Five Stars

Panata ng Isang Baliw

2006-06-27T19:48:00.001-07:00

Panata ng Isang Baliw
Ang letra ang aking buhay
Buhay ang mga letra at salita
Mamatay ako sa letra
Ito ang aking buhay
Hihintayin ko ang linggo
At handa akong mamatay sa letra
Ito ang aking buhay
Ang dugo; at bawat tagaktak
Nito ay aking buhay
Hinihintayin ko ang mga araw
Ng kamatayan
Iikot ako sa buwan, sasayaw sa hangin
Nang naghahanap ng mga letra, salita, pangungusap
Umiikot sa aking utak ang mga bagay
Ngunit hindi ko sila mapalipad
Hahanapin ko ang kadikilaan
Luluhod, hahalikan, sasambahin
Dahil ang letra ang aking buhay
Buhay ko ang mga salita
Unti-unti mang mauubos ang araw
Marahil ‘di ko ito lubusang matikman
Makamit o mayawakan man lamang
Subalit susuungin ko ito
Na parang baliw
Sumasayaw sa buwan
Naghahanap ng dahilan
Ikamamatay ko ang letra
Dito ako mamatay
Ito ang aking buhay
Siya ang Panginoon
Ako ang kanyang alipin
Babangon ako
Ako ang magiging hari
At siya ang aking buhay
Aamuhin ko siya at gagamitin
Hindi man ngayon kahit sa kamatayan pa!
Ang letra ang buhay
Ito ang aking kamatayan
Pipilitin kong hindi mawaglit
Kamatayan ko ang kanyang kasawian
Mamatay ako sa kawalan ng salita
Mabigo man ako
Kailama’y di mapapatid
Ang pag-ibig at pagdakila
Ko sa mga salitang ‘di man makamtan
Ay aanihin ko bilang karangalan
Hindi ako mawawala
‘di ako mawawaglit
Balang araw ay dadating din ang aking panahon
Ang letra ang aking buhay at kamatayan!
Ang paiit at pighati ay sadyang mabangis
Ngunit hahanapin ko ito
At pipiliting matikman
Ang letra aking salita
Ito ang aking pag-ibig
Dadamahin ko ang kanyang tamis
Habang unti-unti itong
Pumapait
Sa bawat hits ng usok
Makikita ko rin
Ang aking silbi
Sa hukay ako mamatay
Bulaklak ang mga letra at salita
Hindi man nakamtan
Nakangiti kong tatangapin
Ang kasawian
Dahil ang letra ang aking buhay
Buhay ang aking mga salita
Makamtan man kita o ipagkait
Mamatay akong dakila
Ito ang aking hangad at hinahanap
Ikasawi ko man
Ako ay magpapatuloy
Ito ang aking buhay.

2006-06-27T19:48:00.000-07:00

from time magazine(needed readings)

2006-06-15T06:08:00.000-07:00

How They Killed Him
The inside story of how al-Qaeda informants turned on Abu Mousab al-Zarqawi, led U.S. forces to the terrorist's lair and ended a frustrating hunt for Iraq's most wanted man
By SCOTT MACLEOD, BILL POWELL
SUBSCRIBE TO TIME PRINT E-MAIL MORE BY AUTHOR
The Fallout: A Drawdown of Troops?
Photo Essay: Death of Al-Qaeda's Man in Iraq
Timeline: Zarqawi's Life
Posted Sunday, Jun 11, 2006

The dinner party had gathered last Wednesday evening in a farmhouse in the fertile, fruit-growing countryside just outside Baqubah, 30 miles north of Baghdad. One of the attendees was Abu Mousab al-Zarqawi, the leader of al-Qaeda in Iraq. With him were at least three women and three men, including Sheik Abdul-Rahman, al-Zarqawi's so-called spiritual adviser and confidant. Also in the house was one of al-Zarqawi's most trusted couriers, an aide tasked with relaying messages from the commander to militants in the field. What al-Zarqawi could not have known was that U.S. and Jordanian intelligence officials had been tracking the movements of Abdul-Rahman and the courier--whom Jordanian intelligence refers to as Mr. X--for weeks. Fewer than half a dozen members of a U.S. reconnaissance and surveillance team from Delta Force hid in a grove of date and palm trees, watching the building. After years of hunting, they finally had the prey in their sights.

But almost as soon as they took up position, the commandos feared they were about to lose him. A special-operations source tells TIME that the surveillance team was worried that there wasn't enough time to assemble a ground assault force to raid the house and capture al-Zarqawi; the commandos at the site lacked sufficient manpower and weaponry to attack on their own. As dusk neared, the team fretted al-Zarqawi might slip away if they waited too long. A knowledgeable Pentagon official says the Delta team "saw one group come into the house and one group exit." Al-Zarqawi was not in the departing group, but the commandos were afraid he might be in the next one. The recon unit's leader radioed his superiors to request an air strike. Two Air Force F-16s on another mission miles away were given the assignment. At 6:12 p.m., the first of two precision-guided 500-lb. bombs fell on the farmhouse. For anyone still inside, there was nowhere left to hide.

The U.S. wasn't taking chances. During the three-year hunt for him, al-Zarqawi was a maddeningly elusive target--a master of disguise who could pass as a woman in a burqa one day, an Iraqi policeman the next. He traveled in groups of women and children to lower suspicion and frequently moved with ease through checkpoints in Iraq. Although military commanders believe they came close to capturing al-Zarqawi on at least half a dozen occasions in the past two years, few had reason to anticipate an imminent breakthrough. But military and intelligence officials in Washington, Baghdad and Amman tell TIME that the net around al-Zarqawi tightened significantly in the weeks leading up to the strike--boosted by the cooperation of al-Qaeda informants willing to betray their leader. The U.S. scored the war's biggest triumph since catching Saddam Hussein thanks to the determination of a small group of American hunters, to a Jordanian King's desire to avenge an attack on his country and, as always, to a good deal of luck. "This wasn't two hours', two nights' or two weeks' work," says a government source. "This was years of work to get this one guy."

For all his bravado, al-Zarqawi knew he could be caught at any time. In January 2004, U.S. intelligence officers intercepted a 17-page letter addressed to Osama bin Laden in which al-Zarqawi expressed concern for his longevity. "[Iraq] has no mountains in which we can take refuge and no forests in whose thickets we can hide," he wrote. "Our backs are exposed and our movements compromised. Eyes are everywhere."

By that time, hunting al-Zarqawi and his senior aides was the primary responsibility of a secretive special-operations task force whose number designation changed constantly (it was recently called Task Force 145). It was made up of military intelligence operatives, counterterrorism commandos of the Delta Force, and the Navy's SEAL Team 6, plus Army Rangers. Although the task force had helped capture Saddam in December 2003, the search for al-Zarqawi proved more frustrating. In late 2004, Iraq security forces caught him near the insurgent stronghold of Fallujah, but the al-Qaeda leader was able to talk his way out of custody. Several months later, according to special-ops sources, the task force's commandos closed in on his vehicle west of Baghdad near the Euphrates River, but he escaped. After every getaway, al-Zarqawi went further underground and beefed up his personal security. "I would like to say that every time we had a near miss, we got closer and closer," says a knowledgeable Pentagon official. "But that's not necessarily the case. After both close calls, there were periods where we had no information on him."

But early this year, the secret task force's luck began to change. Tips came in from Iraqi insurgents, former Baath Party members loyal to Saddam, some of whom objected to al-Zarqawi's viciousness and attacks against Shi'ites. U.S. officials say they also received valuable assistance from the government of Jordan, al-Zarqawi's home country. A Jordanian security official tells TIME that one month after the November 2005 suicide attacks on three hotels in Amman, which killed 60 people, Jordanian King Abdullah II ordered his intelligence officials to set up a new security branch, the Knights of God, to launch an offensive against terrorists outside the country's borders and eliminate al-Zarqawi. In addition to providing support to anti-Zarqawi tribes in Iraq, the Jordanians sought sources inside al-Qaeda who could lead them to the al-Qaeda boss. The official says that one informant, described as neither Jordanian nor Iraqi, made contact with three of al-Zarqawi's couriers, all of whom the Jordanians referred to as Mr. X. According to the official, the informant reported spotting one Mr. X in an area outside Baqubah last week. "Mr. X went to Baqubah, so we knew Zarqawi went there," says the official.

Meanwhile, U.S. intelligence operatives gave the special-ops task force a tantalizing lead. For nearly a month, the commandos had monitored every move of Abdul-Rahman, the spiritual adviser, whose locations had been revealed by an al-Qaeda operative captured in May near the Iraq-Jordan border. When Abdul-Rahman surfaced near Baqubah last week--apparently in the same location as the Jordanians' Mr. X--the commandos moved in for the kill. "We had absolutely no doubt whatsoever that Zarqawi was in the house," Army Major General William Caldwell told reporters in Baghdad the day after the strike. The Jordanian security official told TIME that the bombing killed Abdul-Rahman and Mr. X, in addition to al-Zarqawi's 16-year-old wife.

Remarkably, al-Zarqawi apparently survived the attack, at least for a short while. Iraqi police, Iraqi security forces and military helicopters bearing U.S. soldiers from the 4th Infantry Division swarmed over the safe house immediately after the strike. Iraqi police, Caldwell said, were the first on the scene, and they put al-Zarqawi onto a stretcher. A special-ops exploitation team trained to glean intelligence from raids arrived with photos, fingerprint smudges and descriptions of the scars and tattoos on his body, much of which had been supplied by Jordanian intelligence. As the team began examining him, according to Caldwell, al-Zarqawi muttered something and tried to "turn away off the stretcher." He was quickly "resecured" and died of his wounds shortly thereafter. After investigators on the scene positively identified him, word reached Pentagon officials as they awoke Thursday in Washington. "It's been a long, long effort," says one. "But we finally got the bastard."

In the wake of the attack, says the Jordanian security official, members of al-Zarqawi's organization in Iraq launched a series of interrogations in search of those who sold out their leader, leading Jordanian officials to hope that the hit is already causing dissension in jihadist ranks. U.S. intelligence officials believe al-Qaeda in Iraq is likely to name a successor soon, and the Bush Administration was careful to point out that the insurgency will outlive al-Zarqawi. But no one who comes next will have his twisted star power, at least not for a while. "The violence is not only al-Qaeda," says the Jordanian security official. "But this weakens one important link. It's a warning to all these groups that they are not immune. If we can get Zarqawi, we can get you too." [The following descriptive text appears within A diagram] The Strike

Abu Mousab al-Zarqawi had eluded U.S. forces for years. A special team of intelligence operatives was tracking his spiritual adviser, hoping for a break.

Then they learned the two were going to meet Wednesday afternoon THE HOUSE

A small Delta Force team of perhaps half a dozen, together with a handful of Iraqi security personnel, watches the house and confirms that al-Zarqawi and Sheik Abdul-Rahman, his adviser, are inside

6:12 p.m. TWO EXPLOSIONS
With darkness approaching and lacking enough forces to storm the house, the surveillance team calls for an air strike. Two Air Force F-16 fighters respond. One drops two precision bombs

Evening POSITIVE IDENTIFICATION
After the bombing, Iraqi security and 4th Infantry Division troops swarm over the scene. Al-Zarqawi dies of his injuries soon after he is found. His identity is confirmed through scars, tattoos and fingerprints F-16 FIGHTING FALCON A compact, light and versatile fighter jet. It is highly maneuverable and able to perform in both air-to-air and air-to-surface combat THE TARGET The house, made of cinder blocks and reinforced concrete, was set back in a grove of date palms, about 1.25 miles (2 km) northeast of the village of Hibhib First bomb GBU-12 A 500-lb. (227 kg) smart bomb that follows a laser signal to its target. An electronics pod under the aircraft or a spotter on the ground illuminates the target with a laser. A guidance system in the nose of the bomb detects that spot and controls the movements of the airfoils in the rear to steer the bomb toward the target. The bomb has a range of about eight miles (13 km) Second bomb GBU-38 Similar in weight to its counterpart, this one finds its target using GPS coordinates and satellite guidance

How to Ease the Pain of a Broken-heart?

2006-05-03T01:39:00.000-07:00

How to Ease the Pain of a Broken-heart?

The experience of being a brokenhearted seems being alone in a corner crying, weeping, and languishing the good old days, and, perhaps, cursing the cause of the pain. It is one of the events that we began to shed tears for someone we so dearly lost or of someone failing to have. Having a broken heart is exactly for someone whom we loved, cared and adored. Expectantly, it is caused by two most common events. First, in the middle of a relationship it reaches the point of a bitter climax, thus when we fail to hang on to or mend the ways for a better understanding, we end in a breakup. Lastly, we meet someone whom we think is just meant for us in the right place, in the right time. We try to get closer to the person, in the inner her/him, and then we fall in love. However, we get frustrated when the realization turns out that it cannot be, or when rejection shrouds the hope of winning her/him.

Its kind the tragic for its one of the sorts that we experience the deepest torments and regrets. Ruefully, it’s also the most silent and remotest type, when nobody seems to understand and feel the beating of an aching heart. When nobody seems to hear, when nobody seems around. However, though painful and frustrating it is, there are cures to ease the pain of a broken heart.

One of the best ways to ease the broken heart is learning to express the pain that dwells inside. Let it out. Try not to go along with the painful period alone. It is much easier to move on when you have someone on your side whom you can confide your feelings and regrets. A close friend, relative, or a parent will do.

Expressing it can also be achieved by putting it to form, aside from communication processes. Engage into things that can help you recover and shout out the anger of a break up or a rejection. Try to understand that there are other things worth of doing such as join sport cliques. Take for example boxing, karate, judo, basketball, baseball, and even video games. In this process you can let it out freely. Knock the sandbags, swash-buckle your opponent, smash the ball; and imagine that it’s the person you’re dealing with.

You can also go the other way around. Sing, dance, and get your self-involved that will help you forget past. In short, try something new. Join a youth camp where you can meet different people, a workshop or a baranggay association.

Surround yourself with things that bring you comfort. If because of the relationship you’ve neglected things of importance, try to go back. If before the relationship you watch a lot movies, watch; go on malling; get along with your barkadas; eat a lot; sleep often; read; and do the things you like best.

Learn from the experience. Loss and failure doesn’t always mean frustration. It comes up with a lesson. Since you have experienced it, you must now have acquired a much better knowledge about love.

Do write a few things, at least if you want to get even. Since you have learned, write stories, poems, essays and, if you can a novel. Make him/her the villain, antagonist, and with a stroke of a pen, give him/her a drastic end.

Don’t blame yourself. Put in your mind that it’s his/her loss, not yours. You have done your best; made it well; brought felicity in the relationship. Why regret?

Learn to accept the truth. To put it simply, there comes a point that eventually you will end up. Its kind the hard though, but its how things had gone by. Scenarios of the past remains in the historical vacuum. You can only look back.

Lastly, be patient and move on. As far as accepting the truth, you must also learn to move on. It may take a lot of time but eventually it will do you good, and make you a much better person. Take one step at a time. Try to recover your self-esteem, believe in yourself, take care, and be grateful about the things and people that you have.

And after a time, be ready to fall in love again—don’t search, but as the old ones once said, let love look for you.

~for diday~

Labor Day

2006-05-03T01:36:00.000-07:00

Labor Day

Tinungga ni Pancho Potot ang gin. Unti-unti nyang nilagok ang likido habang ang mga nauna ng dumaloy ay gumigiling sa kanyang leeg. Ang kainitan ng araw ay nabalot ng lamig bagamat sa sarili lamang niya naganap. Tumingin siya pataas. Nakita ang liwanag-- ang init na pumipinid sa kanyang balat. Pawis, mga tagaktak ng pighati at panaginip. Naalala niya ang patay na lupa, walang tigil na pagbubungkal, patay na damo, patay na kabayo. Walang kitang ani. Nakangiti ang kanyang Panginoon, at cognac ang iniinom.

Pagtakas sa mabangis na lalawigan. Ito lamang ang kanyang nagawa upang tugunan ang umaapaw na kawalang pag-asa. Hindi sa hindi na kaya ni Pancho na magbungkal pa at magtiis ng ilang henerasyon pa ng pagkakasadlak sa aliping sistemang pilit niyang tinatakbuhan. Tumatakbo, lumalayo ngunit siya’y hinihigop pabalik—paatras—sa walang hanggang kahirapang hindi naman nila dapat malasap. Bagamat sa mga rasong ito, si Pancho ay parang asong ulol--lalayas, maglalagalag--ni hindi alam kung saan ang paroroonan ngunit paglipas ng ilang araw ay uuwi at magbabanat uli ng buto.

Wala siyang masilungan tulad ng kanyang mga kanayon. Isang kubong tuyong-tuyo na sa init ng araw. Hinahagupit ng bagyo, sinusunog ng mapanupil na araw. Minsan sagana ang ani, uulan ng salapi. Sinong nga lang ang kikita? Ang mga alagang buwaya ng babaeng nakadilaw at butanding ay nagliparan sa barrio. Nag-aabang at biglaang dadampi, sa isang iglap wala na ang mga trigo ng ani, samahan mo pa ng tadyak, kutos, o palo ng batuta.

Nabuo ang loob ni Pancho. Sa isang mainit na araw ng Abril ay lumuyas siya sa malawak na Hacienda ng mga taong walang kalayaan. Dala ang isang sports bag na puno ng mga kupas na damit. Naka-pantalong maong at Chuck Taylor na sapatos, hindi na siya babalik pa, maghahanap ng bagong pagkakakitaan. Hindi alam ang patutunguhan at tanging lakas ng loob ang dala, bagamat umiikot dito ang kaba.

Pinigilan siya ng kanyang ina at kapatid na babae. Matanda na ang kanyang ina. Maitim at kulot na kulot na ang balat dala ng katandaan; habang ang kanyang kapatid ay puno ng busilak na kagandahan—morena, may katangkaran, nakakahalinang ngiti. Sagisag ng mga taong nagdidildil ng asin.

“Aalis ka na ba talaga?” alo ng ina
“Oo, walang pag-asa dito,” sagot ni Pancho
“Mawawalan kami ng kasama ng kapatid mo,”
“Hahanap agad ako ng trabaho, magpapadala ng pera, o kaya’y uuwi din,”
“Mahihirapan kami sa bukod, matanda na ako at—“
“Nakausap ko na si Pepeng, payag daw siyang tumulong basta may konting hati,”

“Kuya…” marahang tawag ni Keka
“Alagaan mo ang sarili mo ah,” may ngiting sambit ni Pancho
“Syempre,”
“Aalis na ako, ina, Keka, mahuhuli ako sa byahe ng bus.”
“Mag-iingat ka anak”
“Kuya…”

Clang! Pumatak ang kapirangot na pisong barya sa kalawanging lata ni Pancho. Tangan pa din niya ang gin. Sa kainitan ng tanghali babarya pa lamang ang kanyang kita. Ipinambili rin naman kasi niya ang mga nauna ang pera. Makalipas ang ilang buwang pakikipagsapalaran sa bayan ng pag-asa—Maynila—ay naubos din ang lahat ng swerte. Namasukan bilang janitor sa kompanya, ‘yun nga lang na lugi, nagsara.

(Itutuloy… Panata sa mga magbubukid, manggagawa at mga dinusta sa lipunang Filipino.)

Limelight

2006-05-03T01:33:00.000-07:00

Limelight

A writer standing in the towers of fame; having the cheers and the luster of the time. He was a surefire, every words that he uses to compose literature seems diamonds alluring in the sands. Right, he was a genius; a man of fantasies--great stories-- which transcends the fictional illusion to reality.

A man who had forgotten his self. Lost in his works that for him was life. He never presonally knew what love was, though he had written almost everything.

Then he met a girl...

He had known her from a writing lecture from school. The girl accidentally sat beside the chair of Pancho. It was a bright morning back then. The rays of the sun seek through the open window. Its glare softly touches the face of the girl. Her white face achieves more radiance that makes her even more beautiful.

Pancho noticed her with a few stolen shots. It was a good day for him. He had seen something unusual, not typical for a writing class. As he peeked, he saw the beautiful black eyes and the shiny long hair; its fragrance reaches the sit of Pancho. He smelled it and reached a sudden intoxication of the soul. It was different. It felt like he had been in a place he never used to be.

The lecturer called the girl and asked her name, to recite her poem. She stood up. She was Julia.

Pancho witnessed it all. The exact height of a Filipina, the chanting voice, and the charm that he was captivated. Like a man lost in nirvana, he looked, pondered and imagined her.

The spectacle continued for days, weeks, then, months. It was love, the silent affection; the sanctity that he sees on Julia; the fire inside in him--that longs to burn his persona. The passion that he feels mixed emotions unknown to him. He had been dreaming, imagining things. But he never moved. He continued to be what he was. A shy, meek fellow.

Maybe he was searching for the right time, where he would finally mean it. Looking for the occasion that would make him, make him...

Julia had the smile. A smile that opens the gate of eternity. It was a simple lovely one but it releases the inner her. The felicity and good nature she had.

The sun slowly sets off from the sky to the hills--seen from the open window. Pancho stands beside the door. Smoking, thinking of what could have been. It was three years ago, but he comes back always.

Pancho never had it. He never find the right words, the right time.

Days of March

2006-04-30T04:25:00.000-07:00

Days of March

With muteness, I experienced the loudest
Burst of voices upon myself
Lament, anguish ruefully prevading
The life fountain of flesh

She, as I saw, dilatorily drifting
Away carried by the jovial swarm
Across the days of summer
'Till the straits of June

She, as I saw, egressed the four walls
I standing by, did'nt make a jest
'Till she said goodbye

Poltron, fearing the tormenting gush
Nod my head
In the middle of the flocking herd
None had seen, nor dared had stared

As my heart wept in vain
She, as I saw, was ever gone

In Circles

2006-03-28T21:30:00.000-08:00

In Circles

Pancho Potot

The cigarette dilatorily burns. The dried nicotine scent dissipates circumferential to a man. While the smoke goes progressively dull in an upward slope. It sways in the complacent air—not straightforward—but slanting. Traveling in curves, circles like spirits finding their way into the ethereal unknown. Then it disappears—forever gone. It does not outlive the vicissitudes of reality. But the abrupt hallucinatory effect takes a man into dreams, spectacles, illusions; into the heights of power. The sublimity of the beyond. It sways in an eccentric utopia. Dancing in the clouds, drunkenness amidst the squalor. Not seen or understood of many—only the man itself.
The cigar is reduced while the ashes remain. Deteriorated, sticking to its structure, and suddenly falls into dust. The burning light reaches the filter. The bell hysterically tolls, ringing endlessly—at six. The last remaining light ignites savagely as it reaches its end. The last smoke is breath and travels in a dreary path. Then it dies; it dies… Like a wreck of a man achieving the ivory towers of greatness. But meets his tragic fate, and his only salvation is to die!