November 23, 2013. Like Job

My fingers are still mute after the tragedies.

They couldn't weave anything, but ask.

I am sick like Job, searching for Your answers.

"Where are you?"

"Why do You hide from us?"

Yet, I know You hold everything

And like a Father -

You will soon come to our aid.

Show us the way.

Show us Thy Light.




Popular posts from this blog

Analysis/Commentary "Our Lady's Juggler (Anatole France)

Let me share the poem of Sir Eric Gamalinda

Short Stories in English with Filipino Translations