Does the act of breaking glass

really satisfy the need

to unleash an imprisoned anger?

The suffocating rage

shapes the fists into impressive hammers,

knocking down everything within reach

until all the jagged shards of glass

haphazardly fall to the ground.

One hopes, in his frantic state,

that the rage has been transformed

into something else¯

something less dangerous,

like the molten earth from deep within

being converted into useful electricity.

But eventually,

all these attempts to destroy

and thus forget are useless.

Because all the scattered pieces of glass

will only forcefully remind us

that breaking things

doesn’t necesasrily make them disappear.

They still remain embedded

in the deep swamp of memory.

Once upon a time in Manila


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