Grave in Dreams

Made of only ruins, this is no kingdom and I am no king.

As I searched for something which could captivate my eyes, like gems that sparkles fiercely teasing every
thief’s eyes. It shines brightly creating a sound of soft whisper to my ears telling me to continue to find,
to dig deeper.

I walk almost barefooted while climbing a part of this land and all I could feel is the spiteful caress of
sharp edges of scraps and needle pointed metals allowing blood to flow in my flesh, making my skin an
art of cuts and wounds.

July 10, 2000. I closed my eyes to feel a devoid of spark of light and imagined I was part of the tragedy
that happened that particular time.

A massive 50 feet wall of solid waste chases my shadow as I run with fear letting me survive but ending
the lives of people who dwell in shanties, burying them alive.

It was a very ending for the plight of families who work sorting out trash of the Payatas Dump Site just to
live.

There came the riot of foul scent that lingers my nose – a combination of stank of manure, smoke, soggy
papers and boxes and rusted metals with a pungent aroma of burning plastics.

Open eyes. I let it travel through the site, while it creates a whole image made of broken parts. This
place is not covered and I could tell the sun’s hurtful touch but still darkness was visible.

It was a moody land fill and the ground series of wet and rough tickling my feet.

This place may have killed a lot of people still, it exists and its existence is a grim reminder of
misdevelopment of the country of ours.

For the common ones, this was an absolute head turner but not for the government but for those
leaders of the present time who gave not even a glimpse nor a pinch of attention to this land.

I climb little by little with my crown of scraps into the steps of rubbish on the way to never existed
throne.

But honestly I was just a tin-foil knight who face the smell of methane everyday which is a poison to
such being like me that even mice could not withstand.

Until I reached the top of the pile of garbage, taller than our hopeless homes, of this world of tapestry. I
looked at the view, still I was disappointed by its unknown majesty.

This place is nothing but a grave of my dreams and those ones who were buried alive, so I promise
myself I would someday get out of here for whoever dares to claim this land will get to taste nothing but
life’s bittersweet.