Category: Humanity

The White-Collar Who Trips Before Me

Posted on By J.J. Ireneo

humanity

The White-Collar Who Trips Before Me

The class system in society gets real in front of us sometimes.

my work requires me to move my bones,
my muscles, and my spirit enormously
until the only essence that’s left is
hearing how my breath whispers
gratitude to the Source for still keeping
me alive and gifting me the power
to feel, write, and heal.

Breathe.

yes, they see me, they feel me,
some say hello, some walk past me,
others pretend I don’t exist,
others pause for a little
heartwarming exchange.

Breathe.

in between runs, I do my tasks in the lobby;
it’s a routine, it’s sincere, I give it my all,
I’m attached to it, it’s soulful in a way
as I get to think and examine the rush
around me–
the atmosphere, the chatters, all the
superficial corporate games, humans
being humans in the midst of survival.

Breathe.

one of those tasks is the escalator;
I would politely instruct the incoming
traffic to go right ahead first, but if
they’re still far back, I get on with
my job… some exchange lunch updates,
some whine about work and their mates,
others wear their faces long, and there
are those who seem lost.

Breathe.

but they know I’m there, minding my
own business quietly… giving them their
own space, giving them their way,
giving them their time… there’s mutual
respect, though tension is thrown at me
sometimes and perhaps even discomfort;
“This is supposed to be a place for people
of intellect, for those who actually run and
shape the world, for power and authority.
We cannot stand seeing you around here.
Go away!”–is what I would hear time
and time again–at least it’s what my
instincts would hear on some odd
occasions.

Breathe.

what I hear from his mind,
“Oh no! No no no no! You can’t treat
me like that! I’m way much better
in life than you are! You’re old, Asian,
a woman, with a job that you’re only
qualified for because you’re dumb!
Get out of my way! Get away!
Get away!”

Breathe.

so he sprints up the escalator,
wheezing–

Breathe.

–trips on his way up that his dignity
crumbles right before me.

Breathe.

And I stay calm.
So calm.
Unbelievably calm.
Regardless of what I see and hear;
I’m as calm as the quiet lake,
the sleeping owl,
the kindest forest.

Wild.
Breathe.

The Most Tragic Irony of Today

Posted on By J.J. Ireneo

humanity

The Most Tragic Irony of Today

Human connection doesn’t exist anymore. It has now become a dream.

where have our human souls gone to?
how must it so difficult to connect with
each other now?
since when have we lost our ability to live?
what do we care the most now?
who here can still experience a little bit of
their own truth?

how exhausting it must have been to try
to decipher lies;
is it a wonder? no, it’s something ordinary
that some idiots would tirelessly convince
us that there’s some beautiful meaning
hidden in it,
for all we know, it has already been
circulating around for decades,
even before we were born,
encapsulating those who are ready,
though I certainly do not believe
in the ‘chosen ones’, I believe in
divine free will…

we’ve abandoned ourselves a long time ago,
we’ve been searching for meaning and the truth,
we’ve lost our civilization the moment
we’ve invented all these modern advancements,
yes, we have superior intelligence, and such
destroys us one day at a time,
how we survive depends on our choices of
consumption–the spirit nourishment, the
senseless entertainment, the ache to be
seen and heard…

well, I do not want to be heard, I want to be
read and remembered,
I do not want my soul to forget traces of its
footprints,
I do not want to connect with the living dead,
I do not want to die knowing everything,
including God’s mystery,
I do not want to care about things that I
know for sure are superficial,
and I certainly do not worry about the
future of humanity…

because I do not feel souls anymore,
I feel death everywhere,
there’s noise, but it’s actually horrors
of silence,
there are people, but they murder each other’s
spirits until the streets are left empty.

so where’s your soul?
whom do you connect with?
how do you live everyday?
what do you care about most now?
what’s your truth?

your answers tell me you’ve already
passed on.

and so have I… regardless of my do’s
and don’t’s…

The only thing that is left for us to wonder
about, really, is how to get some good sleep.

How remarkable that is… in the most tragic
irony of today.

There is No Godly Religion

Posted on By J.J. Ireneo

humanity

There is No Godly Religion

Rage consumed me while spitting it all out!

before you come after me,
think for a moment,
I do not believe in all these religions
nor do I believe in their claims of salvation.

godly religions do not disrespect other religions,
godly religions do not devalue humans for
being humans,
godly religions do not swear that they are
the ‘truth’; religions that exist in our
civilization are false, all of them want to be
in control, all of them want your wealth,
godly religions do not cause wars,
godly religions are welcoming, accepting,
and forgiving,
godly religions serve humanity with
kindness and love at all times,
godly religions keep people safe,
including the ones who do not share the
same faiths,
godly religions never speak ill of anything
and anyone,
godly religions serve as the moral anchor
of all corners of the world,
godly religions share their wealth with the poor,
godly religions never judge, never criticize,
and never flaunt,
godly religions act as the saviour.

So think for a moment,
is your religion godly or earthly?

no one knows the truth.
what truth are we really looking for?
the Holy Grail?
if I told you I knew how to find it, you would
definitely laugh and call me the greatest
fool!
everyday, we go about looking for it,
praying for it, wondering about it.
there’s only one way to find it, really.
but I can’t reveal it yet because I know
no one’s ready,
you may have heard esoteric practitioners
making claims about it…
or you may have even heard your priests,
pastors, and religious entities delivering
sermons about it…

what you’ve heard is what they’ve learned
from ancient texts,
are they godly?

am I godly for writing this… am I making it
all up… am I insane… am I the devil… am I?

I had two religions. I had a dominant one growing up.
I had witnessed another one in their own confines.
Then I grew up, I lived, I cried, I laughed, I felt,
I had seen worlds in my dreams, I had heard whispers…
Perhaps I lost my mind… Perhaps I only woke up…

If I’m seeking a spiritual refuge, a quiet place where
I can hear my thoughts loudly, I would sit inside
a church on random days… just to commune…

The only truth I hear and know for sure is
how much I love deeply from afar.

That’s my godly religion.

But the Holy Grail? Yes, I know how to find it.
I surely do.

And such knowing, as the worldly would say,
“You’re full of crap!”

Who cares? Call me whatever you want,
but I’ve finally cracked God’s code, and I
obey on my own accord.

Now tell me a godly religion that ever
exists or existed.

None.
None.
Absolutely none.

No Stranger Wants to Sit Beside Me on a Busy Bus

Posted on By J.J. Ireneo

humanity

No Stranger Wants to Sit Beside Me on a Busy Bus

It’s what happens during my evening commute when I get a two-seat on the bus heading home. Sometimes, I ask myself, “Is there really something wrong with me?”

one empty seat left, it’s right beside me ,
some odd evenings, I get a two-seat on the bus,
it’s the rush hour, bus is always packed,
everyone, and I mean everyone, gets lost
into their screens all through the trip,
though there are odd ones who seem
to be lost into their thoughts,
and then there’s me, I like to be unbothered;
guarded, centred, protected.

I listen to 528 Hz music, it stings yet
it calms me down; like I’m stuck in between
two realms at once, not theta, but just
something that reminds me of what my
soul is made of; the promises I made,
the deals I sealed, the redemption,
the surrender, the salvation, and even
the void of the world… what’s hidden
is discovered, though abandoned.

for the sake of my dignity,
I do not stink!
I’m groomed like a normal person,
I dress like “me”; yellow jacket,
denim pants, a scarf to keep me warm,
I keep myself clean, proper, and alone,
solitude is what I wear,
loneliness and desperation cannot be
traced across my face.

more folks hop on,
look around for a vacant seat,
they notice the one next to me,
then they turn away and look for a spot
where comfort or convenience is
compromised… but it’s okay…
so long as they avoid my essence…
they probably just
don’t want to disturb it… or they’re
shy… or I must be a peculiar creature…
what have you… I don’t really care…

I’ve survived another day, I’ve never hurt a
muscle dwindling around inside of me,
I’ve done something good… so I’m great… I’m
all alone in the midst of the wild pack!

the empty seat is also mine,
better not sit on it,
it’s mine, only mine.
and if, all of a sudden,
you would want it,
let me ask you this first…
are you tired, too?
either way, you may
sit with me in silence.

Let’s sit together in silence;
just us and our thoughts,
without fragments of judgment,
without energetic statics.
Just us and our thoughts.

Are you tired, too?
But this seat also belongs to you.
Didn’t you know?

How Shallow Have We Become

Posted on By J.J. Ireneo

Humanity

How Shallow Have We Become

I wrote this when my WiFi died on me one night. Shameful!

how shallow have we become
back in magical days, nights;
learned more about us,
felt our hearts’ longings and cries,
heard all our thoughts,
understood our deeds — both good and bad,
inspired our tomorrows.

now,
nights are abandoned;
they have simply become time that must
cosmically come by because it is its job,
they’re even terrified to disturb us,
they stay silent,
they keep meaningful memories of the past

—

while we’re becoming more obsessed with noise,
losing our souls to machines,
building a dystopian world —
destroying our divine gifts
destroying each other

how shallow have we become
how shallow have we become

The Grumpy Man Who Deals with Dreamers and the Miserables Everyday

Posted on By J.J. Ireneo

humanity

The Grumpy Man Who Deals with Dreamers and the Miserables Everyday

This was an encounter I had with a lottery ticket vendor. I hardly buy lottery tickets, so I don’t know what came over me that day. But then… whoa, have you ever seen a hostile merchant in your entire life? This man desperately needs to sit in nature for a bit to recharge.

does his colour matter?
he sits in his worn-out chair
wearing a plain shirt with a bold statement
“I don’t care!”
his semi-bald head hides under a hat
with an embroidered flag
of his home country

he runs a store for high dreamers
money claimed in millions by the lucky
ones who might have already
forgotten nature’s time

proof banners pinned all around
he’s not proud, he’s disgusted
as his scheming eyes skim
through metro train’s
miserable passers-by
as his lips tremble with
despicable words that
only he can hear

I walk up to him as a dreamer
I say, “Twenty one dollars for tonight, please.”
his scowl penetrates right into
my shattered, crippled body
which he cannot see
his stoic reply, “Tap here.”
his frantic finger punches a payment device
and I am no longer free

as he hands me my dream
a miserable passerby storms
towards him in an attempt to
ask something about her whereabout
“I don’t know!” he shouts
before she can even utter the
rest of the phrase

I hide my dream away
as he caresses his skin
he sighs, sits back,
and breathes in and out
to dream

and dream more
of getting out

Disturbance

Posted on By J.J. Ireneo

humanity

Disturbance

The fear of losing my niece to screen is just something insurmountable. We lose people everyday because of it. We also lose ourselves. And I wrote this poem without a bit of empathy left anymore–just knowing that I have “art” to come home to.

suffering is a commodity
emotions are expensive
mentality is captured and caged up
humans are animals

forget about attention span
it goes along with life expectancy
of course, humans defy truths
even Science is ignored

youths, oh, what’s life all about?
screens and validation cannot live without
adults, where have you disappeared into?
wait, have you lost your minds, too?

I’m just as guilty as the rest of humanity
I pound my head out of it all everyday
ignorance is never a bliss anymore
we’ve learned it the hard way for sure

I tried to participate somehow
but it made me sound stupid and desperate
also, how was it myself?
what moronic stranger would even cooperate

I can’t. I can’t.
I’m okay just as I am.
My suffering is art.
My emotions are on guard.
My mentality has free will.
I am human.
I am an animal.
Yet no one owns me.

Blinded

Posted on By J.J. Ireneo

humanity

Blinded

It was one of those “mindless” days again when I was compelled to write about bits of the world at face value.

they insist that we see the world as we are
like fragile mirrors that can break apart;

all spiritual gurus copy and paste ancient
knowledge and hype them up to gain wealth,
fake Philosophers present ideas to bend
societies and steal the world’s last breath,
energy games are true but who has the time
to play when we all work to keep our health,
there is always a loon out there who torments
humanity and calls himself Macbeth,

news and Social Media sell emotions
crushing our hearts and souls deep down to
the filth,
ugly people get contaminated by poisonous
ideologies like meth,
idiots catapult idiots to power to strip their
rights off and betray them in stealth,
religions and politics hurt humans the most
and blood continues to paint the earth,

humans love and hate AI as technology
madness loses connection and depth.

I’ve been broken since I was born and
what may kill me is living for authentic art.

A Man Murders His Own Soul

Posted on By J.J. Ireneo

humanity

A Man Murders His Own Soul

This poem is about my work colleague who just can’t stop doom scrolling on his phone.

what is left of a man who buries himself
into screens all for short-lived dopamine;

the squeaking sounds he calls music with
godawful images of human suffering,
the annoying laugh tracks playing on reels
featuring humiliation and dumb bearing,
strangers rampaging about life realities and
political powers rising,
influencers fame-mongering by exploiting
the poor or luxury brands flaunting,

staged dramatic content for regular minds
with a restless desire like cheating,
rage-baiting opinions on issues to fuel the
tension up for comment chasing,
celebrities’ random acts blundering for
news blazing or renowned names decaying,
a few seconds of him engaging and I see
insects crawling and demons fighting,

his soul abandons him days and nights
while he stretches his time to look down there
dying.

what a waste of time to be alive all to be
trapped into technology caffeine.

Corpses at a Work Party

Posted on By J.J. Ireneo

humanity

Corpses at a Work Party

My big boss throws parties once in a while where awards and certificates are also given to the deserved few. During my first attendance, something inside of me had ignited. It was a brutal awakening that I could not shake off in any way… leading me to write this poem.

“Welcome to your funeral!”
the boss proclaims,
his board members
grin at us
like the grim reapers
as we enter.

A bountiful feast awaits.
scrumptious meals;
dishes and drinks
we have never
heard of before,
colourful desserts with
odd shapes and designs,
arresting mood,
enticing celebration.

Even tables and chairs
look inviting.
All of a sudden,
their meaning extends
towards our existence.

“Welcome to your funeral!”
the boss proclaims again.
We take our spots,
exchange murmurs,
crack up a little,
introduce ourselves to each other,
ponder on our time
as we wait for the
ceremony.

Some receive monetary awards,
others revel in appreciation certificates,
the newbies smile and nod,
the forgotten wince and tear up a bit.
Whereas, I, observing and feeling,
am detached from what I’m seeing.
Must I owe them my life
for surviving?
Haven’t they heard what
the boss has proclaimed?

“Welcome to your funeral!”
Or is it just my insanity
playing tricks on me
to stay in reality.

Our names are carved
in tombstones.
The drinks, the dishes, the desserts
are poisons.
There are no rewards without
a life sacrifice.
There are no certificates without
blood shedding.
There are no celebrations without
the devil’s fights.
There are no bosses and grim reapers without
the ignorant begging.

I look at us;
gobbling down
the main dishes, the drinks, the desserts.
the newbies, the forgotten, the awardees
go home everyday
as corpses
to their families,
to their lone shelters,
to life
that had already forewarned
about its cruelty
the moment we greeted
our first day.

Welcome to your funeral.
Welcome to your funeral.
It is what it is.
The sad things is,
no one grieves.

Candle in Hand

Posted on By J.J. Ireneo

humanity

Candle in Hand

A random encounter with a “supposed” witch during a grocery run after work. Was it a “divine nudge… or simply an assumption?”

She barges in with a black candle in hand,
sits right behind me, pats my head lightly.
Like me, her skin color is like a solar flare,
ready to burn, ready to rage, ready to share.

She chants away in her own dialect.
Impassioned words, cruelty I cannot detect.
Every syllable sounds like a gun fire.
I reckon she’s on the phone, lambasting a
blood line.

Digital music blasting into my ears,
drifting away as she’s too loud to bear.
I get off the bus, she jumps off after me.
She stands in my space, eyes gazing away.

Her ears jolt up in the evening mist.
They’re free, they’re clear, I’ve caught the
twist.

She feels my curiosity, triggering her fancy.
Once again, the impassioned words
explode out of her black candle days.

As we wait to cross yet another street,
she blasts out profound words just for me
to notice her presence,
“They don’t know how to read and
understand!”
One more time, make it louder, madam,
“They don’t know how to read and
understand!”
I say, “Time to cross the street now.”
She paces down after me, still raving on,
with a trembling soul hidden in her
ingenius scorns.

She suddenly disappears, then God
whispers in my ear, “You’re shielded, don’t
worry about her voodoo trick.”
I freeze, my heart races, I pray,
“God, a new perspective would be okay.”

So I go on to get my grocery run done.
I talk to a friend who says, “All good minds
are gone.”
The strange lady’s hex turns into the most
beautiful eagle,
I release it into a world where wonders
grow.

She was not alone, there were thousands
trapped in her.
A prison of despair, causing her to fight
back out of fear.
The eagle delivers her the message,
“Quit it. It’s not going to work on her. She’s
not alone, too. Lest you forget.”
She can also barge in with a candle in hand,
only her goal is to save the innocent.

Yes, this is how I barge in with a
candle in hand.
To save the innocent.

Humanity: Are We All Here?

Posted on By J.J. Ireneo

humanity

Humanity: Are We All Here?

I wrote this while I was feeling numb, yet somehow I managed to say the right things without any thought process whatsoever at all. Does that make sense?

Humanity, at last!
whose beauty is admired
heart moves in good faith
acts; empathy, the north star

Anything evil is shunned
violent uniformed men
whose weapons always
flaunt on air
powerless,
down on their
wounded knees

Corrupt leaders;
maggots, vultures,
criminals!
soulless fixtures
whose end
shall be as tragic
as the terrors and horrors
of days and nights
they have inflicted upon
the innocent
across the lands

Humanity sees,
hears, feels, lives through
betrayals, atrocities
now they hold on
to their power
they understand
the true meaning
of their existence

Oh, but they must
stop engaging,
stop saluting,
stop bowing,
stop listening,
stop applauding,
stop praising,
stop acknowledging,
stop participating
for

maggots
vultures
criminals

they
do not have
a place
in the heart
of humanity
do not deserve
their time
and energy
do not own
their names

Humanity fights
for each other’s
common good,
protecting each other’s
faiths,
raising each other’s
children,
employing each other’s
brothers and sisters,
learning each other’s
songs and dances,
opening their minds
to each other’s
just and humane
ideologies,
appreciating each other’s
unique languages,
participating in
each other’s cultures,
holding each other’s
hands,
reading each other’s
literature and poetry,
comforting each other
in times of need,
living, surviving,
growing, evolving,
progressing
together

Together.
Humanity is
as strong as the power
of the universe.
Once together,
nothing is broken,
no one is broken,
no land is broken.

Humanity at last.
Humanity at last.

Filipino Pride

Posted on By J.J. Ireneo

humanity

Filipino Pride

I love being Filipino. Proud of my blood. However, confronting truth is also a pain.

A true Filipino, you say?
You’ve gotta talk to me
‘cause I’m ready to party!

I’ve got no house
but I’ve got a home
a close-knit bond
that my heart owns
I’ve learned to smile
and laugh that zones
them out into a life
milestone

Just imagine going
through natural
disasters
yet there I am
praying hard
hoping and coping
to recover
while all the while
humor is unbothered
my family and I
love makes me
feel like we can live
forever

Oops. I’ve gotta go
somewhere
to make life better
though nostalgia
loneliness and pain
would shatter
me to extremes
yet I’ve got dreams
for my loved ones
so they won’t
have to suffer
from scarcity
while bouncing
and prancing
through the
wild home city
of our forefathers

Though they’re okay
in every way
I’m just too
ambitious
and adventurous
greedy. Huh!
So what? 
Pain is gain
hard work
is a win
sweats and bloods
life spins
into a wheel
of fortune
under my name

The family name
ready to sacrifice
the smiles
the laughs
even God’s advice

Remember, once the
trees turn greener
rains keep on
pouring
they don’t 
wither
Ah. It’s fine.
I can be a 
loner
here I am
making a fool
out of myself
betraying my
education
darn sinner

I’ve learned
to stand up for
my DNA
If race is their
problem then
they’ve never
had a good day
such misery
I’m sorry
for how society
has taught them
to hate and cuss
still clinging
on to the past
all I know
for sure
all I know
for sure
it all starts 
somewhere

Somewhere
fast!

I suppose
they’ve never
had a home to
speak of
a family to
pray with
and love
they’ve been
shoved
off.

So let me see
what I can do
can I show you
what love
means
and your
best virtue?

I can let you
into my home
if you need
shelter
I can also feed you
an abundant
dinner
I can sing
a lovely song
to heal your
heart a little
I can tell you
inspiring
stories
to make you
feel a lot
better

A true Filipino, you say?
You’ve gotta talk to me
if you’re  ready to party!
Talk to me
talk to me
only
if you’re
ready.
To be in
a real
life party.

The Race

Posted on By J.J. Ireneo

humanity

The Race

This prose was inspired by the chaos I would experience at work from time to time.

Catching my breath to run away and move on. To accomplish a day. I spot a flock of pigeons greeting me with a swift candor, then they fly away.

A ghastly whistle directs at me, with a series of orders. I pinch my skin, yes, indeed, I am human, not a machine. I am told that I am the best candidate for a race to satisfy a master. I dust it off and get ready. I run on to find a comet aster to survive. I am going crazy.

Along the way, a turtle slams itself against my knee. I trip; blood spurting out of my forehead. “Relax,” it reminds me. “I’m just a little fella. How could you trip and bleed?” Its face distorts into a sardonic realization, then it laughs and swears — laughs and swears — laughs and swears — “Oh my goodness, you poor, poor thing. I thought you were the strongest contender? What’s the matter?”

“I have to go through the walls and the tunnel, then roll around the endless lot,” I reply.

“Why, that’s easy peasy! That’s not a problem at all!”

“Are you kidding? That’s impossible.”

“What did the pigeons say?”

“How did you know about the pigeons?”

“Who doesn’t know about the pigeons? Everybody knows about the pigeons. Come on. Pay attention. So what did they say?”

“Nothing. They just gave me a nod, then they flew away.”

“It wasn’t just a nod. It was “the” nod.”

“The nod for what?”

“Be outspoken. Be honest. Stand your truth.”

“Oh. Is that what it meant?”

“I told you to pay attention. You’ve got friends around here, you know?”

“Okay, good. Thanks for the assurance. So now, what do I do?”

“You go back there and shut the ghastly whistle up,” the turtle says. “Tell the ghastly whistle to show it to you first, to achieve the impossible, how to win this race. Because, my darling, no one can. It’s the one and only race in the entire universe that can never be won. No matter how fast and strong you are.”

“Pay attention,” I ponder, cackling. “I got duped! Goddammit!”

“That’s right, you poor, poor thing,” the turtle laughs. “Now, would you know how to survive next time?”

I’m not sure, really. But then —

I catch my breath. I run away. And I move on.

Hoping to accomplish yet another day.

And meet a comet aster. Or perhaps another turtle.

Along the way.

Mundane

Posted on By J.J. Ireneo

humanity

Mundane

This poem was inspired by my morning commute. What a painful awakening.

So overwhelming, here comes the mundane. Lifting myself from cushion, reeling into corpse. I secure a blessing first before I die, then off to meet other poor souls. No force.

The bus may be warm, yet it listens and warns. A long journey towards judgment day. The train awaits, bearing more of us. No one dares to utter a moan, we’re aware of our destiny. No fuss.

We arrive to be beaten, we are also silenced. Is this a punishment for entering? Not a home in sight, no cheerful delight. We’re told it’s a choice conceived out of a foolish yearning. No singing.

Desperate to escape, praying to stay alive. Yet, dignity holds on to survive. It’s fine, keep trampling it down. To fight back is a waste of time. It has already stuck into the skin. Society, this mundane, it stings.

What’s even more overwhelming is they’re afraid of the sun. All of us are going to die at once. But I refuse to leave with snakes and vultures eating off my heart. My corpse will not let me lay to rest until I am satisfied with my art.

Though I am ready to depart.

The overwhelming. The mundane.

I Wonder How People Live There

Posted on By J.J. Ireneo

humanity

I Wonder How People Live There

An encounter with a senior white lady inspired me to write this poem. I have encountered people like her in the past, but this one has become the tip of the iceberg.

“Living the dream?”

“I beg your pardon?”

And an unprecedented conversation ensued. My clock ticked on; sets of eyes watched. Lunch was getting cold up in the break room.Yet, here was dignity hoping to warm up.

“Oh, is that where you’re from? I wonder how people live there.” She must have been in her seventies, petite, blonde, pixie cut lady. Her wondrous green eyes ignited with curiosity; genuine, surprised. Never traveled. Not even half the country. Montreal was already a fulfilled vacay.

Beyond the Toronto skylines, beyond the diverse swarms; the fancy, the sports, the entertainment, the exhibitions, the suits, the coats, the blazers, the sneakers, the hoodies, the sweatpants, the briefcases, the purses, the backpacks, glitzes of both miseries and dreams — bustling around. The chariot of the west; life she has only known. Has she seen the horizon? What about the stars and the moon?

Something that should not have been a mystery. Not a wonder either. Let’s start with my family; they live a glorious life.

They’re busy caring for a vegetable garden. They raise chickens, feed stray cats and dogs, lounge in the vast front yard for snacks and coffee, go for walks around nature, bike, eat at malls during weekends —

My mother sings and watches her favourite noon-time show; a retired public school Teacher. My sister teaches kindergarten at her old Elementary school; fun yet handful. Her devotion has been immeasurable. My nine-year-old niece is in Fourth grade, a genius of her own right; her English vocabulary is way much better than mine when I was her age. She’s an artist. Her heart is seen in all her drawings and paintings. She’s beloved and well admired. They are the love of my life

“What about their home? What does it look like?”

“Happy, comfortable, loved. That’s what it feels like.”

“No, I know. But what does it look like? Is it the same as the houses here in Canada?”

“Not quite.”

“Well —? What is it then?”

I sighed. “They’re okay.”

She cackled, “I got it. Well, I have to go now. Have yourself a great day, darling. It was nice chatting with you.”

They own three houses, two of those stand in the same subdivision with strict security measures. Concrete, modern. The local carpenters had iron hands; sweet bungalow for my sister’s family, a two-storey house for everybody, including me — it has three bedrooms, two bathrooms, a spacious living room, a nice kitchen. Outside is where the vegetable garden glamours with its rich beauty; the hen house is tucked away in the backyard.

The subdivision abounds with green and colourful sceneries of nature. It has its own park, a cafeteria, and a recreational centre. My contribution — not even a quarter of it all.

However, let me not forget our old house lurking in the city. Where tears, a little bit of drama, and a lot of laughter still linger around. Where my father took his last breath. Where I said a lot of goodbyes.

So yeah. That’s what their houses “look” like.

As for me? I’m renting a basement suite in Scarborough; my twenty-seventh “home” here in Canada in all my seventeen years of hopping around.

And at night — I dream. To be home. To feel home. To live, really live. Not to wonder and wander. To be loved, feel loved. That’s the greatest dream.

That’s the greatest dream of all.

Never Be Too Smart

Posted on By J.J. Ireneo

humanity

Never Be Too Smart

If they know you’re smart, you’re a threat. Therefore, you cannot belong or get ready to be trampled down.

“Your hands are wrinkled up, defiled, almost giving up. What do you mean you know nothing? Is that how you define intelligence?”

Intelligence is just an understanding. Do you understand why birds have wings, cats and dogs have four legs? If you do, congratulations. If you don’t, reflect on the purpose of every creation. How’s the connection?

How my body decays in front of the world’s eyes is a special treat of wisdom; something extraordinary. My own wisdom. And I am never sorry.

There’s massive wealth wallowing inside of me. The only wealth that I can bring to my grave. If God asks, “Which wealth amongst here that you’re most proud of?”

Resilience. The power of forgiveness. The beauty of tears and pain.

I am here not because of intelligence. I am here because I know nothing. I am here to get my hands wrinkled up, defiled — for my body to be decayed. I am here for the massive wealth to grow inside of me.

Well, it has been overflowing now. I am ready to give up. I am ready to go home. To share my wealth with my family who’s a lot wealthier than me. For they’ve always understood why birds have wings, why cats and dogs have four legs. While a body decay is never a rule of their sun.

Their wealth is simple; never be too smart.

Never be too smart.

The best wisdom.


Oh, Trust Me. I Do Not Envy You At All.

Posted on By J.J. Ireneo

humanity

Oh, Trust Me. I Do Not Envy You At All.

She refuses to work. She’s not rich. She’s just married. There’s no luxury in comfort and dependency.

An authority asks, “Why don’t you want to work?”

You reply, “Because he wants me to run the household.” Yet, your pride laughs, “Man, I’ve already had it with life, alright? This is a gift from the universe. I’ve manifested this. So do not get involved. Got it?”

The authority asks again, “Don’t you want your independence? Having your own power. Making your own money. Living?”

You reply, “I’m a housewife. That’s it.” Yet, your pride celebrates, “He’s my provider. I don’t need to suffer. Not anymore. Not again. I’m here. I’m living the dream. This is my dream.”

The authority rises, “Okay, then, go live. Keep living the dream.”

Then you tell me, “All we ever want is a peace of mind. To survive in this hell hole. I’ve found my peace. This is my peace. My freedom. My choices. So I don’t understand you venting out to me about what you’re going through. I’m sorry. And I’m sorry for you.”

What I’m going through;

I go into war, without a tangible purpose. I fight without a spirit of rebellion. I wear a uniform with a flag of courage. I listen to cries with music soothing through my ears. My death squad lurks in all corners. My spirit guides keep sharpening my sword. My skin gets thicker, numbing me down. My words twist around, silencing my thoughts whenever I’m found. My heart expands, so I can love myself fully. My strength peaks, nothing feels heavy.

Nothing fears me anymore. Nothing shocks me furthermore. For it’s all just the same; same war, same fight, same uniform, same cries, same death squad, same spirit guides.

Though I’ve noticed changes; my skin, my words, my heart, my strength. Yes, I’m alone, yet, my company keeps on growing. As I venture on my own.

The company that births itself inside of me. The company that teaches me how peace should be.

So if you were to brag about your life to my face, why don’t you go and sip the real tea. Because trust me, I do not envy you at all.

I do not envy you at all.

So with that said, I shall say, I’m sorry. And I’m sorry for you. Now, tell me, what would you do?

Right There on Earth

Posted on By J.J. Ireneo

humanity

Right There on Earth

This poem was inspired by the “ICE” horror.

That special smirk you’ve shot at me; a riddle of your pale soul. Save your trembling mouth. I’ve already heard it before.

Oh, I refuse to give in. For my spirit is sacred. Rage all you want. God is listening.

You don’t know my story. I don’t know yours either. Though judgment day heralds your defeat time and time again.

Have you seen the vast sky? The constellation that celebrates; a new star is born once in a while. Heaven knows it is fated.

You march to drive me away, with your men and tanks. Run me over. This story is as old as time.

Yet, your efforts only go to waste after you see me dead. Now you can’t sleep at night. And I’m up there riding an angel’s sled.

To deliver some news about my birth. At home. Right here on earth.

I was home. Right there on earth.