ilang oras,
ilang araw, linggo, buwan,
ilang taon
na akong naglalakbay.
nakita't nadaanan ko na lahat.
dito sa masalimuot na lansangan
memoryado ko na ang mga
pasikot-sikot sa mga eskinita,
bawat lubak at hukay sa kalye,
ang mga graffiti at nangangalawang na karatula.

pero kahit kay tagal na ng lumipas na panahon
hanggang ngayon,
di ko pa rin masikmura
ang mga nakakabinging busina at humaharurot na makina
ang nakakasulasok na baho ng usok at nagkalat na basura.

sa una ako'y nangangawit
pero ngayon nangmanhid
na ang mga kamay ko
sa higpit ng kapit sa manibela na
walang sinuman ang makakaangkin dahil
ito ay s'akin lamang,
akin.

puso ko ang mapa:
lukot at punit-punit.
dito ako sunudsunuran at alipin.
kahit alam kong mali,
di ako kikibo, ako'y tahimik.
naghahanap, pero siya rin mismo nawawala.
tahanan lang naman daw ang gusto niya
kung saan lulunasan ng yakap
ang pagod at pait,
kung saan ang mga simangot
ay masusuklian ng ngiti.
pero saan?
saan kaya?

ako ang hari ng daan.
walang kinikilala na batas.
nakikipagkarera sa hangin
sige-sige sa pag-arangkada.
kung may masagasaan,
kahit siya ang duguan,
siya pa rin ang may kasalanan.

dahil paminsan
naiisip ko na baka
mas swerte pa siyang nakahandusay sa kalsada
kaysa sa akin na pagod,
naiinip, naiinis sa likod ng manibela.
malapit nang maubusan ng gasolina,
ang mga gulong ay pudpud na.
'di ko pa rin mahanap ang tahanan
kaya tumungo na lang kaya ako
sa kamatayan?

"para po"
ako'y napalingon.
oo nga pala, may pasahero ako.
inaangkas lang Kita
paminsan umuupo likod
madalas nakasabit sa may salamin
o nakalapag sa harap
kasama ng mga abubot at basura.

"ate, para po"
hindi.
inapakan ko pa ang gasolina.
nagbibingibingihan sa mga bulong Mo.
oo,
alam kong pagod na ako
pero kaya ko 'to,
hindi ko kailangan ng tulong.

"para, diyan lang sa may tabi"
hindi.
hinigpitan ko pa ang hawak sa manibela.
gusto ko lang naman makauwi.
oo,
alam kong nawawala na ako
pero sigurado ako ang ginagawa ko
siguro, sigurado
siguro.

"para"
ngayon
napagtanto ko na
ako'y sawi, ako'y mali.
papakawalan na ang pagkapit sa patalim,
ang pagtiwala sa sarili.
sa wakas
ako ay

bibitaw.

sa Iyo na ang manibela, pati na rin
itong upuan na 'to, and trono.
Ikaw na,
ang gasolina at gulong na nagpapatakbo
ang mapang nagtuturo
mula ngayon hanggang magpakailanman.
Ikaw na
ang Kapitan
ang tagapagmaneho ng buhay na 'to.
wala nang pagkuha, pagdukot, pag-angkin.
mula ngayon,
iaalay ko na ang lahat.
ako ay Iyo.

ilang oras,
ilang araw, linggo, buwan,
ilang taon
na akong naglalakbay
at tuloy pa rin ang biyahe.
ganun pa rin ang kalagayan ng kalye:
malubak, maingay, madumi.
pero kapag Ikaw ang nandyan sa upuan,
para tayong lumilipad.
anumang madaanan
biyahe ay napakabanayad.

puso ko'y nananabik.
saan Mo ako sunod dadalhin?
saan kaya makakarating?

kahit saan man mapadpad,
kahit gaano man kalayo,
'di na ako mawawala.
ako ay nakarating na.
o tahanang tinatamasa,
nahanap na rin Kita.
basta't kasama Ka,
Hesus
*ako'y nakauwi na.

****
I can't believe
You've lived eighteen long years
I don't want to believe
You're of legal age
Because just yesterday
You arrived for school 2 hours late for
You slept at 4 am because of anime
Your blue boxers would show even if you wore a belt
You bought 100 Pesos worth of Spanish bread during recess
You dared to punctuate your English report with wrong grammar
You dunked iced tea bottles to the trash can, imitating Jordan
You ran and screamed in the hallways with the 3rd graders
You hanged your sweaty shirt to dry at the lockers
You spammed our physics teacher's laptop with selfies
You bit my shoulder, literally
You drew kitties and robots in your math test
You attempted to sing to dubstep
You took a nap at the carpeted library floor and
You almost ran over me with your car
So even if you're now an adult officially
You're still this messed up kid to me
Happy birthday though
You're finally 18
My wish for you is that you would be careful
'Cause you're old enough to hit the slammers
*I guess age is really just a number

The poet has eyes.
Eyes which have seen the  darkness  that lies in all of us,
and the lies that all of us have hid in the darkness.
The poet's eyes are scarred.
This is what makes a poet.

The poet has hands.
Hands which are wrinkled, with deep grooves and signs of pain and age.
These hands have changed the world around them, shaping it positively and negatively.
These hands are rivers, allowing words and sentences to flow into the ivory sea of paper.
These hands have labored.
This is what makes a poet.

The poet has ears.
Ears which have the poet wishes was sealed with stone, for much hurt and criticism has come through these ***** of skin.
The blunt message of an online bully.
The argument where someone who was dear to the poet left in anger.
The straight-up insults that hurt so much not because of the malice in them, but the truth in them.
However, the poet has kept his ears open, because much joyous sounds have wafted through these.
A baby's first cry.
A mother's words of support.
A lover's romantic invitations.
The poet has heard all of these.
This is what makes a poet.

The poet has a brain.
The brain which births ideas in the deepest troughs of its convulsions.
These ideas are made of pure, volatile energy.
They are dancing flames, igniting feelings and illuminating a poem so that it shines like a beacon in the blackness of oblivion.
The brain provides the poet to breath his own poetry, and live on it and feel like it's the only drug the poet needs to save his life.
This brain keeps the poet insane, content, and alive.
This is what makes a poet.

People say it's "weak to love,
as if to give mercy was a defective trait,
that compassion and kindness a flaw.

Yet,
anger and hatred are painted on the banners of the strong,
letting our animalistic urges overtake us.
Why is it that the hands of the violent,
are met with hands of high-fives and fist bumps?

All for what, To feel strong?
The symbol of strength has been crammed into the magazine of a gun,
locked and loaded with fear.
Wielded by those who seek control.

Because the only kind of control I see partnered with valor,
is the control of one's self.
To go against the strongest of urges,
is where true strength can be found.
-s