Beautiful Torture

I looked up the sky and saw the star
Enchanted, mesmerized by its sparkling glory
Longing to touch it, hold it
Trace the outlines of its beautiful shape with my fingers
Even for just a night… just one night.
It’s torture.

I looked out my window and saw the butterfly
Flapping its beautiful wings round a flower
Kissing, caressing those delicate petals
Oblivious of my yearning to take its wings and make it mine
Even for just a day… just one day.
It’s torture.

I look from afar and I see your beauty
A star that I want to reach and hold
For just a night… just one night
If only the butterfly could lend me its wings
Even for just a day…

just one day…


All Rights Reserved.
Copyright © 2015 by Willyn T Trabajador

How Great Is Her Love

“I wrote this in reaction to the news of the 72-year old nun who was brutally raped in India some weeks ago. In a world where political, racial, and religious differences are creating chaos everywhere, there is this pious figure who was mercilessly attacked and desecrated yet, she was still able to show the world a great lesson through her experience; a lesson of forgiveness and selfless love towards others –even towards your enemies.”

Her arms is his blanket
Her bosom, his pillow
Her smile is the moon
Shining on his face
As he drifts off to sleep, a baby.

In his sleep, he dreamed
Of a hypnotizing voice
Whispering, coaxing
Forcing him to wake up
And so, he opened his eyes, a man.

He saw her face
Her sweet, angelic face
He felt the smoothness of her arms
The tenderness of her bosom
He felt something else –a burning sensation.

And so, he started prodding
Fumbling, squeezing
Sucking, biting
Till milk and blood flowed out of her bosom
And joined her pool of tears on the floor.

Satiated, at last, his senses returned
Like someone who just came out of a trance
He looked at her, horrified
Unable to comprehend his own misdeed
He fled.

Her arms now, black and blue
And bosom, still dripping blood, she got up
Through tears, she smiled
–a moon, shining in a starless, stormy night
Her maternal love prevailed, she whispered:

“My son, I forgive you.”


All Rights Reserved.
Copyright © 2015 by Willyn T Trabajador

Like A Star

Your words are beacons of truth
Illuminating the dark path to aid those lost souls
Your defiant stance against the world’s madness
Reminds me of that solitary star
Pushing its way out of the dark, stormy clouds.

I look at that star and wish with all my might
To be able to hold it, touch it, feel it.
I look at you and wish with all my heart
To be able to hold you, touch you, feel you.

But, like a star that held me captive
You are so unreachable
So adorable, so bewitching
And yet, so far from me.


All Rights Reserved.
Copyright © 2015 by Willyn T Trabajador

Don’t Cry Mother Liberty

Don’t cry Mother Liberty
Please wipe those tears away
With your spilled blood
We will fill our pens
And with our pens
We will defend your legacy.

Don’t cry Mother Liberty
Fear not, we will save you
With your mutilated body
We will weld our shield
And with our shield
We will protect you from the enemy.

Don’t cry, dear Mother
We will never abandon you
Together, we will rise
To reclaim you from death
With our pens we will fight
To revive your breath.


All Rights Reserved.
Copyright © 2015 by Willyn T Trabajador

Mama, I Don’t Want To Draw Anymore

Cup of coffee in my hands
I sat to watch the news
Stabbing here, shooting there
Commentaries and political views
I watched totally bemused.

Out came my daughter
A pencil and sketchpad in her tiny hand
“Look Mama, I’ve drawn something”, she said
Hands, waving her pencil like a wand
I smiled and looked at her bond.

Momentarily distracted
I focused on my child’s drawing
Stunned, I blinked and stared again
Depicted are two prophets smiling
Hand in hand, they’re walking.

Then, my daughter gently asked
“Mama, what’s the matter?”
An innocent question
For which I have no answer
I reached out and hugged her.

Intimate moments were over
I watched the news again
Eyes on TV, sipping coffee
While watching my child drawing
Then suddenly, the TV screen flashed: Breaking!

A shootout incident
Somebody has gone wild
In jihad’s name he ended
Those innocent people’s lives
A peaceful nation terrorized.

Speculations were given
The cartoons blamed once more
Then, I heard my daughter speak
“Mama, I don’t want to draw anymore”
News forgotten, my coffee spilled on the floor…

I heard the sound of the mug breaking into pieces
I heard my daughter scream
I heard the gunshots in the aired news
But, my thoughts are off wandering
Mind blown, heart died along my child’s shattered dream.


All Rights Reserved.
Copyright © 2015 by Willyn T Trabajador