the winds may shift
as i heared them pacing across a space that was dark, but to get out of this mental fog of fury,
seized me with a kind of fear.

not anymore.
poetry has it translated between the senses and, all at once,

it flies at me as if it was the most natural thing--
somehow finding it attractive.


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