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...
Scribbles from occasional daydreamings