The Lady On Rizal Street

A poem

The heaven bowed with rejections as the lady in white trod the road. Her ensemble of the ancient of the divine and the wicked maketh her a human metronome.

She’s a beaut — with blustery flounces pinned on her shoulders. Her intensity mussed by the overcast sky lifts her beyond extremes; a pockmarked of million centuries. She’s a storm in your window, a vision to behold But be careful for she walks not with grace but with terror and lingering cold.

The tattered velvet across her skin is a testament to a tainted gumption. Her wavy mane of gold with hints of black and red permeates a quietus with spewing dread.

Her eyes — they are chalky and fierce for a dame like her is no ordinary. They glow on the streets like a burning candlelight but disappears in an instant upon the lay of anyone’s sight.

Her lips — they are muted with mayhems of the past; thatched with unheard evangel. For once, you may hear her speak — a cursing lament but never twice for she pops like a bubble at the drop of the dice.

When the moon merges with the stars, she wanders the desolate streets of Rizal. She’s a dream, an apparition of a long lost valediction no one knows if she’ll ever finish her mission.

The heaven bows with rejections as she treads Rizal street as before. She looks at the mirror and sees an undulation of an inky soul of a wounded damsel.

I see me.

Zsanyla Cabansag is a ‘lady of feelings’ and a lover of serendipities. She writes about books, love, and dolce-far-niente. Read more of her works here: