Hey everyone. I’m trying something different. I’m not even quite sure if this is an appropriate thing to do at the time, and I’m mostly conflicted to do this. Whether I make this particular post public or let it remain just to a select few remains to be seen. I’ll cross that bridge when I get there.
But in light of recent events, I have redirected my energy into producing another poem. It’s a lot of things but neither of them are actually tangible other than another shout into the void, and an addressing of my fear and anger. What it is, is just another voice and what it is, is mine. Writing this now, I’m still racked with afraid of the erasure.
Anyway, here it is.
Writing
This poem originally stems from a submission call with the theme “spring.” I live in a tropical country. Here, the two seasons are wet and dry, where the heat is often harsh (especially now) and the storms oftentimes violent and cruel, so naturally we have not experienced any of the four seasons except for Summer. We do not have winter but we have what I imagine, something closely resembling fall when the air cools in late November up until early December.
As for Spring, it’s a concept I cannot quite seem to grasp as clear as the rest. Unlike Fall and Winter, where I can see where the line breaks between the two, I do not see it as clearly between Summer and Spring. The color palettes look relatively the same, and I suppose it’s only a matter of how one feels during Spring. I often see it described as “the perfect season,” where life is in full bloom and its colors are most vibrant, with the weather never overbearingly hot or cold, but just right. I did a quick google search on what spring is and found a brief description of a Britannica article
[Season] of the year between winter and summer during which temperatures rise.
And from that point, I saw spring in a different light. Rather than a season independent on its own, I saw it as a preface to summer—a gradual increase towards growing heat.
Currently my country is plagued with disinformation. Where bit by bit, troll farms are running a years-long machinery of undermining atrocities done by the state in lieu of golden illusions and "pagsasama", and dissent is nothing more than disobedience for its sake, and is dangerously marked as a criminal for such. This poem addresses that fear and anger towards historical erasure turned censorship. In light of recent events, the poem is a springboard towards that growing collective anger. The poem is partly inspired by Jericho Brown's Bullet Points, where it also talks about the horrors of state violence.
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