Hindi pala matic gaya
ng kotse o anumang makinilya
ang pag-ibig.
Para pala itong pagsasaka.
Sinungaling ang nagsabi ng, “Kung ano
ang itinanim ay siang aanihin.”
Magbubungkal, maghahasik,
magdidilig ng dugo’t pawis
pero ang bunga ay depende.
Hindi pala matic, parang
si Siri o Alexa ba balang-
araw mababasa ang isip ****
nagdududa. Sa akala kong
matic, hindi pala.

she opened her handbag and
tipped the contents onto the floor --
a pack of gum, a lip gloss, a torn
wrapper of a Used ******, a gun --
a .38 stub nose --
my purse! she gasped --
all her night's earnings and a doctor's prescription,
Gone!
she gave out a huge -- sigh --
how can one never win even for at least
once. once!
her infant cried. she carried her
in her cold arms, as she cried with her in
short sobs.
she Cursed
under her breath

Sa unang kislap ng apoy
hanggang sa maliit na baga

ang usok na mula sa dulo ng
pangako, ikaw ang nasa isip ko

hinithit ko ang usok,
pumikit

ibinuga. lumabas sa labi sa ilong
ang pangako, naging usok
at upos.

Ilatag mo na
ang bagong kutson
sa sahig ng malaking silid
na may kisameng
abot langit.

Ipaghehele ka ng ugong
ng nagdaraan
at bulong-bulungan
ng palabas na
ikaw ang minsang pinagmamasdan.

Ibulong mo ang iyong panalangin,
pasasalamat o paghihinagpis,
na nawa
sa pagsikat ng araw, magkatotoo na
ang panaginip.

Ilang beses ka na bang pumipikit nang iniisip na hindi na sana muling didilat pa?

Dearest C,

I always thought my love
for my best love
should go recorded through
words.

Once I was a poet with words
so easy to strung. I was
writing letters and stories and poems about love to
people who did not love me back (or was I hoping
for a love greater than what was given?)

I always thought my words would suffice, and words do
melt hearts, shape minds and
chart uncertainties.

But I grew tired. When I met you
I was lost for words.
I was a writer
no longer and
my words are just plain.

But it was in you that I realized,
words sometimes have no meaning, that words were often left
unspoken. I was no longer a poet
but you loved me anyway.

Now, I wish to write you poems and letters and stories as a symbol of my thanks.

I miss you.

Always,

A

For a very long time now,
I couldn't muster to write
a string of words. Even these don't even rhyme.
I have devoted myself to capture beauty in verses but
since I met you I've found my paper blank,
my pen futile.
I guess this is how it goes for one who's met real beauty,
real Art.
I cannot write anything
as nothing is more beautiful than the person right in front of me.

Love me until the
faintest sound will be thunder
crying out my name.

Natatakot ka kung saan tayo dadalhin.
Natatakot ako kung hindi tayo makarating.

Hindi tayo makakarating kung hindi ka magpapadala.
Hindi tayo madadala kung di tayo makakarating.

Nakakatakot mabuhay sa takot, mahal ko.
Hawakan mo ang aking kamay, at tatalon na tayo

Palayo mula sa takot. Saan man tayo dalhin, kahit hindi makarating.

And there she goes again
Hoping that this time it won't end
A lot of things going on through her mind
Wishing this will turn out more than fine

Like a little girl who's wearing her favorite dress
With him, she always feels at her best
Could this be what she's been waiting for?
Someone who'd care for her and so much more

C.J.

here I am hurting
my self again.

It has been a year.
Instead of forgetting you,
I've spent my time waiting for the day
you'll change your mind.

People asked me if
I've already moved on, and I knew
I've moved backwards.
Back to the time we were together.

I still miss you.
I still long for your kisses.
I still dream of Saturday afternoons.
I still wish for Sunday mornings,
of evening meals together,
of motorcycle rides to the countryside.

**I am still here.
My poetry is my witness.

Light flashes across
the night sky. Even the moon
hides behind the clouds.

And around her the world spins;
just her, my et cetera, ever since.

Please don't fly away
Because I might as well die
Trying to catch you.

Why spend Valentine's Day
with bitterness? In your heart
there is a yearning. For love
grows deeper when suppressed. In your mind
being rational makes you sane
but afraid. For love
lingers if left unnoticed.
Spend today with laughter.
Spend today with glee.
Don't suppress that feeling.
Don't suppress that love.
Even if just for today,
give in. Fall completely.
Remind yourself. You are loved
even if just for today.

Don't fall in too deep
I always tell my self
not to fall in too deep. For you
the world is an open pit where
Love is but a word used loosely
I've always tried to tread lightly.
I've memorised maps and terrains.
I know, however, it is inevitable
not to fall. For you
look down at me from a bridge
made out of cobwebs of the past
and promises of the future.
I look up to where you are
and imagine being there.
Not falling too deep.
I want to reach you.
Inch my way to reach you.
We can go to places. Pass time. Be safe. Or
talk to you about jumping.
Leave the world in awe.
Jump with me.
To this crevice.
Fall with me. Fall with me
*completely.

I just sang a song
because of you. I cringed
a little,
cradled a broken part of me
in these arms where love
used to be nested.
I shed a tear
for you. I mend a little heartache.

I miss you
I get crazy waiting
for a call or a single text and
I wonder what you think of,
if I am a part of it,
even a tiny bit of it

Everywhere I look I see you --
an empty closet
a sad pillow
a half-eaten take out
notes and letters written years ago
paintings of what could have been
thoughts of jokes we only knew
But you left and went
missing. A part of my life
remembers you. Even if I can't
even say your name without feeling
strange about it.

When I was sleeping last night,
you called but
I was already in a dream, in a safe
place away from you.
I missed your call.
I miss you.
I missed you.

Babay.

Aalis na si tatay.

Bantayan niyo ang bahay.

Abangan niyo si nanay,

may pasalubong na alay --

isang halik na may laway!

Matagal siyang nawalay.

Umalis sa'ting bahay.

Nagbago ng buhay.

Naghanap ng karamay.

Sana'y di siya masanay

sa bago niyang buhay,

at umuwi na sa atin

bago pa'ko ilamay!

In my memories,
on places we used to go to --
museum walls and cinema seats
cafe cups and restaurant platters
bus windows and train stations
hotel beds and motel sheets
motorcycle rides and fabulous bridges
condo lifts  and bedroom whispers
kitchen convos and shower sexes
midnight boat rides and stolen kisses

In my heart and mind you live, and
I hope, in time, you'll leave.

Things are changing fast,
and I'm here, simply waiting
for the sun to rise.

You used to paint pictures
with me. You were always smiling
when the brush glides on paper
as the colours spread everywhere.

Patiently, you'd recreate every
bit and impression of reality,
and add a version of your own,
until the picture will be perfect
with magical meanings
only we would have known.

But patience is a virtue
your self never learned.
One day, you were snapping photographs,
capturing moments, developing pictures,
pasting collages -- a panorama of
life you chose.

For weeks and weeks on end,
I went to those places where we used to paint;
Time is such a mystery to have put distance in a memory.
I would trade my whole life just for you
to colour it again. Like old paintings,
bring back its vividness; restore it.

And now, I am on this bus.
In transit.
A gift-wrapped box inside my bag.
I am sending it to you personally.
Take pictures with it and
live a happy life.

I've had trouble wrapping Christmas gifts;
it has always been your job to do this ***** work.
I work to get the Christmas bonus,
we do the shopping,
you do the wrapping.
Plain as day.

But you left me, and I had to do all the work by myself. And so
I made a list of steps in the new skill I have mastered:

1. Unroll the gift wrapper. Spread it. Cover all bases. Never adore the design and adornments; it will be ripped anyway.

2.  Put the gift in the middle of the paper. Estimate how much paper are you willing to save or spend and waste.

3. Tape the ends. Put tape wherever. Don't try to hide the tapes. Secrets are meant to be revealed anyway. TIP: The more you put tape, the uglier your gift wrap will be. You think tapes will mend loose ends but it will simply destroy the aesthetic value of your gift.

4. Fold and tape. Tape and fold. Design it however you like. Origami the **** out of it. It will be destroyed anyway.

5. Put the gift card. Write with your best handwriting. With a smile swathed on your face. Add a dash of artificiality. No matter what you put here, this will not merit anything; It will not be read anyway.

Four Christmases you have been wrapping those gifts. Now that I have
wrapped some this year, I'm pretty sure why you've left. Plain as day.

*PS Wait for the gift I am sending you over. I wrapped it just for you.

I keep making wrong decisions
chasing wrong people
for wrong reasons.

Perhaps
I have so much
love to give. People hope
I have none.

I have been chasing wrong
people. I want to know
who the right people are.

Why do you have to
Why do you have to, tell me
Why do you have to?

I don't know where to start
counting the days since you left.
Your love waned like the moon
hiding itself in the darkness;
its illusion accoladed by the stars
until your love vanished completely
as a new moon in the midnight.

I await the sun to break
the melancholy of the night sky
to give me a glint of hope
and a false idea of sustenance,
to nourish me in the morn
and burn me in the noontime.
To bring me to reality as it sets
the true colours of life,
the purple horizon and the orange haze
to the grim emptiness of the dark,
to find the new moon you've become.

I stand in this land of solitude
I stare at the sky every night

many moons have passed but
I continue to look for you, my love,
and wait for the moon to become full again.

People say I am
deep. With emotions
astray, words with power,
in chaos. I am
deep for a lot has been taken.
My heart is an open pit --
it grows deeper
the more I give, the more you
take from it. You can
only fill me. With you
I'll be complete.

Having you around
is better than making you
a stranger once more.

You said I was
enough. Saying I was
meant you shouldn't have left.
How many times do our
cats call you every night?
They look for a person
on your bedside. I lie
to them saying you would
come back. One day,
they were missing you,
crying; it is also the sound of my heart
falling apart.
I felt sick. Picking up pieces
of myself, as futile as making a castle
in the sand, to be washed away by the waves.

And so I left home to
find solace in another's embrace.
Countless women I've met, used
to the unfamiliar cielings and
epiphany I have when morning came,
that her embrace is not yours,
your lips aren't the one
I kissed. The devil
must be so happy but
inside me I am empty.

Every passing day and night,
amidst all imperfect smiles, and
hollow moans and laughter,
I touch my chest
to look for
anyone in it. I miss
the cry of our cats.

has been reduced to a mere
facebook status, a tweet, or
a battle of  likes and followers
crumbling, succumbing to
the pressure of creating

something

Theodor and Max would be sad
mad about how i treat my self and
my Art, as industry and enterprise
would use me as a commodity and

the object of Art is objectified

I could not ignore
the empty space in our bed;
the dawn is breaking.

Every so often
I would just stare at our cat
just to check if she's breathing'
because I am afraid
it will suddenly stop.

For almost four years
never did I cease to believe in you
and our hope and dreams because
I trusted you
I loved you
You love me but
you suddenly stopped.

And so I observe
the rising and falling
of our cat's puny body
while she sleeps
I never wanted to leave things to fate
again.

Every night I lie awake and stare at
the making and becoming
of us in these old videos
while you probably sleep.
This melancholy and emptiness is something
I leave to fate.

Dearest Prospero,
I have seen how
the war have destroyed. Our marriage
was enough to keep me sane and
faithful. I am
now a mother from
a demon and a widow.
Prospero,
up the heavens
you must go. Find my son
and my soul out in the crevice of hell
before the gates shut close.
Prospero,
as I cradle him now in
my bloodied hands. Interrupted his spur to life.
And no longer
he cries. There little one… there.

Under the faint moonlight
and the sweet song of the rain,
take away the sorrows,
fill with love the pain.
Be my sole redemption.
Be my heart again.
These words my dear affection
and else you shall obtain.
Sing me a sweet lullaby then
my world will all remain
with you.

On a hill overlooking the sea,
wild-flowers grow
with ambrosia and honey.
The breeze brushes
our cheeks. Touch
my hand clasped with yours in such
poignant confidence. As more than
a memory you’ll remain
here.