Minsan may maririnig kang
mga tunog o hiyaw,
na mapapatanong ka;
“pusa ba ‘yon o bata?”
Minsan may makikita kang
dalawang taong magkasama,
na magtataka ka;
“mag-ama ba ‘yon o mag-jowa?”
At kung minsan din may madarama kang
mapapatigil ka na lang
at mapapatulala sa tuwina;
“pag-ibig na ba ‘to o pagkakaibigan lang?”

Ngunit sa lahat ng mga tanong na ito,
sa ingay ng mga tunog,
sa dilim ng pagtataka,
sa gitna ng tahimik na mga hiyaw,
sa liwanag ng pagtulala,
sa nakakabinging nadarama...
Ano bang pagkakaiba?
ano bang pagkakaiba?
Sa lahat ng ito, pag-ibig ay mapapakinggan.
Sa lahat ng ito, pag-ibig ay maaaring makita.
Sa lahat ng ito, pag-ibig ay mararamdaman.
Ano nga bang pagkakaiba?

Kapag niyaya kitang lumabas ulit,
this time, I don't know, maybe sa zoo?
Kahit sumakay lang tayo sa jeep,
next time na lang sa Maynila or museum?
Sasama ka ba?
Kung sa bagay, ayaw ko pa ring magka... alam mo ba?

Pagkatapos, kakain tayo sa labas. Na naman.
Baka ikuwento ko na rin ang nakaraan,
'yun ay kung nais mo lamang malaman.
Dahil yung sa'yo, jusmiyo, alam ko na rin naman.
At ayokong maging unfair, parang kanin na walang ulam.

Mahal ka ba niya talaga?
Mahal ka ba niya talaga?

And did you say she was pretty?
And did you say that she loves you?
Baby, I don't wanna know!
And can you tell me, was it worth it?
Really... I don't wanna know.

Naaaliw ka ba sa'kin? Tawa ka kasi nang tawa.
Pero kung yayayain ulit kita, maybe sa zoo,
sana ay bigyan mo naman ako ng awa.

Ngunit kung sasabihin kong "wag mo kong iwan",
ngunit gusto mo palang mapag-isa,
ok lang sa akin. Uuwi na lang at magsi-siesta.

Mahal ka ba niya talaga?
Mahal ka ba niya talaga?

Mahal ka ba niya talaga?
Mahal ka ba niya talaga?

Ako, hindi pa naman.
Hindi ko pa alam. (4x)

Bibigyan mo ba ako ng dahilan?
Or perhaps maybe baka ito na yata ang last na tula?
Bibigyan mo ba ako ng dahilan?
Or maybe hihintayin na lang, parang iyong mga kanta?
Bibigyan mo ba ako ng dahilan?
Or baka we're meant to be friends lang talaga?

Anyway, I'll follow you down 'til the sound
of my voice will haunt you.

Anyway, this is "Wonderwall".

Anyway,
please ***** pa rin tayo sa zoo.
Sa zoo (6x)

I hate to be the one to break it to you,
right on the first day of the year anew,
but here’s the breaking news:
I am the one for you.

Yet the ball is no longer in my court.
This is not a game, but love burns and hurts.
Love is not a war, but a kingdom has a court.
And every king needs his queen of hearts.

And if I am the one, you would see my heart is not easily won.
You can try, but you can’t find another of my kind among the ton.
And if you even dare, you would come closer and get out of your phone.
You can fly, sway, cry, swing, but you can’t avoid me, I’m your new bone.

And if you wanna play, you’d win a prize you’ve never had before.
Yes you’d feel every emotion you’ve never known, except bored.
And if you wanna fight, you’d bring a castle facing the sea, along the shores.
But no, the ball is no longer in my court,
and I am sure as day, that’s for sure.

You know it, and you know it well.
Do I really have to say it? Hell.
I'll get straight to the point;
I am the obvious choice.
You can’t shake me, I’m your joint;
before you sleep, I’m that little voice.
Do you really have others anyway?
And if you do, are there really
better options, by the way?
Are there any other poems on your desk?
And if there are, are they actually
sent and written by the best?
So do I really have to say it?
You already know it.
No matter the language,
the truth simply drips from your lips.
You can’t escape me, I’m your missing rib;
before you go, kiss me as you pull my hips.
I’m the wave that rips.
I’m the edge of the cliff.
I’m the winning manuscript.
You know it, and you know it well.

De enero a junio a diciembre,
no hay clima que no quiera volver.
Este año se sintió como una puta pistola,
sintió como una telenovela.
Monté a caballo, tuve accidentes,
besé cabrones, morí mil muertes.
Monté olas y quedé atrapado bajo el agua.
probé amapolas y desperté en Nicaragua.
Desde el verano hasta el invierno,
no hay mes que me haga decir “¡Lo probando!”
Este año es simplemente el peor,
Lleno de error pero también lleno de color.
Pero volveré a montar,
como el mejor vaquero y rejoneador.
Pero lo volveré a hacer,
como el mejor torero y matador.
Moriré otra vez y viviré otra y otra vez,
como la protagonista de una telenovela.
Podría hacer esto una y otra vez,
como una puta telenovela!

Am I naughty or am I nice?
An angel or a *****?
Will I be your victory or vice?
A cherub or a siren?
Am I a dream come true or the color blue?
Am I a gift or a piece of wood adrift?
And if I make a wish, would it be for you?
Would I be the fundamental keys, like Ctrl+Shift?
And if I set the tone, will you follow through?
Would I be a letter you'll burn or a masterpiece you'll keep?
And if we see this through, to whom do we say thanks to?

I am the earth.
I seek the sea,
occupy the ocean,
wish for the water.
While you,
yearn for the earth,
lead the lands,
savour the soil.
I am the earth
And I wish for you.
I wish for you.
I’ve been wishing for you...

I’m not in school anymore
No longer a girl either.
So this is not some schoolgirl crush.
And I don’t need more soul lessons.
And I am not one to do crushes.
In fact, I want soul-crushing romance.
And I think this is it.
Except it’s not.
Not a romance.
But it’s soul-crushing.
But if I must be,
I will be a student.
If I really have to,
I will learn.
I will write.
I will read.
Again
and again.

I’m running out of metaphors.
In that sense, ‘metaphors’ is a metaphor
for your time, not mine.
And you’re running out of good years.
In that sense, ‘good years’ is a metaphor
for your options, also not mine.
I wanted to be the one to make you happy,
I wanted you to be the subject of my poetry.
But what else can a woman like me do?
I am a little girl in front of a man like you.
What gift do you get a guy
who seem to have it all?
Where do you take a man
who’s been everywhere?
What song can you sing
to someone who’s heard every sound?
What else can you give
to somebody who’s done it all?
What poem can I write for you,
that will make you want to choose me?
And what can you do to impress
a person who’s been with everyone?

Silence.
Nowhere.
Static.
Nothing.
Blank page.
Radio silence.

“𝑺𝒆𝒆𝒎𝒔 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒎𝒆 𝒊𝒔 𝒊𝒏 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆,
𝑺𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒂 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓 𝒎𝒆?”
But what does Santa know, though?
I bet on a reindeer even you don’t know.
All year, Santa was hiding in North Pole,
at the same time, I’m hiding my feelings;
what used to be a heart here is now a hole.
January is a beach, December is a cliff.
If the sands would turn to snow,
mountains from Pacific Ocean would grow.

“𝑨𝒍𝒍 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒔𝒆 𝒑𝒆𝒐𝒑𝒍𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒌 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆’𝒔 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒘,
𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝑰 𝒘𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒅𝒊𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒊𝒏 𝒔𝒆𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒕”
But what do I also know?
I dare the trees to be still as the wind blows.
Tropical the whole year, now I feel frozen,
when exactly is the most wonderful time?
Like a prized painting, my heart felt stolen.
My poetry is confessional, for truth is crime.
If you are made of blazing flames,
I am a forest catching fire after fire.

El pelo de tu funda de almohada.
Tu suelo.
El pelo de tu suelo.
Por supuesto que pienso en ti,
y por supuesto ya lo hicimos,
solo que en mi cabeza...
Ahora que estás al otro lado del oceano Pacifico,
puedo sentirte mas cerca.

El polvo de mi tocadiscos.
Mi cuello.
El polvo de mi cuello.
Por supuesto que son solo pensamientos,
y por supuesto que es fugaz,
y pronto terminará.
Con solo el oceano más grande del mundo separándonos,
finalmente puedo flotar.

Some things you just can’t explain.
Some magic you don’t dare find reason beneath.
Some mysteries you don’t get to solve.
Some metaphors you don't read meaning behind.
Some circumstances you don’t find logic in.
Some tickets you don’t scratch but you win.
Why are flights to a popular island destination cheaper over the holidays?
Why are flights back home more expensive?
Why is daydrinking the norm on an island?
Why are mangoes as sweet as summer there in December?
Why did I meet you when I almost never have?
Why did we brush shoulders only to never see each other again?
Some circumstances.
Some mysteries.
Some magic.
Some things you just can’t explain.

(𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘊𝘩𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘢𝘯 𝘙𝘢𝘺𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘢)

May bakas ng relihiyon sa bawat kalsadang nilakaran mo. Dito sa siyudad kung saan tila naghahari ang diablo, mga dinaanan mo ang sandigan, mga pinuntahan mo ang paniniwalaan, aawitan, papupurian.

Dito, naglakad kang matapang. Nag-lamyerda kang para bang hindi ka baguhan at dayuhan. Walang pag-iingat, o walang pag-aatubili. Na parang naglalakad ka rin sa pananampalataya sa ating Diyos.

Tanong at dalangin ko lagi’t lagi: mararating ba natin ang oras? O ang hanggahan? (o kung may hanggahan nga ba ang oras sa tuwing magkasama tayo? Hindi ko alam, kung may konsepto ng oras sa langit.) Umuwi ka bang nakadiskubre ng buntalang may posibilidad ang pag-iral? Ngunit hindi mo pa ito pinapangalanan, hindi mo pa inaari.

At hindi natapos ang pagiging sagrado ng mga espasyo noong nakaalis ka na. Sa pagitan ng dagat Pasipiko at Mediteranyo, ang panalangin ko ay makakarating sa’yo, mga dasal ko’y hahalik sa katawan mo, dadapo sa silid **** hindi ko pa nararating, at dito, kasama kita, kahit hindi kita kasama.

Liquid to lips, waffles to wine,
every day feels like slowed down time.
Kisses that ****, breakfasts like bomb,
with every minute, I grow even more numb.
Winter may lie, summer far,
every breath is a dagger to my heart.
The heat may cry, cold so sore,
every step is a crash on the shore.
Before my hair grows longer,
count them.
Before my sword tattoos fade,
disarm them.
Before I grow weary in waiting,
caress me.
Before I get older and fading,
help me.
Before I lock myself again,
find me.
Before I let my heart go,
love me.

Maaaring nagsisinungaling ang mga makata.
Nalilimutan ko na ang tunog ng iyong tawa.
Pinipilit maalala ang iyong tinig sa tuwina.
Tulungan mo akong maalala.
Baka nga sinungaling ang makata.
Inuukit sa isip ang mga salitang binitawan.
Binabaybay sa tula, binubuo sa iyong wika.
Tulungan mo akong gunitain ka.
Baka nga isang krimen ang sumulat ng tula.
Kada letra ay lenggwaheng naglalakbay,
Kada pahina ay anod na di matatangay.
Tulungan mo akong lumutang.
Baka nga kriminal ang maging makata.
Nalulunod sa tinta ng pagkalumbay,
sa ilalim ng alon ng paghihintay.
Tulungan mo akong tumula.

Imagine having me stretched, throbbing,
a touch that could soothe and ****.
Yes, it both can.
Your greatest ****.
You simply won’t be able to imagine
just how good it would feel.
No, you just can’t.
Good ******* luck...

The original
The mother pearl of the orient
The mother church
The noble and ever-loyal
A poem in my mother tongue
Songs and dances in yours
People were dying here all the time
Now there are weddings, there’s even a line
People were shooting each other dead
Now there are kisses and laughters shared
López de Legazpi’s lego house
Joaquin’s literary muse
By sword and fire
By the walls of surprise
“But, Manila?!”
For the city we love to hate
And "Ahh, Manila..."
For the city we hate to love
There used to be blood splattered
brains scattered on the cobblestones
And until we’ll walk these streets together
hearts will be shattered in these cold walls
My home, sweet and hot and spicy Manila
Soon yours, darling lover
Through storms of desire
By my walls broken down in sight
My fortress, my quiet night
This is the Manila I want you to see
This is the postcard I want to send with glee
By sword and fire, here, I proclaim you mine
By these walls so high, I crawl, wait, and cry

And this is why I’m not an actress.
I enjoy the behind-the-scenes, all their mess.
But it was never my forte to pretend.
This is why I’m a writer.
I create chaos and horrors only on paper.
Between play and pretend, I pick the former.
And maybe this is why I’m not popular.
I simply love my privacy and personal cellar.
Be in the dark, adore the closed doors.
This is why I’m only a poet.
If I should fit your mould, God forbid.
And this is why I wish to remain unknown.
If I must kneel before you, I’d just go home.
And this is precisely why I’m not an actress.
I’m already in so much burden and stress.
I’m a poet, for christ’s sake!
Oh, I could also be fake!
Ah, but I’d rather eat my popcorn,
sit within my pretty little bubble,
while honing my tiny horns,
causing no silly troubles.

If you were to become sand,
I would not be just some hands.
Not even another mortal homeland.
I will become time, I will weather and stand.
But if you were to become an island,
I would not be just some beach or sands.
Not even a firefly or a wasp that lands.
I will become a tree that withstands.
Or if you will be the time, I will be a tree.
Together in our tiny little island,
we will be gleaming and free,
we will be holding hands.

When I say my words are powerful,
I mean it could both be
for the worse or for better.
When I say my words are heavy,
I meant it for hurting, rolling punches
or for lifting and helping hands.
When I say my words could ****, I mean it.
No wordplays or metaphors needed.
If I say my words feels like kiss, I mean it.
I know how to wield them in battlefield,
I know how to write with them for poetry.
So when I say my words are powerful,
I mean it could both be
for the worst or for the best.
So for you my darling lover,
or prospective enemy,
what’s it gonna be?
So here’s to you, my chosen, my love,
or potential slave and loyal servant,
who do you want to be for me?

I can carve your name among the stars
with my paper, pen, acrylics, and art.
I can turn you into a museum
through my own pain, sadness, and gloom.
I can display you like a gallery,
with my lips and hips seared onto your skin.
I can raise your name into immortality
through my songs and poetry.
I can give you eternity
with my madness and mercy.
I can make you a living God
through my beauty and love.

Find me if you dare, then leave me.
Leave me how you found me, I dare you.
Mind you, I do not care, believe me.
Care for me but I won’t mind, mind you.
Take this skin, score, and sear it,
it’s yours for burning and breaking.
Take these eyes, watch how they ablaze,
stare at them as you would a sandstorm.
Take this body, bring and burn it,
or take it as a trophy to new civilizations.
Take these hands, lock and never lose them,
clasp them shut so they may never be lethal.
Take this heart, see how it resurrects,
look how you made it golden and eternal.

I handpicked you,
with these hands that clawed their way out
of death and then back to your inner city.
More carefully than finding shells
on a beach, on an island down south.

I handpicked you,
with these hands that engraved stones
and carved runes from the walls.
More desperately than ancient men learning
how to write and draw for the first time.

I handpicked you,
with these hands that shook with the devil
and in the same manner, greeted saints with.
More intentionally than touching artifacts
in a museum, within a country of colonizers.

I handpicked you,
with these hands that wrote law, poems,
and stabbed enemies lurking in the tombs.
More defiantly than a monster experiencing
how it feels to be betrayed for the last time.

𝘚𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘱𝘢-𝘪,
My chosen,
you have no choice but to give in.
My love,
it is now my heart that you live in.
My destiny,
it is my body that you will be buried in.

How softly you unearthed this heart,
dusted off the sand from my hands...
How tenderly you knew exactly what to do,
take me away off the west to my rescue...
How you paced my tomb that burns,
dug deep enough skin from the earth...
How painstakingly you wrapped me warm,
blanketed me from pain of eternity's harm...
It seems like you have seen me beyond
these shards and sands of time.
It feels as though I am a secret you kept
since the antiquities of light.
It seems like you have touched me before
the very invention of the word skin.
It feels as though you have built me long ago
brick by brick, in your buried cities within.

You expect me to curtsy,
but what I do is bend and break my bones.
You expect me to be soft-spoken,
I am raised on curses in three languages,
I have five deities and I write poetry!
You expect me to act refined,
but I am a woman dulled by violence.
And when you expect me to be dull,
I'll be as sharp as a stick up your *******.
You expect me to act sweet,
I am raised in Manila, you little *****!
You expect me to be quiet or sophisticated,
but I am a ******* Filipina, you ditz!
So no,
I cannotㅡand will not curtsy.
Nor will I bend and break either.
I will not be soft-spoken.
The last thing I will be is refined.
I will be sharp and smart as a whip.
To hell with acting sweet!
Asking a girl silenced by time to be quiet?
And a true Manileña to be sophisticated?
𝘏𝘢𝘺𝘰𝘱 𝘬𝘢! I’ll make you wish you’re dead.

With your hair that glows golden
under the glimmering sun...
With your eyes that glistens
under summer heat's touch...
you are as soft as a cloud
on a weary traveler's mouth!

And with your skin that never burns,
but touch that makes the sun envy with red...
And with your laughter that glimmers,
the sands shall never again darken...
you are as sweet as day,
the morning sun at bay
after a night of gray!

𝘗𝘦𝘳 𝘡𝘰ë;
𝘦𝘭 𝘵𝘦𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘴ó𝘯 𝘦𝘭 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘰𝘳
𝘥𝘦𝘭 𝘴𝘰𝘭 𝘥𝘦 𝘭𝘢 𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘢,
𝘦𝘭 𝘵𝘦𝘶 𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘴 𝘴ó𝘯 𝘦𝘭 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘰𝘳
𝘥𝘦 𝘭𝘢 𝘭𝘭𝘶𝘮 𝘥𝘦𝘭 𝘥𝘪𝘢.
𝘊𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘮 𝘦𝘭 𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘪𝘹 𝘴𝘢𝘯𝘨 𝘪 𝘱𝘦𝘭𝘭
𝘢𝘣𝘢𝘯𝘴 𝘥𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘳 𝘳𝘪𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘴,
𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘮𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘦𝘴 𝘪 𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘴ó𝘯 𝘵𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘴... ♡

With your eyes that lights up as you smile,
you could stretch a beach by another mile...
With your hair that falls like the forest light,
you make a nocturnal excited for sunrise...
You are a prize without a price!

Your dreams are a promised destination,
with your warmth that heals
under the island sky...
Your skin is a timeless celebration,
with your cheeks that redden
under the summer's touch...
You are a revelation and a surprise!

𝘗𝘦𝘳 𝘔𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘪𝘢;
𝘦𝘭 𝘵𝘦𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘭 é𝘴 𝘦𝘭 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘰𝘳 𝘥𝘦𝘭 𝘤𝘦𝘭 𝘯𝘰𝘤𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯,
𝘪 𝘦𝘭𝘴 𝘵𝘦𝘶𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘳𝘪𝘶𝘳𝘦𝘴 𝘴ó𝘯 𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴.
𝘦𝘭𝘴 𝘵𝘦𝘶𝘴 𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘴 𝘴ó𝘯 𝘥𝘦𝘭 𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘪𝘹 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘰𝘳 𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘴 𝘮𝘦𝘶𝘴,
𝘱𝘰𝘵𝘴 𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘳-𝘩𝘰 𝘵𝘰𝘵 𝘢𝘭 𝘮ó𝘯 𝘥𝘦 𝘋é𝘶.
𝘊𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘮 𝘦𝘭𝘴 𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘪𝘹𝘰𝘴
𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘰𝘳𝘴 𝘥𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘪 𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘴
𝘢𝘣𝘢𝘯𝘴 𝘥𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘳 𝘢𝘤𝘶𝘥𝘪𝘵𝘴 𝘪 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘴,
𝘦𝘭𝘴 𝘮𝘦𝘶𝘴 𝘤𝘦𝘭𝘴 𝘪 𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘴ó𝘯 𝘵𝘦𝘶𝘴!
☆

"𝑴𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝑻𝒂𝒏𝒊, 𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒈𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒌𝒂𝒊𝒍𝒂𝒏 𝒃𝒂 𝒕𝒂𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒍 𝒊𝒕𝒐𝒏𝒈
𝒎𝒈𝒂 𝒑𝒂𝒈-𝒖𝒍𝒂𝒏 𝒏𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒏?"
"𝒀𝒆𝒔 𝑱𝒐𝒔𝒊𝒆! 𝑨𝒉 𝑱𝒐𝒔𝒊𝒆 𝒕𝒖𝒍𝒐𝒚ㅡ𝒀𝒆𝒔, 𝑱𝒖𝒏!"

Magkamali man ang iyong labi
ng pangalang masambit
magkamali man ang iyong ngipin
ng pagkagat at pagbanggit,
sa dulo ng iyong pag-uulat,
ako pa rin ang bida at balitang isisiwalat.

"𝑺𝒂 𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒘𝒊𝒏𝒅 𝒎𝒂𝒑, 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒊𝒌𝒊𝒕𝒂 𝒏𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒏 𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒖𝒍𝒐𝒚-𝒕𝒖𝒍𝒐𝒚 𝒏𝒂 𝒑𝒂𝒈𝒍𝒂𝒌𝒂𝒔 𝒏𝒈 𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒉𝒂𝒃𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒕, 𝒂𝒕 𝒊𝒕𝒐 𝒂𝒚 𝒅𝒂𝒉𝒊𝒍 𝒔𝒂 𝒃𝒂𝒈𝒚𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝑱𝒐𝒔𝒊𝒆."

Itago mo man ang iyong mga tawa,
ikubli ang ngiti sa pag-ubo at paghinga,
ilibing mo man ang aking pangalan,
sa'yong dila at diwa ay nakaukit na ito
magpakailanman.

Now here enters a woman who reads;
and voraciously, too.
In the coffee shop, in a wine bar,
in the meat shop, in a funeral.
Now here enters a woman who’s a poet;
she writes as one would deal drugs.
In the dark, in the down low,
in well-versed hush, in rehearsed rush.
Now here enters an angry woman;
“how feisty, I bet she’s a *****.”
Points fingers at men twice her size,
she punches mouths until they bleed out lies.
Now here enters a healthy woman;
healed as her anger is not suppressed,
she exercises, eats less than the rest,
hushes her mouth as the poison’s out.

I know being with me is not easy,
actually quite the contrary;
I am treacherous, I am messy.
I have crazy trees and crazier winds.
I know staying with me won't be fun,
actually it may not even be an option;
But you’re still welcome, even for a vacation.
My rain comforts, I soothe with my monsoon.

I know you may not know of my waves,
and you might've, but would you be brave?
Are you willing to trade your better days?
Do you dare write with your board and body,
then rest under my shades or caves?

I know you might not have heard of my name,
but touch me and you will never be the same.
Will you dive for my pearls without shame?
Do you dare to sink and swim,
would you play this game?

From La Union to Siargao,
our waves are one and shared.
From Baler to Biarritz,
there are no swells we'll miss.
From Aurora to Asturias,
there are no days without sun and sand.
From Catalunya to Catanduanes,
the nights are made of parties and rest.
From hanging bridge to the sunset bridge,
how wonderful it is to share this friendship.
From my east to your east,
may we be each other’s vacation and ease.
From your west to my best,
may you find me again, I’ll be waiting here.

Ash to ashes,
laughters to kisses.
Dust to dust,
returning is a must.

Look, I'm not even bothered.
I'm not bothered that you're riding
another woman's bed as if they're waves,
and well, your body is the board.
I'm not bothered that you're exchanging
****** fluids all night long,
like when seawater mixes with your sweat
from catching waves all afternoon.
I'm not bothered.
Now listen, I'm not at all bothered.
I'm not bothered that you're dancing,
like her body is a wave you're surfing,
in some bar whose name I can't pronounce,
or I could, but you'll find it funny.
I'm not bothered that you're all over her,
moving it like you wanna get barreled in,
like she is just your dream surf trip
and that I just feel like a pool... or a fool,
I might be crying, but it's sunny.
But I'm not bothered.
Not at all.
But
I'm bothered...
I'm actually, really, totally bothered
by the jokes you'll share,
by the new jokes you'll make,
the ones I can't hear,
over the sound of the waves.
I'm bothered that you're not near,
'cause lately, you're all I ever crave.
I'm bothered...
by the sound of your laughters together,
or does it sound different in winter?
I'm bothered that she knows
how your laugh sounds in every season
and how your smile looks all year long.
Now I'm bothered.
I'm absolutely hot and bothered.

A bit of a journey,
but it’s for your safety.
Pay a drop of bravery,
but you will be rewarded a sea of security.
Just a bit of a climb,
nothing could touch you, not one crime.
Just a little hike,
and nothing can hurt you, not even the night.
I might seem unlikely,
but I will be your safe space,
one where you can sleep in soundly tonight.
I know you’re scared,
but my love can be your refuge,
a place where you can start a brand new day.
And I know we’re both full of doubts,
but we can be each other’s fortress,
we can build our new kingdom or town.

𝑺𝒂 𝒏𝒈𝒂𝒍𝒂𝒏 𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒎𝒂, 𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒏𝒂𝒌, 𝒏𝒈 𝒆𝒔𝒑𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒖 𝒔𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒐,
𝒂𝒕 𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒂𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒌𝒂𝒊𝒃𝒊𝒈𝒂𝒏 𝒌𝒐...

Maybe our definition of friends differ.
Maybe its meaning changes
from the far east, to the wild west.
Maybe yours are parties and music fests,
while mine means safe space and rest.
Maybe your friends are just good
for fun and vacation,
while my friendship weathers
bad, hell, and even oblivion.

𝑫𝒊𝒐𝒔 𝒎𝒊𝒐, 𝒎𝒆 𝒂𝒓𝒓𝒆𝒑𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒐 𝒅𝒆 𝒎𝒊𝒔 𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒂𝒅𝒐𝒔
𝒅𝒆 𝒕𝒐𝒅𝒐 𝒄𝒐𝒓𝒂𝒛𝒐𝒏.
𝑷𝒐𝒓 𝒆𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒂𝒓𝒎𝒆 𝒅𝒆 𝒒𝒖𝒊𝒆𝒏 𝒅𝒆𝒃𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒂 𝒔𝒊𝒎𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒆 𝒍𝒍𝒂𝒎𝒂𝒓 𝒂𝒎𝒊𝒈𝒐.
𝑯𝒆 𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒂𝒅𝒐 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒓𝒂 𝒆𝒍, 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒓𝒂 𝒎𝒊 𝒄𝒐𝒓𝒂𝒛𝒐𝒏,
𝒚 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒓𝒂 𝑻𝒊,
𝒂 𝒒𝒖𝒊𝒆𝒏 𝒅𝒆𝒃𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒂 𝒂𝒎𝒂𝒓 𝒔𝒐𝒃𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒐𝒅𝒂𝒔 𝒍𝒂𝒔 𝒄𝒐𝒔𝒂𝒔.
𝑵𝒐 𝒆𝒍, 𝒒𝒖𝒊𝒆𝒏 𝒎𝒆 𝒉𝒂𝒄𝒆 𝒑𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒈𝒓𝒐𝒔𝒂, 𝒄𝒆𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒂 𝒚 𝒆𝒏𝒗𝒊𝒅𝒊𝒐𝒔𝒂.

Maybe how we understand friendship
is rather different, indeed.
Maybe you see it as a comical joke,
while I see it as intimate poetry.
Maybe you hear it like another song,
while I listen to it like symphony.
Maybe you think it’s something to be bent,
I’m treating it like something heaven-sent.
Maybe you’re really set on being friends,
I’m already falling down a cliff with no end.

𝑴𝒆 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒐𝒏𝒈𝒐 𝒇𝒊𝒓𝒎𝒆𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒆, 𝒄𝒐𝒏 𝑻𝒖 𝒂𝒚𝒖𝒅𝒂,
𝒉𝒂𝒄𝒆𝒓 𝒑𝒆𝒏𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒊𝒂, 𝒅𝒆𝒋𝒂𝒓 𝒅𝒆 𝒑𝒆𝒏𝒔𝒂𝒓 𝒆𝒏 𝒔𝒖𝒔 𝒍𝒂𝒃𝒊𝒐𝒔 𝒔𝒐𝒃𝒓𝒆 𝒍𝒐𝒔 𝒎𝒊𝒐𝒔,
𝒏𝒐 𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒂𝒓 𝒎𝒂𝒔 𝒚 𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒕𝒂𝒓, 𝒕𝒐𝒅𝒐 𝒍𝒐 𝒒𝒖𝒆 𝒎𝒆 𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒗𝒆 𝒂 𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒂𝒓.
𝒀 𝒂 𝒔𝒖𝒔 𝒐𝒋𝒊𝒕𝒐𝒔 𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒐𝒔.
𝑫𝒆𝒋𝒂𝒓 𝒅𝒆 𝒎𝒊𝒓𝒂𝒓𝒍𝒐 𝒄𝒐𝒏 𝒐𝒋𝒐𝒔 𝒒𝒖𝒆 𝒒𝒖𝒊𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒏
𝒂𝒍𝒆𝒋𝒂𝒓𝒍𝒐 𝒅𝒆 𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒆 𝒎𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒐 𝒅𝒆𝒔𝒐𝒓𝒅𝒆𝒏𝒂𝒅𝒐.
𝑵𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒐 𝑺𝒂𝒍𝒗𝒂𝒅𝒐𝒓 𝑱𝒆𝒔𝒖𝒄𝒓𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒐
𝒔𝒖𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒐 𝒚 𝒎𝒖𝒓𝒊𝒐 𝒑𝒐𝒓 𝒏𝒐𝒔𝒐𝒕𝒓𝒐𝒔.
𝑬𝒏 𝒔𝒖 𝒏𝒐𝒎𝒃𝒓𝒆, 𝑫𝒊𝒐𝒔 𝒎𝒊𝒐, 𝒕𝒆𝒏 𝒑𝒊𝒆𝒅𝒂𝒅.
𝑸𝒖𝒆 𝒃𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒈𝒂𝒔 𝒚 𝒈𝒖𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝒏𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒂 𝒂𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒅.

Basbasan niyo po ang aming pagkakaibigan.
Iwaksi niyo po ito sa kapahamakan,
nawa’y wag sanang mauwi sa pag-iibigan,
lalong lalo na sa sakitan at iyakan.

Siya nawa.

Amen.

1899
It's all over now.
How many more bells
do you need to hear?
It’s over.
How many more winters
do you need to miss?
It's done.
How many more gunshots
do you want me to fire and ring?
Just surrender now...
It's all been said and done.
All the blood have dried and ran.
Just come out now...
Rather than needing it,
don't you miss the sunshine?
Just go, you can't stay locked forever...
Rather than buying more time,
don't you need less wine?
Just open the door...
march straight across Manila,
to the pacific, to Barcelona and Cadiz,
until you’re back home.
Believe me, they'll welcome you like a hero,
sing praises of your name forevermore.
You'll see, I'll be good to you.
History will remember you like a folklore.
And I won't ever be like you.
I'll be better than you'll ever be, you'll see.
You’ll see how I’ll slip my hands with ease.
How I'll let you go in silence and peace.
I'll even see you out to the sea, you'll see.
And that will be my revenge.
My kindness and silence will hurt you,
I’ll play nice, it will feel like cuts and slice.
And that is no longer my problem.
My white flag waving over your head
will be the subject of your nightmares.
And that is no longer my burden.

Ang awitin ng mga armas,
ang katahimikan ng kampana,
ang tinig ng mga bala,
ang kawalan ng himno ng misa.

Balikan mo ang kwento ng nayon,
bilhin mo ang bawat minuto at oras,
mag-baliktanaw sa kahapon at ngayon
nang ‘di ma-balewala ang bukas at wakas.

Ang himig ng mga nagliliparang pana,
bulong ng mga dasal at adhikain,
ang ungol ng mga sundalong sugatan,
bitbit ko sa aking kasal sa kanluranin.

Balikan mo ang kwento ng nayon,
bilhin mo ang bawat minuto at oras,
mag-baliktanaw sa kahapon at ngayon
nang ‘di ma-balewala ang bukas at wakas.

Poetry is when you built me
only to break me down into words.
Art is when you ran to me
when you were breaking on your own.
I was a winning manuscript,
but you reduced me to bamboos and shells.
I was a renowned masterpiece,
but now I am one with my sands as I fell.
Poetry is when you wanted me
only to wash and wipe me out as I rose up.
Art is when you loved me
only to turn my back, letting you down.
Symphony is when you cried
only for me to cry harder, bow, and howl.
History is when we heard the gunshots
only did they replace our jokes and songs.
Revolution is the sound of the bombs
when I was asking for the truth for so long.

I used to be a place of worship,
my body used to be a temple
of what you used to call God;
remember when you prayed to him?
Now I am all but rubbles,
a ruin after a year of shambles.
I used to be where the choir sings,
I used to be the center, facing the town hall
of the place you used to control and reign;
remember how cold it feels like every fall?
Now in silence I will succumb,
I’d bury myself for an eternity of hush.
Now in secrets I am downed and numb,
I’d drown myself in waves of delayed rush.

"I will not be apologetic.
I won't apologize for loving you the way I do
or for loving you the way you want me to.
For touching you in places I shouldn't have,
for touching you where you trail your hands.
I won't apologize for loving you until I burst,
I won't apologize even if everything hurts.
I will not be sorry that my kisses are stormy,
I will not be sorry that I'm always in a hurry.
I will not feel bad when everyone is mad,
I am glad to say that you're the best I've had.
I will not be apologetic
that I'm never decisive,
I will not be apologetic
that this love is destructive."

Is that what you're expecting me to say?
Is that what you wanted me to write?
To try to turn the night into day?
To try to turn the wrongs into rights?
Did you want to rob the sun off its rays?
Did you want the moon to lose its tides?
Were you wishing I'd surf your waves?
Were you praying I'd love you after the lies?
I hate to say it, I hate to break it to you,
I couldn't, no I won't do it, it just won't do.

But that's it, right?
People are forces of nature.
We are nature ourselves.
And nature sometimes hurts,
if not often. Or always.
We call them calamities.
But why can you find the word “calm” in it?
But that's just how it really is.
That's nature, literally.
But that's it, right?
We touch and we destroy.
Because people are forces of nature.
We kiss and we wave goodbye.
Because we are nature ourselves.
We're like ripcurls that hurts.
Almost always.
We are calamities.
And that's just how it is, right?
God made us to either kiss or ****.
Why do you think womb rhymes with tomb?
That's just how love is, isn't?
It could save you, yet it could shake you.
It could help you, yet it could hurt you.
It could be the most giving, generous
yet it could be unforgiving, disastrous.
It could be your calm and serenity,
and it could be your storm and calamity.

Kasabay ng iyong pagpikit
ay ang imbay ng aking katawan,
pag-alon ng mga balikat at pagkibit.
Kasabay ng iyong pagtalikod
ay akma akong aapak at papalakpak,
dahan-dahang papalapit sa entablado.
Kasabay ng iyong pagkukubli ng damdamin
ay ang pag-muwestra ng tadhana sa akin,
pag-gabay tungo sa kung ano ang tuwid.
Kasabay ng pagtago ng nadaramang totoo,
ay ang siya ring paghahanap ko ng sagot
sa wari’y hindi mo masagot na tanong.
At kasabay ng pagsasara nitong kurtina,
ay ang paghinto sa pagpatak ng luha
at ang ating maligayang paglaya.
At kasabay ng pagdidilim nitong entablado
ay ang kaliwanagan na di nahanap sa’yo
at ang aking pagsuko para sa teatro.
At kasabay ng kanilang hikbi at palakpakan
ang pinakahihintay na pag-uwi sa kawalan
at pagsalubong sa sarswela na naman.

So many more things I would have loved
to share with you.
So many more stories I would have loved
to exchange with you.
So many more words I would have loved
to learn and unlearn with you.
So many more emotions I would have loved to know if you feel the same way, too.
So many more things I would have loved
to share with you.
Your music.
Your warmth.
Your personal space.
Your laughter and their sounds, reverberating between our bodies.
Our bodies.
The night.
My tongue.
The silver moon sparkling.
Your necklace, I want to share it, too.
Your rib and my rib, kissing too.

Cuando la noche es gris y fría,
te espero como esperaría
un atardecer colorido cada día.

Cuando la montaña se vuelve traicionera,
me aferro a ti como a una piedrita
que me ayudará y salvará mi vida.

Pero cuando esta ciudad se vuelve demasiado exigente,
¿serán nuestro amor el teatro
al final de cada agotador mes?

Y cuando la vida se vuelve
demasiado implacable,
¿sería este hogar el confesionario
o la iglesia al fin de cada semana horrible?

Pero cuando la música se detenga
y todo deje de ser divertido,
¿me seguirás abrazando,
manteniéndome a salvo del frío?

Y cuando el telón cae
y el escenario se oscurece,
¿te quedarás aquí conmigo
hasta que veamos el amanecer?

We would exchange contents of our souls,
open up my hips like you would a hole,
where you'll pour your sadness into;
and cover all over my grief,
like I'd spill my anxiety,
then glaze over your anguish.
So, we'll never have ***, I think.
We would rip each other's skin like ribs,
tear through our necks,
leave them red with bites and nibs;
or maybe it’ll be a slow night and we’ll read,
and maybe you’ll tell me I am who you need.
So we’ll never have ***, I believe.
I would tell you how sometimes slow hurts,
and sometimes,
it’s the absence of fire that burns.
I would tell you how it doesn’t make sense,
and sometimes,
what makes it present is the absence itself.
So we’ll never have ***, I bet.
Maybe you could tell me about these instead;
how you don’t know when it happened.
or if you could, tell me at what moment?
Maybe tell me that I'm always in your head;
or wishing I'm giving you one instead.
And that you don’t know how it started.
But it’s starting now isn’t?
It’s brewing now at this very moment,
or even way before.
Come closer, tell me how
you’ve been waiting for this very moment.
Whisper how you want more.
Come to me, my wave, I am your shore.

Je sais que tu ne peux toujours
pas m'oublier, comme ta belle histoire.
Tu ne peux pas oublier mon nom
non plus, c'est comme chuchoter "bonsoir".
Je veux oublier comment tu prononces
mon nom, mais je n'arrive pas à me souvenir
d'admettre que tu l'as dit le mieux.
Peut-être que je le ferais enfin si seulement
tu me disais aussi s'il y a quelqu'un qui
pourrait t'embrasser mieux que moi.
Même si mes amis me coupaient
la tête parce que je pense encore
à toi dix mois plus ****,
même si le monde entier
me faisait un procès parce
que je continue à essayer
d'écrire sur toi après un an,
je me brosserais les cheveux,
remonte mes seins,
je mettrais mon trousseau,
réparer ma jupe
je me tiendrais devant une vitre et je dirais:
"Qu'ils mangent du brioche!"
mais pas après que tu aies
encore goûté à mon gâteau.
Mais pas après que tu aies
encore goûté à mon gâteau,
encore et encore...

"Love waits, lust rushes",
some idiot on Instagram preaches.
Or Idstagram, if you will.
I call him one, but it's the truth
he brews, spews and spill.
He's an idiot for he fell in love indeed.
"Find your missing rib, not another *****",
another proclaimsㅡa poet this time around.
That would be me, only if you want.
I meant the idiot poet or your missing rib.
You can call me a fool, for it's the truth
I keep, speak and ****.
A friend who lies or a lover who stays still.
I could be both, if you wish.
Choice is not mine, not this time.

How social is a "social" dance exactly?
Depending on one's culture, does it vary?
How "intimate" do you consider intimacy?
Depending on which parts of your body?
How would you define what's touchy?
Depending on where you want it, maybe?
But when do friends dance, exactly?
Is it every after midnight, when they're free?
Or when all eyes gaze, at afternoon at three?
And where do friends dance, precisely?
Is it at the supermarket, with so much glee?
Or when they're uninhibited, at some party?
So how do friends dance, really?
Would you be so kind as to teach me?
Would you be graceful enough to guide me?
Would you step first and lead me?
Would you stop last to kiss me?

Where could it be?
Where is this taking me?
My hopes are anything but high.
My ink for poetry is running dry.
Where is my one horse running off to?
Where exactly is the end of the rainbow?
I keep searching and screaming for it.
I keep yearning and yelling for this.
Still, it could be me and you.
Still, despite the shades of blue.
The last nugget of gold that I will rush to.
The last star that's burning in the metro.
This city ain't big enough for both of us,
but your room might just be.
There ain't room for both of us in this town,
but in my bed there might just be.

But do you know that all of these takes time?
That you simply can't just wake up good?
That this is one thing you can't do online?
That this is more than wearing boots?
But do you know how much time is mine?
That you might wanna share perhaps?
But do you know how long must I ride?
Before you enter the arena and do laps?
But do you know that all of these takes time?
That even the greatest cowboy can fall?
That if you think it could be anywhere,
could it possibly be on my bed or hall?
Do you know that it takes hell of a practice?
But then if it's the art of cantering,
my body is but one masterpiece,
you are a renaissance artist.
But if a horse is poetry in motion,
your legs writes classic novels
I don't wish to ever end.
And if this little tryst is all but a play,
then we better make it worthwhile
do it best more than a playwright.

The more I ride, the more he fades away
and the more he blurs when it's a rainy day.
The more I trot, the less he catches on
and the lesser he gets my prized attention.
Because the more we run on the field,
the more I breathe, live and feel.
Because the more we canter out and about,
the less I feel the worries, fears and doubts.
But you are the vast lands that I will uphold,
you are the range of mountains with golds.
You are the trail that the champions follow,
you are where families will bloom and grow.
You are my Olympus and achilles' heel,
he's just the dirt on my boots.
You are my final will and death hill,
he's just another old saloon.

Ang wikang nanlaban,
ay ang wikang nanatili.
Ang wikang di nag-atubili,
ay ang wikang nagwagi.
Ang wika ng mga matatapang,
ay ang wikang di maaagawan.
Ang wikang awitin ng araw
at ang wikang tula ng buwan.
Ang wikang harana ng habagat
at ang wikang isinulat ng dagat.
Ang wikang ibinaybay ng alon
at ang wikang di aanurin ng baybay.
Ang wikang sinambit ng mga ninuno
na kailanman ay di mamamatay.
Ang wikang ginamit ng mga bayani
na habambuhay nang mamamalagi.
Ang wikang matapang,
ang wika ko magpasawalang-hanggan.