Taming This Tyke's Voice Since 2007




I understand the books in the shelf,

Untouched. Covers gathering dusts

Pages turn yellow, words unread,

Wisdom unhearkened.

Banquet prepared by writers

Wasted to termites

Leaving disinterested heads unfed,

Hearts failed, voices neglected.


I understand the bud in the wild

That awakens at dawn, 

But nobody drops a visit til midday,

Not a single butterfly, not a bee,

And wilts unnoticed at the end of day.


I understand the tree along the river

Bearing fruits all summer;

Realeases sweet odor filling the air

Inviting reapers, but nobody came.

Fruits dropping in the stream like tears,

Wasting her gifts again this year.


I understand the green patch of meadow

Hedged by dense forests, bordered by a cliff

Pruned by gazelles and deers

Year after year,

But nobody ever arrives with a mat to picnic;

Not a single soul carrying an easel reaches to paint.

Picturesque view wasted on the wilds.


I understand the sea-shells stranded

In a far-flung coast, unfrequented,

That the surf polish

And washed white by the brines

But no one comes to pick them for souvenir.

Encapsuled songs of the ocean

No one hears.


I understand the fate of weeds that grow

In the unwanted crevices

Of the concrete pavements of the city, 

Sprouting to embellish her flaws

Cruelly treated, uprooted, tossed.

Seemingly, life undeserved.


I understand the child begging for mercy

Strayed in the maze of life

Without the guidance of a father.

Growing without a map to follow

With promising tomorrow to give,

But dreams wasted on vagabond.


I feel for the logs decaying in the forests;

Treasures lost in the ocean;

Shipwrecks forming rusts in the harbor.


I feel sorry for a bench 

That awaits in the park

Comes sunshine or rain;

Pews empty on sundays.

Envelopes not opened,

Letters left unread, unanswered.


I understand the purity of intentions,



I feel for every little things

With so much to offer,

But are never given the chance.


Unanswered beaconing of the church bells.


When are you going to pick up

My heart’s calls?



Jeques, 2009. From his “Traveler’s Soliloquies” poetry collection.


2 responses

  1. jeques,

    there was so much pain in this poem, with all the sad imageries you have showcased in here, very powerful and moving. there is an ingrained angst, most especially in the part of an abandoned child, which has something to do with you in real life, without a caring father.

    special to mention are your poetic descriptions on the books, shipwrecks, and weeds on the concrete, which are pricking my heart to understand deeply.

    and the tree along the river, yes, theyre like tears, washed away in mediocrity. that was unfathomable. this poem succeed to communicate the sadness of being unrequited with nobody to reciprocate the magnanimity of love you can offer. as if the world has abandoned you completely.


    PM00000070000000728 10, 2007 at 12:00 pm02

  2. Marvin,

    This poem, indeed, gathered all the pains deeply rooted that could be summed up to love unrequited. The hardest part in writing them is summoning the pains piled in the heart concealed and denied for a long time and honestly accepting that they remain raw and real even with time. Oftentimes, we just learn to live with the pain. Writing the poem is my way of making peace with things and people that somehow caused them and coming to term with myself for the promise of the things that I can still do and offer from here on and forward. Reciprocated or not.

    Our unhappiness comes from great expectations; the images I used in this poem to paint the emotions gathered from natural realities, aim to remind us that our personal pains are reflected by the many things around us and shared by others. We are not alone. It is important to note that all the things and situation mentioned didn’t stop or ended even if the love offered were unrequited:

    – Writers continue to write and offer bountiful banquets to the mind in books
    – Another bud will bloom in the morning
    – The tree along the river will bear fruits again next year
    – The green patch of meddow in the cliff still awaits to be discovered
    – Same is true with the sea shells awaiting to be picked for souvinir.
    – The weeds resilient as they are in time will sprout again and forgive and forget the city that once uprooted the lives before them.
    – There’s a hope that the child in vagabond in time will find himself and lost dreams redeemed.
    – Even the decaying logs and shipwrecks hopeless as they seemed are slowly purified, returning to the earth becoming part of the streams of the universe again.
    – The church bells that’s symbolic of our spirituality will never ceace to ring to renew our our faith to life.
    – The heart will continue to call, and there’s always a hope that one day somebody would pick it up or return the call.

    I wish you well.

    ~ Jeques

    PM000000100000000228 10, 2007 at 12:00 pm02

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s