This river flows from Laguna,
He said.
I noticed tears in his eyes when he said those words.
His wrinkled eyelids betrayed
Memories.
Of childhood? perhaps,...
Of a long, lost love? maybe.
His far gaze penetrated the horizon,
Somewhere in those iris he was
Lost in time and space,
As if looking,
Waiting,
Dreaming,
Of someone,
Something.

I decided to quit asking.
Some secrets are better left unsaid.

do not stand at her grave and weep,
she is not there,.. she does not sleep.

she is a thousand winds that blow,
on EDSA's street she flows.

she is the spirit of our rally's noise,
she is the gentleness of a mother's voice.

she is the strength of our battlecry!
a Makati yellow confetti, she flies.

So,

Do not stand on her grave and cry ,..
She is not there, she will never die.

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Adapted from a Mary Frye poem.

"they walked so fast as if chased,
 do they even have the time to dream?"

said the beggar.

"they walk so fast to chase a dream,
but time walks faster than their dreams."

said the thief.

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Taken in a pedestrian overpass near the EDSA Shrine.

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Sometimes, a series of misfortunes will allow us to see the world from a different perspective.

Like when you have to shoot a landscape with a slightly telephoto lens ( 50mm on a cropped camera ) or when your tripod is broken and it can only deliver portrait style shots, or when you brush your teeth with a hair gel.

Then we try our best to make do with what we have,.. most of those times, we will fail, but sometimes,.. just sometimes,.. heaven's window will open and we create miracles we can never do in a thousand lifetimes.

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Taken at top of the Parc Royale Condominium, Ortigas.

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