The Rose

By Athena D. Ledesma

The rose in the photo... is it dying or is it dead? Honestly, I

don't really like this rose. It looks so ungrateful... so sad. It was
supposed to be beautiful, wasn't it? Why does the rose look like this
way? Like its leaves weigh heavier than gold and thorns as acids
killing itself. Even the stem looked so dry, like a kiss of rain never
dared to crash into it. Does this rose already give up to the yoke of
bondage? I could just feel its pain. Like the pain of regret having
born in a wrong era. The petals - wasn't it supposed to be a lovely
red? Then why does it deliver a sense of emptiness - like a monotonous
grey putting no life into it?

Years and years passed by, why is it getting worse? Why does it
romanticize death, pain and awful endings? What about rainbows and
sunshine; laughter and smiles? Does it bear no value now? Yes, it
looks so lonely, although it seemed to conquer its wounds now. B-
but... what's happening? Why is stupidity being equate to sensibility
and being accepted by many? Did they already forget virtue and norms
and morals and integrity and stuff? Is this the reason why the rose
looks so dull and lifeless- because the world baffles the wrong
sentiment?

I don't like this era. I don't like this rose. Or maybe I don't
like this rose blooming in a wrong era; or maybe none of those. I just
pity this rose for having the fight when there is no war existing or
the wound it has with no blood shedding.

PS: This rose stands for my generation.

 Last May
By Athena D. Ledesma

It was the hottest night of May. I was reading a book and decided to have a break when I felt
the weight of its heavy plot. My skin was steaming that makes my throat grasps for water every
thirty minutes. Even my dog’s mouth pours sweat with his tongue hanging around his black lips. I
went out from my room ‘til I finally found myself walking alone far from home. It was already
midnight. No mundane walking around. The lights are off. Stores are shut closed. The absence of
noise made the quiet place more deafening. That was when I thought… the city was finally asleep.

There was nothing more haunting but at the same time so enchanting than a city that sleeps.
My eyes starts lurking every angles and turns to the world were my presence currently set-foot. My
vision was tainted with azure blue blended perfectly within the midnight sky. My pace slowed until
I paused for a stop while scrutinizing the place. Then all of a sudden, an epiphany crossed my mind.

Walls and structures were only once from someone’s brain. Wires and electrical cables were
only once from someone’s cleverness. Windows, parked cars, fountains, lamp posts, benches and a
lot more manmade things - their simple existence was already enchanting for once upon a time
there came a man who once thought what else could be something more than a cave for a house;
rocks for benches; torches for lamp posts; or even falls for fountains?

Although things are now going well, a rare thought somehow managed to resort my
admiring soul. It’s because of a realization that once a man accomplishes something, a part of its
soul will only be aspiring for more.

I roamed the city that was still in its deep slumber and the scenery was already near to a
feeling of melancholy. A city that is comparable to a poetry. Like a ballad of two lovers whose tale
only cycled around the word “almost”.

She almost stopped living.

He was almost good enough.
She almost died.
He almost gave up.
She almost had the dearest love of all.
They almost made it.

Give me a hundred of “almost” but it will always never be enough. Change “she” and “he”
into “The People” and you will see how the world is deeply affected by their “almost”. Their empty
promises like a trifling couple having a summer rendezvous in the middle of a farm field around an
Oak tree with no chance of meeting at all. The city has its beauty that people had taken it for
granted. They must acknowledge that anytime soon everything might end and vanish into thin
smoke; because by only appreciating death will we grasp the things that are astoundingly breath-
taking. Formatted: Font: Bold
 It was way better how the city sleeps because when it wakes, it will only shake the world
until it reach its eternal slumber.

Epitome of Regret
By Athena D. Ledesma

He was a writer. He weaves words into beautiful tangles like braids. He puts his peculiar
and no like other thoughts into composition that often amazes me. It was like listening to a song. It
derives melody with lyrics filled with galore of secrecy - both deep and enchanting. He was a living
poetry but he wasn’t in time. No- he was in a different time.

I leaned back my head to an ancient Narra tree were my name and his, carved deep into its
trunk. My eyes trailed watching the sky and the infinite stars somewhat spelling his name. I am no
princess of a royalty blood. I am no elite or a bureaucrat as well. Nor a peasant who’s in seeks for
food. I was just an ordinary girl living an ordinary life until the very second he arrived.

It was the calmest day of December and the sun already tried its attempt to set- like kissing
the sea in the horizon. I was staring at the golden water reflecting the sun’s ominous rays. My heart
was in a steady beat, my thoughts unwinding itself together with the serene breeze that passed by.
The sky was in lovely orange and yellow that summarized the whole day before it fades goodbye
and welcomes the night. I was in a steadfast pace heading my way home when I saw a manly figure
circling around a very old tree- his pace was totally in panic. I caught his eyes - so deep and fragile –
and then diverted my gaze first. Though my heart was hammering inside I still approached him
asking what the matter is.

Deeply flabbergasted that I was, he asked me where he was and looked for the place that
only existed in the ancient time. I thought if he was joking only to find out that his eyes were honest.
It was impossible but I told him the current time of age and he started doubting things while staring
at my modern clothes. He was almost amazed and I laughed at his face. His eyebrows almost hugged
while telling me that ladies shouldn’t laugh like that. I was confused and realized the era he was
before. Then his lips curved into smile and told me how magical my laugh was.

It might only be his first time hearing a female laugh the very reason of his words but I can’t
deny the fact that my heart leaped with his deep voice.

Days passed and I had a number of stories, poetry and lovely songs of his. I listened to each
and every word of it while gazing the horizon. However, there came the day he started fading. His
skin almost transparent as the water and that was the very first time I felt the scariest thump of my
heart. He knew he was disappearing and he didn’t want me to know. Then he left me with no
farewells.

I couldn’t understand why. There were the days he was still there and the days I couldn’t
caught even just a glimpse of his shadow. Finally the time came, I could no longer bear the thought
of his confusing actions. I wanted to confront him but he was already there standing tall around the
Narra tree like waiting for my arrival. His words were like riddles I couldn’t understand though I
desperately wanted to. He moved one step closer and kissed my forehead, a gesture of telling me a
forever goodbye.

My name was carved by him and so I carved his as well. His very name derived from a
courageous warrior of an ancient Greek. I cried heavily while carrying an epitome of regret to all
the words I left unsaid; to all the chances I didn’t take. One day will come and his words will only be
a part of my soul, his face will only become a memory and it will only be magic to meet him again.