beware—the storm brews in a cup of tea let your sharpest words fall as drizzle no mortal withstands the cunning tempest the sea takes the fool who scorns the wiser the sage’s mind is forged in wisdom the heart, a cushion of gold; the body, a harbor cross the line, though hidden from all eyes the storm crowns the master unseen by the blind … for storms reveal the truth that silence ‘already knew’
The room once slayed in webs and dreams, Now wakes beneath the broom’s bold beams. [Written in June 2025, this poem came to life during Brigada Eskwela. As I cleaned the classroom, I was reminded that every helping hand, no matter how small, leaves a lasting mark on the spaces where learning begins.] The room once slayed in webs and dreams, Now wakes beneath the broom’s bold beams. The spiders know it’s time to weave New tales elsewhere, they’ve got to leave. The ants will march a different route, No crumbs for them to rave about. The cockroach stroll is shut down tight, And mosquitoes? Smoked out of sight. The mouse who ruled the quiet stage Has been evicted, no more page. The mop will guide the dust to the door And the panes will be clear once more. Ooops, a slithery friend (or a hopping, croaking one) might lurk in the corner, So clean with care—be a tidy-floor explorer. Lift every box and sweep with flair, You never know what’s hiding there! Oh, scavenge smart, don’t judge too fast...