Napoleonic Dream (the Poem I wrote for my first batch of Bedan students)

The first meeting was a tug of war
two conflicting thoughts,
of priorities and direction;
Till the pandemonium broke in
a buffet of treasure was opened
to gaze on its illuminating rays,
of sunshine and hope
that dispel despair.

It rolled, the height of rapture,
and the deafening silence of defeat
only to be awakened and jolted
to declare that direction needs fine tuning

The first meeting was prophetic
and the king maker planned of surrendering
from the battalion of soldiers
who may be rearing to fight an uncharted battles

To declare the barren desert
and the vicious jungle the territory
of inspired and enlightened combatants

And the last meeting signaled
the beginning of an unknown battle
of Trojan horses whose identity remain covered
and the king maker sits in his throne;
unmindful of what happens in the battlefield
for he has already done his share of making kings.

When efforts are written in the sandy pavement,
where not even camels of proven tenacity could bear,
A king maker needs another battalion
of combatants who will follow a war plan
that will catapult the kingdom to victory

And the trumpet from the pinnacle of hope
dies down.... anticipating
that more bloody battles would be won
in an arena of hopeful soldiers whose
faces are covered with blankets of seeming desire
to just carry an empty weapon.

This is the combatant's last claim to victory
with success not be subjected to a Russian roulette
of hope and dreams sold and burned
to plain luck; fatalism.

As the king closes his doors, he opens
a window to see how the rays of the
sun brings hope to the combatants
he once loved and shared dreams
of great magnitude


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Postscript

I remember writing this poem few weeks before the graduation of the first batch of students I handled at San Beda College. I could say that I really mentored this batch because they showed enthusiasm and great interest in my subjects. However, I got so disappointed with one of their final papers, and I admonished them. Sensing that I couldn't be mean, and too afraid that expletives coming from me would be heard by the monks in Mendiola, I decided to just write this poem. I did not even edit or check it. I just wrote what I felt at the moment.

Silence enveloped the room after I read the poem. For ten minutes nobody spoke, until Aaron Santos asked to get a copy of the poem.

Today, these students remain my friends, and I am too glad they continue to recognize my contribution in their life (no matter how small it may be). I guess I will forever be a teacher because I find joy in molding the minds of young people.

I am forever a student of life, and I believe that while students could learn concepts, strategies, and techniques from me, I value the importance of imparting wisdom to them. I always strive to inspire, motivate, and encourage them to go the extra mile.

It is gratifying to share.

It is a joy to help build their dreams.