Her grandma’s demons

She wonders back, long before civilization. she was young, all she knew of was her grandma, or how does she call the woman who married her mother to bare children for her through her husband? They say she  talked to spirits, she believed  them. How could she forget? That day when she came home from fetching water to see her grandma dance through the fire barefooted.

she can swear that her grandma’s  ghost lit a torch for her whenever she had to go home late through  the bushes and valleys from school.
Never will she ever forget when she dug a pit and burried them there to chase away the evil spirits. How long she stayed in that pit, How they all survived only her grandma can explain.

Her grandma was wierd. she used to call snakes visitors. she remembers a snake crawling from her grandma’s  bedroom to stop her kid brother from crying.  The little one started laughing immediately she saw “The visitor” only for the old lady to say that they should cook for the visitor and thank him.  A snake really?

That old lady gave her good life lessons, wierd she was.wisdom was part  of her too.  she taught her on finishing her chores early, being clean in order for the gods to be happy when they visit.  How  afraid she used to get when her grandma told stories about spirit world and the sea spirits.

As she prepares to go home from her office through the same old road, she gets goosebumps because she still can swear to hearing her grandma’s  voice calling her to join the sea goddess  in the river, to dance with the tree spirits in the bushes and to laugh with the spirits of her ancestors to scare the little  ones.

she has to get home though. To us,  her grandchildren and tell us more stories about our great great grandma. I see her ghost too,dancing through the fire and singing to me,
oh little one,
listen to the folks,
see through me,
Embrace the tradition,
or I’ll  find you,
And feed you to the gods.

The storytellers story.

In his dusty room,
As he calls it, “my little cocoon,
With a smile, he creates a paradise,
For a while,  his troubles evanesce,
The joy of creating a character,
The happily ever after,
He begins  with once upon a time,
We cry, we laugh as we move with the rhythm,
He gets carried away, he rises and falls with the flow,
In a way, the peak gives the end of a story,and a start of his own.

The noisy typewriter, tattered pieces of paper all over the floor,
The lonely writer, he knows not of the new technology,
Wishes to live like his characters, like his own creation,
Confined in his own thoughts, he wonders back in the days,
When he wrote for fame, never thought he’ll  do it for life,
His own is interesting, he knows not how to write it down,
He wishes to tell his own, but if wishes were horse,
Poor old storyteller, how will his story end.

Maybe someday, there will be, Adventures  of the storyteller.

What’s your reflection?

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My reflection is not made of my failures, my shattered  dreams, no, it is that of  the great things i am to do.  I may be that girl from ghetto, (with a high density of slum dwellers and unemployment). Grew up in a violent environment.  Surrounded  by idlers who discourage  and pull me down. But,

My dreams and ambition are what i see in the mirror. They are greater than what people see. I beleive in my capabilities. In the worth i am.  I see success when people see a failure.
Did David the small shepherd boy not kill Goliath  with a stone? And later become king to Israel?

We determine who we are.

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I see greatness, i see a success. What do you see?

When sugar becomes bitter.

I saw a man throw his wife out today. Took all her clothes to a nearby river and watched the waters carry  them away.  I could see the hate in his eyes, got me wondering, what happened to their love story? To the happily  ever after?

Did the butterflies  they once felt hatch caterpillars that slowly without knowing  destroyed their love nest? How about how weak they felt when they looked in each others eyes, where did the strength  to beat each other up come from?

For better for worse, for richer for poor has become a legend that once was for some. How does love that was once sweet become soo bitter.  I will keep on wondering,  someday i might understand.

Meanwhile  my dearest future husband, as a friend said, we might have already met, maybe at the supermarket, at the bus station or you  may be with your girlfriend  or heart  broken, but honey when we finally  say “i do”  let our song go on forever.  Be prince charming  and i snow white and our paradise be forever.  Let it be, i was meant  to love you and you me.

I will be here waiting ,  believing  in love that is kind, doesn’t  rejoice in evil, love that is patience and doesn’t  hurt .  Love, that will never turn into hate.  This is for sure though, i will be thinking about you.