Kung ang kapayapaa’y nasa hilaga
at ang sigalot ay nasa timog,
ngunit ikaw ay nasa silangan
at ako nama’y nasa kanluran,
pipiliin kong tumúngo sa hilaga.
Ngunit kung ang puso ko’y nasa karagatan,
at ang iyong kamay ay nasusunog naman,
kung ang aking mga liham ay maging abo
at ang aking mga tula’y itapon sa súpot,
upang mahawakan ang iyong kamay,
handa akong magliyab at masunog.

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.

They say you must suffer
before you become free
You must be a prisoner
before you can flee

But I beg to differ...
Before you came I didn't know glee.
I was held captive by land and earth
before I became as wild as the sea

And you wouldn't agree either...
Before me, you've never known grace.
You were trapped by the fear of danger
until you're blessed by the sight of my face

You could try but you won't find better...
After me, everyone else is just a phase.
I was chained by the fear of another lover
but you blessed me with hope I can't erase

Now we are swinging like olive branches,
dancing and swaying like palm trees,
I don't want to take any chances
but with you I'd take a thousand risks.

Now we are singing like lovebirds
flying across a meadow in a summer light,
I don't want to fall in love again
but for you I'd jump headfirst and deep dive.

A Manileña doesn’t mince her words.
She doesn’t sweeten up the bitter truth.
A Filipina’s words strike like a sword.
She would get down and ***** to the roots.
She could sing like an angel, easily join a heavenly choir.
But she could curse the devil, make him quiver and cry.
She could recite poems and prayers,
think of you during novena and death alike.
But she could also write your eulogy,
hold a funeral for you while you’re still alive.

My words shoot when provoked,
my poems heal when deserved.
My quill could ****,
my sword are my words.
My mouth could bring drought,
spit that could send you down to pits.

And even when I hate,
it’s out of care and love.
I know I’ll never lose a war.
And when I don’t feel the best,
I simply breathe, read, and take a rest.
And I write poetry, you can never **** or defeat me.

It’s up to youㅡwhat’s it gonna be?
You write and decide, should I heal or ****?

Adan (Original Filipino Version)

Ang sabi sa Bibliya, ang babae raw
ay kinuha o hinugot sa tadyang ng lalaki,
kaya ba’t ikalawa lang ang babae palagi?
Ngayong ako na ang nagsusulat,
maaari ko nang itanong; “gaano kalaki?”
At hanggang ngayon, babae’y ikalawa pa rin.

Ang sabi naman ng siyensiya, sabay daw
na nilulan ang dalawa nang ang lahat ay sumabog sa kalawakan, mula sa kawalan.
Hanggang ngayon, pinaniniwalaa’y di alam,
maaari ko bang ibaon sa limot ang lahat?
Sinong gumawa satin? Hiwaga o maykapal?

Ang sabi ng mga ninuno mo sa malayo,
hinipan daw tayo ng Diyos mula sa abo.
At kapag namatay na tayo,
babalik tayo sa abo kung saan tayo binuo.
Depende kung sinong tatanungin mo,
iba-iba rin ang mga isasagot sa’yo;
sinong paniniwalaan ko?

Ang sabi naman ng mga ninuno dito sa gilid,
binuo raw kami mula sa putik.
Ang iba’y nagmula sa buwan, o sa tubig.
Sa ibang panig, ibang buka naman ng bibig.
Walang may iisang sagot sa iisang tanong,
saan tayo nagmula? O paano;
pag-ibig ba’y pinaniniwalaan mo?

Ang sabi nila, sabi ni ganito, sabi ni ganyan,
ano bang alam nila? Ako na ang may-akda.
Ang sabi ko, ako ang may-akda!
At ang sabi ko, ikaw ay sa akin nakatakda!
Sino pang tatanungin?
Sa akin ka lang tumingin.
Walang nakakaalam saan tayo nagmula.
ngunit maaari bang ikaw ang hangganan?
Maaari bang isulat ang panibagong kwento
na ikaw ang huling pahina at katapusan?
Maaari bang ako na ang makabagong Eba,
at ikaw ang aking Adan?

𝑷𝒆𝒓𝒅𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒆, 𝒔𝒆ñ𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒔, 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒐,
𝒌𝒖𝒏𝒈 𝒏𝒂𝒊𝒔𝒊𝒏 𝒌𝒐 𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒍𝒖𝒎𝒂𝒃𝒂𝒔,
𝒖𝒎𝒂𝒍𝒔𝒂, 𝒍𝒖𝒎𝒂𝒚𝒂𝒔, 𝒌𝒖𝒎𝒂𝒍𝒂𝒔,
𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒊 𝒌𝒐 𝒌𝒂𝒊𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒂𝒏 𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒏𝒚𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒑𝒂𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒖𝒍𝒐𝒕.

𝑷𝒆𝒓𝒅𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒆, 𝒑𝒂𝒅𝒓𝒆, 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒐,
𝒌𝒖𝒏𝒈 𝒏𝒂𝒊𝒔𝒊𝒏 𝒌𝒐 𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒖𝒎𝒂𝒍𝒔𝒂,
𝒊𝒚𝒐𝒏 𝒂𝒚 𝒅𝒂𝒉𝒊𝒍 𝒂𝒌𝒐'𝒚 𝒏𝒂𝒑𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒂𝒏, 𝒑𝒐𝒓 𝒍𝒂 𝒇𝒖𝒆𝒓𝒛𝒂.
𝑷𝒆𝒓𝒐 𝒏𝒐 𝒏𝒆𝒄𝒆𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒖 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒐.

𝑷𝒆𝒓𝒅𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒆, 𝒎𝒊 𝒑𝒖𝒆𝒃𝒍𝒐, 𝒑𝒐𝒓 𝒎𝒊𝒔 𝒗𝒊𝒆𝒋𝒐𝒔 𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒔
𝒚 𝒍𝒐𝒔 𝒏𝒖𝒆𝒗𝒐𝒔 𝒒𝒖𝒆 𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒚 𝒂 𝒑𝒖𝒏𝒕𝒐 𝒅𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒕𝒆𝒓.
𝑷𝒂𝒕𝒂𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒏 𝒏𝒂𝒘𝒂 𝒂𝒌𝒐 𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒃𝒂𝒚𝒂𝒏
𝒔𝒂 𝒂𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒎𝒈𝒂 𝒔𝒂𝒍𝒂 𝒂𝒕 𝒔𝒂 𝒈𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒘𝒊𝒏 𝒑𝒂 𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒈.
𝑮𝒊𝒏𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒘𝒂 𝒌𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒍𝒂𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒊𝒕𝒐 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒂 𝒓𝒊𝒏 𝒔𝒂 𝒊𝒏𝒚𝒐.

𝑷𝒆𝒓𝒅𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒆, 𝒑𝒂𝒅𝒓𝒆, 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒐,
𝒌𝒖𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒃𝒊𝒈𝒊𝒏 𝒌𝒐 𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒍𝒖𝒎𝒂𝒚𝒂𝒔,
𝒊𝒚𝒐𝒏 𝒂𝒚 𝒅𝒂𝒉𝒊𝒍 𝒌𝒂𝒚𝒐 𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒎𝒂𝒚 𝒌𝒂𝒔𝒂𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒂𝒏.
𝑷𝒆𝒓𝒐 𝒍𝒐 𝒎á𝒔 𝒊𝒎𝒑𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒆,
𝒆𝒔 𝒒𝒖𝒆 𝒏𝒐 𝒏𝒆𝒄𝒆𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒖 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒐.

𝑷𝒆𝒓𝒅𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒆, 𝒑𝒐𝒓 𝒎𝒊𝒔 𝒗𝒊𝒆𝒋𝒐𝒔 𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒂𝒅𝒐𝒔 𝒔𝒖𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒇𝒊𝒄𝒊𝒂𝒍𝒆𝒔
𝒚 𝒍𝒐𝒔 𝒏𝒖𝒆𝒗𝒐𝒔 𝒎á𝒔 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒇𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒐𝒔 𝒒𝒖𝒆 𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒚 𝒂 𝒑𝒖𝒏𝒕𝒐 𝒅𝒆 𝒉𝒂𝒄𝒆𝒓.
𝑷𝒂𝒕𝒂𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒏 𝒏𝒂𝒘𝒂 𝒂𝒌𝒐 𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒅𝒊𝒚𝒐𝒔 𝒂𝒎𝒂
𝒔𝒂 𝒂𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒎𝒈𝒂 𝒔𝒂𝒍𝒂 𝒂𝒕 𝒔𝒂 𝒈𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒘𝒊𝒏 𝒑𝒂 𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒈.
𝑮𝒊𝒏𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒘𝒂 𝒌𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒍𝒂𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒊𝒕𝒐 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒂 𝒔𝒂'𝒚𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒏𝒈𝒂𝒍𝒂𝒏.

𝑷𝒆𝒓𝒅𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒆, 𝒎𝒊 𝒂𝒎𝒂𝒅𝒂 𝒊𝒈𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒊𝒂,
𝒌𝒖𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒌𝒐 𝒎𝒖𝒏𝒂 𝒂𝒚 𝒌𝒂𝒌𝒂𝒍𝒂𝒔,
𝒊𝒚𝒐𝒏 𝒂𝒚 𝒅𝒂𝒉𝒊𝒍 𝒂𝒌𝒐'𝒚 𝒏𝒂𝒑𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒂𝒏, ¡𝒇𝒖𝒊 𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒛𝒂𝒅𝒂!
𝑷𝒆𝒓𝒐 𝒏𝒐 𝒏𝒆𝒄𝒆𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒖 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒐.
𝒀𝒂 𝒏𝒐 𝒏𝒆𝒄𝒆𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒖 𝒃𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒄𝒊ó𝒏.

𝑷𝒆𝒓𝒅𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒆, 𝒑𝒂𝒕𝒂𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒏, 𝒑𝒂𝒈𝒃𝒊𝒈𝒚𝒂𝒏 𝒏𝒊𝒚𝒐 𝒂𝒌𝒐...
𝑷𝒂𝒈𝒌𝒂𝒕 𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒊 𝒌𝒐 𝒏𝒂 𝒌𝒂𝒊𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒂𝒏 𝒑𝒂 𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒏𝒚𝒐𝒏𝒈
𝑷𝒂𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒖𝒍𝒐𝒕, 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒐, 𝒑𝒂𝒈𝒑𝒂𝒚𝒂𝒈...
𝑴𝒊𝒔𝒌𝒊 𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒏𝒚𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒃𝒂𝒔𝒃𝒂𝒔 𝒐 𝒃𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒄𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒔...
𝑲𝒂𝒊𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒂𝒏 𝒌𝒐 𝒏𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒍𝒖𝒎𝒂𝒃𝒂𝒔 𝒖𝒎𝒂𝒍𝒔𝒂,
𝒍𝒖𝒎𝒂𝒚𝒂𝒔, 𝒌𝒖𝒎𝒂𝒍𝒂𝒔...
𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒂 𝒔𝒂 𝒃𝒂𝒚𝒂𝒏, 𝒔𝒂 𝒃𝒂𝒓𝒚𝒐, 𝒔𝒂 𝒃𝒂𝒈𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒃𝒖𝒌𝒂𝒔.
𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒂 𝒔𝒂 𝒌𝒂𝒃𝒂𝒕𝒂𝒂𝒏, 𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒂𝒃𝒖𝒌𝒂𝒔𝒂𝒏,
𝒄𝒂𝒈𝒊𝒏𝒉𝒂𝒘𝒂𝒂𝒏, 𝒄𝒂𝒑𝒂𝒚𝒂𝒑𝒂𝒂𝒏...

Que caliente está el sol ahora más que nunca,
ven a sentirlo en tu piel, siente también el mar...
Quizás puedas encontrarme en otra isla.
Ven...
Que más fresco está el mar ahora desde el año pasado,
sigo olvidando el color de tus ojos, y qué dolor...
Encontrarás el verano entre mis labios.
Verme...
Cómo las calles cantan tu nombre,
cómo te llaman, queriendo encontrar significado entre...
Quizás puedas decirme su significado y origen.
Venir...
Cómo estos caminos escriben poemas en tu gloria,
pero el poste de luz pregunta: "Cuántos mañanas más?"
Verás el sol dorado en mi cara.
Ven a verme...
Y cómo mi piel se calienta aún más mientras te espero,
las palabras se escapan, mi pluma se me resbala de la mano.
Ven pa' ca...
Y cómo se me eriza el pelo, también esperando tu tacto.
Por fin mi cuerpo está en armonía, pero mi corazón está perdido.
Vente para ca...
Pero si finalmente decides romperme la piel, el cuerpo y el corazón,
aún así te sonreiré y te diré: "buena suerte, cariño."

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.

When I am out and about with my friends,
I am the best lover.
When I am alone and sitting in the dark,
I try to be a stardust.
Whenever I feel happy and content,
I am a little girl.
Whenever I feel down and worried,
I am an old woman.
Whenever I want something,
I am a *****.
Whenever something’s after me,
I am a witch.
Whenever I am free and light,
I am actually sad inside.
Whenever I look frail and in fright,
I actually need someone by my side.
When I am walking at night in the city,
I am guarded.
When I am in the confines of my room,
I am discarded.
When I am sitting in a cafe,
I am the sugar that I didn’t ask for.
When I am stirring my chocolate at home,
I am the salt I mistakenly sprinkled over.
Because I have always been alone,
I am a cold mountain.
But when I felt your touch,
I am but a flower.
Because all I heard are my own cries,
I am a sharp, hot rock.
But when I heard the sound of your voice,
I am but tiny petals under the sun.

I want the cliche romance.
I want all the cheesy stuff.
Yeah I want some flowers.
And yeah I want to call you.
I want to write you more letters.
I want to play tag and be the 'it'.
I want my poems to wage and weather.
I want heart-shaped ****.
I want to ask you to come over.
I want to talk more and more.
I want to catch up.
I want to know you again.
I want to cook us dinner.
I want us to leave laughters at every corner.
I want us to move furniture.
I want us to levitate to somewhere higher.
Ah, I want us.
I want to break the fixtures.
I want you to show me how good it can get.
I want you to teach me all the ways to get a woman wet.
I want your heavy breaths.
I want you covered in sweat.
I want to get back at the noises of my neighbors.
I want them to hear my moans and screams of pleasure.
I want them more annoyed than ever, even angered.
I want them to report me to the property manager.
Oh God, how I want you.
I want us to touch the sky, taste heaven together.
I want to kneel, in prayer.
I want to pray better.
I want to play my cards like I have never.
I want to play house forever.

It's April now and my skin is still as white
as the paper in which I whisper and write.
It hurts.
I want to see your face again.
It's summer now and my heart is still as cold
as if I'm another slave successfully sold.
It stings.
I want to hear your laugh again.
It's April now and my body is still as stiff
as a branch of a tree below a mountain cliff.
It burns.
I want to be with you again.
It's summer now yet it's winter in my soul
as if I know how winter feels, I'm a fool.
But it's cool.
I just want to see your face again.

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.

Lemme start with the letter L for
Ley/Lex

A for Actus reus;
Alibi, Alter ego,
AND my favorite; Ad nauseam

Nemo debet esse judex in propria causa or
Nemo judex in causa sua or
Nemo judex in sua causa

Contra,
consensus,
𝗖𝗿𝗶𝗺𝗲𝗻 𝗼𝗺𝗻𝗶𝗮 𝗲𝘅 𝘀𝗲 𝗻𝗮𝘁𝗮 𝘃𝗶𝘁𝗶𝗮𝘁.

E for Ex post facto.
Estoppel!
Ex gratia...

Quid pro quo, thanks for the comedy gold.
Amicus curiae, you have no friend to spare.
Res ipsa loquitur, go run and hide
like the ***** that you are...

***** de jure...

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.

And you can't drown a woman who was raised by the ocean
and nourished by the islands.
You can't sink a ship and bring it to its knees.
But you can't soak a girl who grew up in floods of garbage
and emerged from bountiful farms.
You can't splash the rain and wet the storms.
You can't bring down a woman from mud,
with hands smeared by dirt from every dead God.
You can't bury an angel you tried to give hell,
with a body from heaven sent as your help.
You can't freeze a ***** whose heart is ice,
you should be ashamed of your foolish lies.
You can't burn a queen that's made of fire,
but you'll regret trying for the rest of your life.

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?

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.

Una pequeña uva le preguntó una vez a Dios:
¿Puedo ir al mar, por favor? ¡Quiero sentir su brisa!

A lo que Dios respondió:
pero arderás y morirás, tu piel se oscurecerá y se arrugará.

La uva lo desafió:
¡Entonces tu percepción de la muerte es superficial!

Dios respondió:
¿Quieres morir solo para probar el mar?
Una fruta como tú no es tropical.

La uva dijo:
¡Sangraría por el sol, moriría por el verano!

La uva cantó:
¡Mátame, sería más dulce!
¡Sécame, sería un bocadillo!

La uva maldijo:
¡Entonces, envíame lejos, seré más rico!
¡Quémame y apriétame!

La uva escribió:
¡Empújame, seré la mejor bebida del mundo!
¡Písame y mátame!

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...

I already know the answer.
So what if I have been thinking about you still? What about it?
What if I have been imagining how good your kiss must feel? What of it?
So what if I have been dreaming about what could have been? What is it to you?
What if you were here right now because you want to tell me something? What is it?
I know the answer.
I know it as I would know my own letters.

So what if I have been thinking about your touch, but this time, in places nobody knows where? Oh well, now neither do you.
So what?
So what if I have been imagining doing things with you, sort of things that you can now only imagine and think about too?
Now what?
So what if I am still here, writing poems?
So what if I am hiding, like Texas hold ‘em?
But I understand.
Like I do the lines on the back of my hand.

And so what if I have been daydreaming of sitting on a field on a sunny day with you?
So what if I’m imagining you taking my sundress off, like tearing petals down?
What about it?
So what if I imagine us having cute picnics and then making a mess of the picnic mat every single time, like it’s a routine?
So what?
So what if I think about these kind of things when you clearly don’t want them or don’t want anything at all, what pain it brings!
So what is it to you?!
Well, no problem, I heard.
Loud and clear as the chirps of the birds.

Si la paz está en el norte
y la guerra en el sur,
pero tú estás en el este
y yo en el oeste,
elegiría ir al norte.
Pero si mi corazón está en el mar
y tu mano está ardiendo,
si mis papeles y cartas son cenizas
y mi poesía está desechada en un saco,
yo quemaría por tocar y tomar tu mano.

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 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.

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.

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.

Isipin mo
Sasagot ba ako ng “oo”?
“Anong ibig sabihin n’un?”
‘Wag na lang kung ganun.
Kung iisipin mo
“tungkol ba kanino ang mga tulang ito?”,
mag-iisip ka hanggang sa araw ng libing ko.
Kaya’t wag mo nang isipin pa
dahil hindi sasambitin kahit ako’y ibitay,
kahit sunugin pa nila itong mga tula,
silaban man nila pati ang dagat!
Kaya’t wag nang kaliskisan pa
dahil hindi isisiwalat at isasatinig
dahil hindi magkakasya sa mga patinig
lahat ng damdaming nilalaman ng dibdib!

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?

Coffee for fuel, wine for relaxation.
Beer for party, water for hydration.
Green tea? I fancy.
*****? One for a kiss.
My words shoot when provoked,
my poems heal when deserved.
My quill could ****,
my sword are my words.
My mouth could bring drought,
spit that could send you down to pits.
Liquid is for assets, solid for *******.
Gas is for air, gas is also for fuel.
Come back here, why fear a little duel?

When the hues of red turns purple,
that’s when you drink the wine.
When music is anything but loud,
that’s when you know it’s time.
Like prickly thorns must kiss
the tender petals goodbye.
Like little spiders must bid
their web of safety farewell.
Red to blue to yellow then white,
that’s when you wave and smile.
Loud to mellow to static then blank,
that’s your cue to go and never look back.

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 never one to feel the right things,
to feel what I should be feeling
or what they say I should feel.
I'm never one to say the proper words,
to say what I should to cut the cords
or what they say I should pray to the Lord.
But why do I feel like I'm not welcome here?
Why do I feel like a stranger since I'm near?
I'm not one to do what a lady should do,
to do things for what and act to please who
or go wherever they want her to go to.
I'm never one to mindlessly nod and obey,
to follow the mild current and go against bay
or have a routine like I do from night to day.
But why do I feel like doing what they say?
Why do I feel like I need to go anyway?

We observe. We listen. We watch.
If we, too, will be observed back.
We crucify. We criticize. We ostracize.
Before we, too, will be crucified.
And we read each other
as if our faces are some pages.
And we judge each other
as if our phases are just cases.
But people are not books.
We cannot read each other,
our stories changes and hooks
with every passing hinge and look.
I’d rather we write of each other
as if we are all authors of no horrors.
I’d rather we pen one another,
as if everyone is their own poet and writers.
Because people are poems.
Because we are poetry in flesh.
Because people are problems.
And people are also the solutions.

You don't need to travel all over the world
to know that there are many Gods.
Plenty of teachings, multitude of words,
from west to east to your nest and back.
Hundreds of chants and hours of prayers,
written in ink of blood or black.

And I don't need to travel all over the world
to know that you were made by the same God
who created the vast oceans,
who sculpted the mountains,
who made the lightning,
who moulded the earth.

And I don't need to practice every religion,
learn the ways of all man,
to know that you are already my answered prayer,
to know that you are the one that I want,
to know that you are the man I would kneel before,
and pray as if your kiss is my final salvation.

And you don't need to pray anymore from now on,
learn the ways of no other unworthy man,
for you to know that my name is the only prayer,
to know the truth that I am the one you want,
to know that it's me you would sail the deadly seas, fight crusades for,
and call my name like a prayer, as if my touch is your new religion.

My dearest love,
my tree is ever abundant...

But I will never let you fall.
Rewriting an age-old story,
in fact, I’ll take the fall... I’d even crawl.
And by me, you’ll never be betrayed.
Carving a new rib from my body,
our story won't be one of gray and strays.

I’ll take the fall.
You’ll never be blue.
God can rue me and curse me!

But I will never fail you.
Come closer, take a bite,
you’ll see heaven is true.
And no, you will 𝘯𝘰𝘵 certainly die.
For God may be absolute, yet he lies;
my love for you will always be kind.

For all eternity I will crawl.
You’ll never be hungry with all my fruits.
History, make a villain and fool out of me!

My dearest love,
my tree is ever abundant.
“𝘓𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥”,
then call me God of the blind.

¿Nadie te lo dijo? Eres bien famoso por aquí.
He derramado tu nombre en las calles y playas,
como vomitar después de una buena fiesta.
He manchado mi ropa y mi cuerpo con mentiras,
y le he contado a desconocidos una historia de amor ficticia.

¿Pero no te lo contaron?
He susurrado a las conchas sobre el sonido de tu voz,
para recordarlo cada vez que me ahogue en el mar.
He cantado en las iglesias sobre el color de tus ojos,
para que te recordaran y te besaran en mi lugar.

¿Pero tú lo recordarías?
Que reescribiría todos los poemas, escrituras y libros,
como limpiar hojas en primavera después del otoño.
Que le escribiría incluso al sol, reiniciaría el verano,
para que su calor te encontrara en cualquier parte del mundo.

¿Pero te das cuenta? Eres una leyenda por aquí.
He elevado tu nombre entre las estrellas y los dioses,
cómo he soñado y escrito sobre ti cada noche.
Has superado a todos los emperadores y reyes,
cómo un mito, cómo construí nuevas islitas con tu nombre.

¿Y finalmente lo entiendes?
Eres el tema de mis poemas, mis verdades, mi leyenda,
aunque no estés aquí ni a mi lado.
Que eres el recipiente de mis prosas, mis penas y playas,
que nunca será borrado por ningún tratado.

Si muero, traducirías mis poemas?
¿Le contarías a tu parte del mundo sobre mi pueblo?
Si muero, interpretarías mis cartas?
¿Te contarías a ti mismo cómo eres mi universo?
Si debo morir, serás mis nuevos ojos?
¿Lo verías hasta el final, sintiéndote vivo?
Si debo morir, serás mi voz y mis manos?
¿Seguirías hablándole a todo, guiándome a la nada?
Si muero, por favor traducirías mis poemas, mi amor.
Por favor, cuéntale al mundo la historia de un reino sin corona.
Por favor, cuéntales sobre un amor que supera la lógica y la distancia.

//

If I die, would you translate my poems?
Would you tell your part of the world about my town?
If I pass, would you interpret my letters?
Would you tell yourself about how you are my universe?
If I must die, would you be my new eyes?
Would you see it through the end, do it while feeling alive?
If I must pass, would you be my voice and hands?
Would you still speak to everything, lead me to nothingness?
If I die, please translate my poems, my love.
Please tell the world the tale of a kingdom without a crown.
Please tell them of a love that surpasses logic and distance.

The cobblestones would turn to cashmere carpets
All of the Bibles would be mere pamphlets
The buildings would all bow down
All faces won't show no frown
Just to warmly welcome the city's legend
Weather would once again break and bend
The street names would translate themselves
All of my books, jumping from the shelves
The beaches would blow wave after wave
All tides would be mighty and brave
Just to accommodate my country's new king
The sun would smile, the moon would sing
The sidewalks would sway to his steps without other choice
All of the valleys would dance to the rhythm of his voice
The scriptures would tear themselves apart
All of the museums would grow a heart
Just so he could call my motherland his very own
Just so he could feel like a king who's coming home.

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.

I have crossed seas,
treaded rocks and island.
To find the truth I seek,
and that in your eyes I found.
The truth they so speak,
is it the effect or the cause?
The truth they so praise,
all in faith and love and your loss.
The truth you deny to preach,
are you afraid I will be lost?
The truth you refuse to grace,
turned to hate and war and my triumph.
I have stepped on all of sands,
tripped on all kinds of rocks.
As petrified as wood are my hands,
you'll never touch nor wrap on your ****.
As fortified as the cold mountain is my heart,
you never broke it, not even set it ablaze.
While you trip on your bed like it's hard,
you'll never find me there because it's late.

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.

Is it because it’s summer?
I can’t tell with the way I shiver.
How are you back home?
I can’t imagine how it’s like in your room.
“How many more tomorrow’s?”
I sing a happy song with much sorrow.
“If so, when?”
I sigh as if it’s the world’s end.
Is it because it’s summer?
I can’t tell if you are much colder.
Or is my heart just locked in a freezer?
Can you tell? Tell that I’m a good kisser?
Just another one of my jokes,
I might drink until I’m broke.
Like just another friend you met,
I might crash and break my good leg.
Is it because it’s summer?
You’re cold as ice, is this how you care?

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.

Long story short,
I walked alone within the walls of fort.
He’s not mine, so I'm not his valentine.
My heart may be his, but his lips I won't kiss.
I might be in love, but I'll still hit the club.
Long story yet also short,
as I’ve already cut the cord.
Roses are red, violets are blue,
no need to guess and find any clue.
I cried alone within our favorite church.
He’s not my valentine, he ran out of time.
My letters have him, my lights are now dim.
I have another’s flowers, I'll remain a lover.
Long story short, unlike those letters,
without each other we'll be much better.
Roses are red, violets are blue,
image of my smeared lipstick, it’s not by you.

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.

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 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.

Sa gitna ng mga pangungusap at patinig,
sumisirit pa rin ang kislap, sumisitsit pa rin ang iyong tinig.
Sa harap ng mga katinig at mga salitang hiram,
mawala man ang tuldik, at impit, ika'y tutulo pa rin, tila ulan.
At sa likod nitong mga tula at awit ay ang tunay na ibig sabihin,
sana'y maunawaan mo pa rin ang sambit ng aking labi.
At sa ibabaw nitong mga salita, may hindi pa rin maisawika,
nawa'y maintindihan mo pa rin na ikaw ang sinisinta.
Ibabalik ko lahat sa'yo itong mga hiram na salita,
salin mula sa iyong lengguwahe, isasauli ng aking banyagang dila.
Pahintulutan **** ialay sa iyong may dagdag-bawas,
tila makabagong relihiyon, ngunit pangakong hindi ako mag-aaklas.

¿Fue culpa tuya o fue culpa mía?
¿Soy el que lo encendió?
Creo que simplemente me rendiré
y me incriminaré.
¿Pero fuiste tú quien lo empezó?
Creo que simplemente cantaré
y me encerraré.
Ahora no importa quién empezó qué,
lo que importa es quién lo termina y cuándo.
Pero ahora no importa cómo termine,
ya estoy quemado por el puta cortocircuito.
Pero, sabes que? Seguro que lo sabes.
Que por ti volvería a electrocutarme.
Por ti lo haría todo una y otra vez.
Así que acércate más, más cerca que nunca,
ven, y tócame, devórame.
¿Será mi culpa o tu culpa?

When the western air blows,
I still feel you close...
As lovely as spring,
how bright are the colors you bring!

With the eastern breeze winds,
I always feel you near...
As warm as summer,
how fast you bury the cold of winter!

𝘈𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘶𝘯'𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘤𝘢 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘦
è 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘷𝘦𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘭 𝘴𝘰𝘭𝘦
𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘰 𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘦.

𝘈𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘪 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘢
è 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘳𝘦 𝘭𝘢 𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘻𝘻𝘢
𝘥𝘦𝘭 𝘤𝘪𝘦𝘭𝘰 𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘢 𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘳𝘢.

Sa paanong paraan, saang wika?
Alam mo ba na ang pangalan mo na
ang bagong panata at adhika?
Sa paanong pagsaysay kaya?
Wari mo ba na ako lang ang
makapagbibigay sa'yo ng saya?
Sa anong sukat ng pangungusap?
Alam mo ba na ikaw ang aking araw
sa likod ng madidilim na ulap?
Sa anong haba kaya ng talinhaga?
Batid mo bang ako lang ang
makapagbibilang ng iyong halaga?
Paano kita maikukubli sa tula?
Paano kung panay lang ang hula?
Ako lamang dapat ang tanging
makapagsusulat ng iyong alamat.
Ako lamang dapat ang hanging
dadampi at hahalik sa iyong balat.