Dangling Questions

I do not know exactly how she must have felt 

when she arrived home and realized 

that the house looked like naked timbers

with saggy, baggy cheeks

that dripped like loose curtain, 

waiting for her to notice

that her cabinets hold more spaces 

and her mom's collection of lipsticks were gone.

Silence reached her 

to wrap itself from fingers to toes

making her curved into a C-shape on the hollow mattress

that seemed to transform into a crib

where smell of tears and stains of fears accumulated

And how she wished she could cocoon back inside womb

transcend time and reestablish the purpose of a navel. 

Back to the time when a jelly-like cord

connects a small heart and a big heart 

but time had passed 

and the meaning of connection got lacerated long time ago

with sears of trashed expectations

and cascaded lies. 

when she gets too drunk

and inhibition tucks itself to bed, 

that's when she'd scream

and find refuge into my slender arms

and she would ask her questions

with tightly close eyes, 

she'd ask me to enumerate the reasons

why people leave their children when they reach 20?

Or why sacrifice for 20 years 

and tread towards comfort and security?

Why do people get tired and become selfish?

Why did she become weaker after 20 years of battling wars

between deceit and distant truth?

Why count all the bleeding wounds

and not the  possibility of victory?

Why break all the promises 

and leave all the dreams we've built

for a so called, "better" man ?

Why walk away when you have 2 sons

and a daughter looking up at you

Hoping you won't let them drown 

on wild rapids of too much agony and indifference.?

Why?  why ? why?

Weren't they enough? Weren't they enough? Weren't they? 

Then, with a fierce flame burning in her eyes, 

she said, "I guess we weren't enough."

For a moment, i am tempted to tell her 

that someday everything will make sense. 

But what kind of comfort can future present to her? 

Someday can take days, months 

or even hundreds of years 

and the questions 

dangling like the fake galaxies

inside  her wooden crib

needs to be stopped 

from eating her faith in humanity

as soon as now.

But no matter where i look,

no matter how many pages of self-help 

and inspirational books i scan,

i still could not tell her the words 

that will remedy her cancerous rage 

or the gangrenous despair

feasting on her soul. 

My friend, after 5 years 

i still do not know the answer 

and maybe even if another 20 years had passed, 

and you throw those questions again, 

i'll still find myself a scavenger

trying to unearth sensibility in garbage cans,

unable to vocalize any single letter. 

But this i know, 

there's this comforting warmth in you

that encapsulated me 

in a way the sun can never outdo. 

Do not let the storm

blow the comfort your soul radiates. 

It WASN'T your mistake. 

And i'm still here.