Kada sinusubukan kong sumulat sa wika ng aking ina,
nariyan pa rin ang sa ama, tila nagbabantay,
tila ingay na pumupuslit sa gabing malumanay.
Tila ito konsensiyang kakatok sa aking pinto,
sa gitna ng mahimbing na tulog mga alas tres pasado.

Ang pangalan ng mga kalye sa aking siyudad,
ang pangalan ng mga kalsada sa pamayanan,
ano ang sa wika ko, alin ang sa'yo, at sa dayo?

Kada sinusubukan kong umawit sa Tagalog,
bubulong ang mga rondalla, gitara't iba pang instrumento:
"anong wika ng pangalan naming ito?"
Kaunti na lang ay tutula na rin ang aking kama:
"hindi ba't oras na para sa banyo?"

Ang pangalan ng mga bayani sa labanan,
ang pangalan ng mga ninuno ng angkan,
alin dito ang salin, ano ang sa Tagalog?

If you could make me kneel
then I could make you believe
If you could *******
I could make you meet God.
Whatever you do to me,
I will do it back divinely.
If you treat me like an angel
then I could bring you heaven.
If you still couldn’t tell,
I could also give you the hell.
Everything you give me,
I will give you more generously.
If you could forget the world,
then I could grant forgiveness.
If you could forsake all riches,
I could welcome you to my kingdom.
Anything you offer me,
I will bless back with moon and stars.
If I could make you come
then I could make you believe.
If you could make me meet God,
then at your altar I could pray and kneel.

But they would burn my mouth
before you could even kiss it.
Don’t you think it’s a blessing we’re alive now,
and at the same time, too? Say it.
But they would bury me alive
before I could make you believe.
Don’t you think it’s a curse that we’re aligned,
yet so far away at the same time? **** it.
But they would blast off my body
before you could even bless it.
They would brand my poetry as blasphemy
before I could read them to you under the exploding stars.
They would call me the devil and the witch
before I could even become your eternal love or divine scar.

You bring so much to the table
and mine's only good for two,
it's so tiny, that sometimes
I eat while standing, too.

Now I'm not really nice,
but with you I am just naturally submissive.
And you're holding the dice,
we're not playing games, but the rules are subjective.

You bring so much to the table
and I only brought a picnic mat,
it's a shame, what could I offer
if I'm just eating scraps, like a cat?

And I want to be your only or favorite vice,
I am ten toes down, I can't change my objective.
Or maybe I just want to be your constant, like rice.
I am a case and crime, come inspect me like a detective.

You bring so much to the table
and I do too, but are you even ready for our feast?
Would you come to the kitchen with me,
I am here waiting for you, won't you come to the east?

So many plans, too little time.
So many faces, only one in my mind.
So many hands, is holding yours a crime?
So many places, but yours is the gold mine.
Too much things to do,
when should I schedule you?
Too many appointments made,
when are you asking me on a date?
So many dates in the calendar,
when’s the day you’ll be my groom?
So much to lose like racing cars,
tell me when exactly is the day of doom?
But I have so much love to give,
yet there's reality to live!
And we have a lot to grieve,
yet why do I still believe?
There used to be a brain where my head is,
now it can’t be saved by a broom.
"There was a sane and stable woman here,
if lost, find her in the emergency room."

Maybe you will see through history.
You will find that this is how things used to be.
Maybe it's really supposed to be me, honestly.
Things only got in order, cleaned up the corners.
Maybe this is for the best, and it shall be, no wonder.
The streets that you thought you knew is not all that is.
Maybe it's not me and you, but could I still give you a kiss?
The city doesn't intend to take more, but to give, please believe.
Our city sheds tears daily for weeks.

Maybe you will get enough of reality.
You will see that there is paradise in the urbanity.
Maybe we were meant to be apart so we could listen to our hearts.
Things would only get messier, but I will be crazier.
Maybe I got the right tools to help you feel better.
The city is not after you, it won't drown or drain you out.
Maybe my letters are futile, you are who the scripture is about.
The city is for ours to reign in, or you could come when it's raining.
Our city bleeds weekly for months.

Maybe you will read through my poetry.
You will get in between my metaphors and subtleties.
Maybe you're supposed to show me how to write.
Things would be better if certain things didn't happen.
Maybe it's all part of a bigger plan, who's holding the pen?
The city that my children will be running in is one we can't hate.
Maybe there's reason and logic for everything, even when it's late.
The city will be the witness, in my arms is where it's warmest.
Our city will no longer cry and bleed for years.

Yes I believe in God,
for who else should I thank
that in a world so vast,
at how wide time stretch,
you and I still met?

I do believe in God,
who else could orchestrate
such a boundless union as ours?

Yes I believe in God,
for who else should I pray to
for your safety and peace,
knowing that's not something
I could offer you and give?

I do believe in God,
who else could write and design
such a flawless experiment as you and I?

Yes I believe in God,
for who else should I give credits to
for moving seas and history
and my stubborn mind,
thinking the impossible like you'd be mine?

I do believe in God,
who else could make someone like you for me,
and our islands that we will swim and live in?