K. was an early bloomer
of a philosopher:
when young,
he dreaded the terror
of his passion
as he ran away
from the apple of his eye.
A folly he should regret
because infantile
& chicken-hearted?
To have steered clear of pain
like a heroin addict?
But he didn’t partake
of Nietzsche
who cut the bonding chain
of the herd
& offered the logic instead
why God must die…
That he must stand
alone & steadfast
in the rush of common emotion
that leaves no man alive.
Now, old & doddering,
full of overwhelming desire
that rolls with the roll
of dice,
he shakes his head,
chuckling –
he was right after all
to realize so early in life
that mortality is a hype,
flesh decays
& she whom he fancied,
most beautiful a rose
at sunrise,
had changed disguises –
so monstrous,
so predictably
like time that passes by.

In Paraguay –
where former strongman
Alfredo Stroessner, himself half-German,
welcomed krauts
during his dictatorship –
Elizabeth Forster,
who distorted her brother
Friedrich’s Ubermensch
into a Nazi icon,
set up a colony
of anti-Semites,
her towering mansion
that seemed to scream
Aryan blood must be
secured from contaminants…
But Nueva Germania
eventually swallowed up
her husband who left her for good
with “his dose of morphine
and strychnine…”
As the settlement
foundered with the clawing vines
that overrun.
The utopian dream
was torn asunder
by the road that opened
to the capital,
the litter of blond children
only survived
with their legacy of Aryan names…
As in Kleinfontane
in Praetoria
that dared to outlive for posterity
the internal migrants
of Black Africa.
Nothing is forever pure,
Derrida postulates,
as if to warn against
the racists’ novitiates.

Margarethe von Trotta
figured it problematic
to make a film
on Hanna Arendt,
Heidegger’s campus lover,
who like most contemplatives,
simply “sit & think”.
But there was the virtual peg,
the Nazi criminal Eichmann
whom Mossad Agents
kidnapped from Argentina
& smuggled into Israel –
She who exposed
what was most exemplary
& commonplace –
the celebrated henchman
was “a mediocre bureaucrat”,
so banal an actor
in a human theatre
that goes beyond tragedy…
“You should think for yourself,
don’t follow an ideology
or a fashion,”
cautions Von Trotta.
A gentle reminder
to all trapped in partisan

Per tradition
of a state
where the notion of pain
is almost a divine gift,
in Nietzsche’s mindset,
domestic pets
that have made human life
should get that “magic cheese”
laced with marijuana
so they could be blessed with
deep sleep.
Euthanasia is a most
humane deed
for the incurably dying.
Pets – cats, dogs,
whatever creature
of our heart’s beliefs –
must be treated
with medical relief
as they lingered brutally
at the edge…
Push the ethical limit?
How sadistic
it is to watch
your animal foe or friends
struggle to majestically breathe…

Nadjona & Linda Bansil,
Nigerian-Filipino sisters
were student filmmakers
from Ateneo de Davao,
who exposed the Muslim marginal,
They visited Mt. Sinumaan in Sulu
for a photoshoot,
where the brigands Abu Sayaff
live in lawless abandon.
The duo must have been shocked
when they were stripped by
of their phones & cinema cameras
& handed them over to the
bandit group
who smells money, money, money
as in Gadaffi days of old.
Should they have known better
than to foray into
a no-man’s land
where brute love rules
& word is sanctified
by a misinterpreted Koran?
As in Somalia, it’s a cottage industry
where pirates hold hostage
foreign freighters & personnel
as if Allah
ordered it gift
to the impoverished?
O God must be hiding his face
at such travesty
of mortals
who justify blood & carnage
in the name of poverty?

So he hasn’t seen
the hide of her
who vanished after summer?
Was it the shadow of fantasy
that passed over his psyche?
It takes time, time, time
to create & forget –
A second is an infinite
in the cosmic clock
of the heart.
But the finger of Omar Khayyam
moves on
& life turns bearable
as if the past never happened
that once upon a time
he saw her
in split-second
only to disappear like dust
in the air –
It was all a measure of truth
but all things pass as they should –
He is a fantasist
that often drunkenly goes overboard.
O such is life,
mutters a thief
with a rope around his neck.

R’s off to Frisco,
then to Seattle
to bask in the camaraderie
of kinfolks:
O the listless heart
that journeys to the center
of the cold,
where oldtimers have settled down
for warmth & comfort.
How would she reenter
her planet of memory
when she comes back
through the atmosphere of Asian revelry?
There is routine
to flex muscles & mind,
then face her version of tedious eternity…
O Returning is a double-edged
a knife to pare remembrances
to infinitude…

When Carlos Bulosan
sailed off for California
& survived racial riots
& salmon canning in Alaska
the wave of immigrants
followed with their valises
& dark glasses
the transpacific route.
Was she aware of the terrible truth
when the prolific writer
set foot on American soil?
Of course, she knew her literature
& paid cognizance to the
easy access at customs
when friends & kin
waved at her,
all smiles & waiting for some news.
The flight was smooth,
she must have mumbled,
almost half-dazed
from the long, long haul.

But she knows
like the back of her hand
how to strike a balance
between freedom
& biblical rebellion:
her kin have found their space
in the cusp
of what is terrible & permissibly
Here, they produce, turn fruitful
in their endeavors
while in the colonies
they have to mind the pestiferous
that scale the leaning wall.

At the back of his mind
is Edward Snowden
lounging at Moscow airport
who exposed the Homeland surveillance
of internet & private phones –
a barely shocking news
in this age of Taliban destruction.
So she’s back in the land
of the brave
where potential bombers
come to roost,
raising the ante on Koranic
that dates back to a millennium.
What nihilism is this
that harvests innocent victims?
As if the world hasn’t changed,
& Moors are back on the
saddle again!

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