When the old man
Married the fair lady,
He sold and lost
His sense of touch.

Fifty golden calves --
For his sense’s valves.

Stardust from the skies
Were golden showers
On their banquet's eve,
Blinding old man's hands
& losing the lady's eyes.

I drank a glass of water.
I thirst.

I drank a glass of water.
I thirst—
A woman’s tear in my throat.

I thirst.
A river is inside me.
I am river.

I am river – meeting two seas
Beside me.

Can immortality be found in a cup?
I long to  partake with you.
In your immortality--

You leave as I leave your cup.
             Leave me inside the cup
             Mouth your prayers
             Cover the lid, a boulder, cavernous sun.

Distance measures itself,
As the circle is to your cup,
While I stare, beseeching

At the wind turning you  into dust
Her ritual is done. It is done.
His body-- the body of her son.
The wind lifts her hands to offer you.

                       The sun bares his teeth.

Sipping in your cup, then came an epiphany--
I am who am.
I: the carnivorous sun.

are memories
of fading hurried love notes
old photographs, slow songs

and three full stops...

i'm sorry i played with words
not knowing those words were you

i'm sorry i played with question mark
not knowing it was us

i'm sorry i played with period
not knowing it will end us

i'm sorry  for the all the poems i sent
not knowing you don't read them

i'm sorry, i'm just a comma
not knowing i too need a rest

i'm sorry if i need to find me, I, an ellipsis.

There are days when I see the sun peeking at me.
There are nights when I hear his footfalls.
There are months when eagles follow the oxen following the lions into my den following the missing One.
There are years when I just follow them following the sunny days catching the wintry nights inside the sun.
There are blank pages where my eyes have written blank answers to the questioning of footfalls.

Follow me, He said, and I followed the sun.

~~A poem for a friend trapped inside a box~~

I’m a bird, said the woman.
And so I grew my feathers,
Then Wings, then blue eyes,
Then flew so high and kissed the sky.

I’m a fish, said the woman.
And so I grew scales,
Then gills, then long blue tail.
Then swam so deep and caressed the sea.

I’m a rainbow, said the woman.
And so I leapt and reached the clouds
Then gathered colors for my clothes
From feathers, from wings, from eyes,
From skies
From gills, from tails
From oceans

Then came the man
I’m a man, said the man
A man like me
Move like a man
Like me

I’m a seed, I said
And I shrank instantly
Withered, dried
Returning to my box
Boxed the box inside a sack
Then tied the knot
Then tied to a ceiling

I’m a hope, said the seed
Waiting for the woman
To open the box inside the sack
Inside the knot inside the ceiling

Bury me, said the seed,
In silver dust, inside your palm
And in your heart I will grow.

I'm a moon.

I do not ask why
babies grow old
blooming of flowers
butterflies, metamorphosis
precipitation of rain
drying of clothes
earth's rotation
revolution around the sun

Time teaches wisdom.
Wisdom is time.
Time and Wisdom will answer
And I will not ask why.

Irony.
Rain brings certain warmth to me.
Warmth, rain.
Sitting by the window,
looking at droplets descending
from the skies,
I count their tapping, one...
their rhythm, two...
their breaths, cool, three...
seeping my blanket, four...
then my skin.

How the wind aids their journey, waving its hands
how the wind bids me to join,
there, my dear, come here,
we'll go south,
then north.

Mother,
absorbed on what she reads,
oblivious to what was happening around her.

I wrap myself in a cocoon of warmth
dressed in rain, drenched in irony.

(Enchanted things,
visible only to me.)

I didn't know you have asked mother
when will my return be
I just heard it whispered by the cold wind
this morning when
I opened the door
I see the plants were wilting
I could have come if you've told me earlier
I could have let myself slip from the typing of these keys
for I know you'll be there in your favorite spot, sitting on that flat of an upturned stone, not moving, not waving,
just seeing me get on the bus
I will visit you stealthily like you did when you hand me that 5-peso coin and telling me not to show it to my siblings, my cousins, with that
smiling smile, hiding your eyes, hiding me from their eyes.
I can tell that I'm not your favorite. You don't play favorites, you said
I believed you.

I will visit you I promised the cold wind
But it told me that you already hid yourself
Sleeping below that flat of an upturned stone
I opened the door the cold wind was still there
I watered the plants they were wilting still
I, moving, waving but you already got on the bus
I saw the 5-peso coin in my palm earlier, now it was gone
I told my siblings, my cousins, about it, but they didn't believe me
Just a figment of the mind, they said, they smiled the smiling smile
I hid in your eyes while you in mine
I wanted to tell the cold wind:
The game had ended years ago
But you're still hiding, sleeping below
The upturned stone.

Every morning
I face you
"Come inside"
No rain
No flower scent
No sun
No laughter

Just emptiness
Dry
Mechanical
Grey
Thinkingthinkingthinkingthinking

"­Goodbye"
I'd say
In the afternoon

A czarina sits a-throne
Atop my desk.

Silent yet her scent
Screams sweetly.

Bursting sun, her skin
Little bruises and spots,

Perfectly imperfect.

Sap, dried, kisses skin,
Smooth, smoothie.

Water and ice, await you
While I,  await none.

The Man offers his son
instead of lamb
for Him.

The Woman offers to man
serpent's laughter
for all.

The Child offers the man
marries the woman
for himself.

The Man offers his daughters
instead of salt
for them.

The Woman offers her child
adds two men
for all.

The Child offers his brother
not salt, not lamb
for himself.

Peace be with you,
Peace be with you.

From the tree you curse
Came your cross

While I looked for your
burning bush, forbidden

Tree was found.

I am morning
A cellphone tucked inside my pocket
Who watches the watch kissing my wrist
While putting my glasses on
I am morning
A cellphone a watch my glasses.

I am a watch
A short hand pointing on 3
Reclining my back on the long hand touching 12
Waiting for my cell phone’s ring, my mother
Watches me putting my glasses on
I am a watch my glasses a cellphone.

I am my glasses
Watching myself on the black glass, the mirror
My cellphone’s off
Ring. Ring. Ring.
But glasses don’t ring
They just watch, watching the watcher,
My mother’s ring are my glasses, while

I am morning.

Sitting by my window
I see the grasses grow
The sun in hiding tells
It's my silence that feeds

Them.

Dirham comes from Greek coin, drachma
While the Abu Dhabi man hailed from Valderrama

I looked at the paper money you gave me
Its color, a mixture of green and earth

Reminding me of El Nido’s green waters
And the earth our bare feet walked

See the eagle, the mini- Burj Al Arab!
Eagle's the keeper, the other: glass of memories

Perhaps, ten dirhams were ten little Indians
Made of us -- six, three beds and a moon, gone.

Last night
I dreamt a dream that should not be dreamt
It was desire having a face
Saw two faces
One unfamiliar
One I knew


This morning
I saw my request to be a friend was accepted
Saw two common friends
One unfamiliar
One was you

Later
I read a poem
For a Japanese woodblock print
Of a woman and the two octopi
It was a dream of the fisherman’s wife.

Bamboos
Bend lithely
To strong winds

Sparrow's eyes
Speak of admiration

You may fall
But this, I tell you:

Broken reeds
Play great music

Hark Pan's story
Of his syrinx,
Beloved.

The Old Man asks,"When will He return?"
"Soon," replies the Woman.

The Child awaits the Woman's return.

an imago:

the butterfly
sips silky nectar,
looks for gold.

the pupa
hangs, holy chrysalis
hides the doll.

the caterpillar
nips springtime's bud,
shears hairy cat.

How does a fire keep its memories?

When did he start to keep them?

Sitting by the fireside,

I talked to him.

To ashes inside the urn.

A nocturne sung by the humid air.
Eddies of kitten’s wailing
From the corner’s orange lamplight,
Waiting for the ochre skin
Hawked by black cat’s sinful eyes,
Its ragged tongue dampens the barter’s rites.
Of silhouettes dancing
To the fading innocence at sight.
To a cadence of their own,
Roaches creep to deep cracks of the night.

Paris hurries to his proverbial apple
In my mind
While my own feet turn weary,
Giddy crossing the blue Rubicon --
"The die is cast," says Caesar
"The 'dye' was cast, says I.
A bettor I am, indelibly stained blue.

Sauntering along A. Avenue,
Two groups of people I see:
Clowns, frolicking with their masks
And dead souls float unfree,--

Soaking in my mirror’s depth,
In Charon’s boat, I sat
Seeking answers, these coins to spare --
To which group will I be at?

For the lady who sees it all, Mahkhon

Scribes gather –
Words tucked between
Laughter and Memories, hidden
For them to find and tell.

A river fairy she is,
Papyrus reeds, her wings.
A naiad, watching bubbles,
Reading hearts, --
Precious bubbles, a keeper
In four years.

Seven Years past,
The fairy is a Woman, Who
Bears keen eyes with ken.

Imagine her delight,
For each bubble pricked,
Truth, love, stories unwrapped.

A seer uncurls the scrolls,
An oracle whispered to gentle Wind:
A dandelion she is
Made for the skies,
Lift her up ---
But kindly change her not.

For*  Marianne, a  woman  with  an  unusual  heart

I know her, perhaps by a pinch of night air,
Because we share the same music, same voice that night in Guadalupe,
After a day of toils for hearts climbing upon ladders, unending stairs.

I know her, perhaps half of those golden strings,
Because we share the same air of jollity that day in Enchanted kingdom,
Gasping for air, breathing faintly, yet enthralled by the twists and turns of magic.

The heart most tried is the strongest, like the gold tested in fire,
I know her.

I know her, perhaps the fullness of the orange moon,
Because we share the same water under the canopy of azure skies, that brief reprieve the El  Nido offers,
Sharing the same tongue of honesty we speak that night, I respect her.

I know her, perhaps more than she knows herself,
But that’s an unforgivable lie, indescribable it is to fathom a woman with an unusual heart,
Because hers, speaks of metaphors.

should a sparrow sing
its apology every time
its neighbor retrieves
a bone of horror
interred on
its nest?

Crepuscular creatures bow their heads to dusk,
Licking the blood of their wounds, the sun stanches
The thousand faces of the moon, waiting,
For our cries, trapped by the mountains in our west.
Hands have eyes gazing the desert of a sea,
Hands have their own odes, so don’t teach them.
Waves cradling their souls. Undulating darkness
stare at them face-to-face, black and cold.
In their town, fishes feed on lights,
While their people feed on winds, the amihan.
Fishes paraded, muted by embers of the coals.
Women, children, singing, waiting for men
to unload their boxes, those bañeras of golden fish scales,
Pull each fish, peel their scales gently, there
There, they  hide.

Hide us in that box,
That rectangle of a box,
Our little box of threads and needles.
Stitch us on the seams,
Sink us under your sole,
Hide us in that barrels,
Distill our spirits,
Wash us pure. Age us,
Better yet,
Open our souls after the  war.

War is not a game
among chessmen
pawned into death
but to the hands
that move  them.

Hide us in that box,
That rectangle of a box,
Our little box of threads and needles.
Stitch us on the seams, our dreams.
Sink us under your sole, our voices.
Hide us in that barrels, our troubles.
Distill our spirits, wash us pure.
Age us,
Open our souls after the war.

Purple hibiscus,
gathered from depth of the woods.

Serpents, in the wild,
captured for haute couture.

Coffee beans,
defecated by civets.

Foie gras, caviar, champagne flutes,
Evian, sipping her piña colada,
getting her tan.

Serpent’s skin,
rubbing elbows,
with the alta sociedad,
plucking her eyebrows,
rouging her lips.

" And  lead  us  not  into  temptation,
but  deliver  us  from  evil. "

a child tells

i see a ball
invisible threads, it was made of
light as gossamer connecting us
playmates of different worlds
unknown, unseen

i see three birds
trying the shoe
who owns it, asked the wolf
two were shot, one flew
songs and tears tied to its feet

i see a veil
by its slitting
laugh, commanded the king clothed in gold but none
huddled masses wept
prayers sealed their lips

i see a red cloak
deep red, fell on the ground
slowly, turning into ants, disrupted
displaced, dispersing
not so far away, a mound was forming

i see an old tree
gnarled, with long braid of hair
of ashen faces and fainting voices
in garbled words, this land we own
before its dying breath, whispering

tell, my child

Explain it to me:
You  love  me,
Yet  you  chose  Him.

For  loving  you  is  an  Original  Sin.

How old I was I can’t remember well.
But too old for a vivid remembrance, of pain
for me, and death for you.

Whiteness of fur spoke of purity,
blood painted whiteness, Red--
rusted beatings you bore,

Whimpering, wriggling your body
tied on that rope, hanging on that “santol” tree,
bearing witness, wounding your skin,

In agony, you were wrestling
with metals, they folded, they bowed,
clasped to your neck, the rust.

Hide! said my Mama.
Don’t look, she added.
Hide I did and look I did.

In-between those bamboo slats, I saw:
the whiteness of your body;
blood painted the whiteness, red, like the rust.

Sweating.
On that bamboo stick I held, I gripped my hands
also brown, like the lining on your neck.

Tears unshed, sealing my lips.
Like boiling water, trapped on that ***, that these brutes had prepared
scalding your skin,

Dogs fed on dog, these brutes were
singing in worship of “Tanduay”, a bottle,  their god.
Drumbeats wanting, but laugh,  and laugh they did.

Like a good master they called you, Azucena, an innocent girl.
Voice lilting, luring you to your death,
Azucena... not the provincial bus, that will transport you to your grave,

Azucena... not the white “liliums” that abound the heaven, or your grave.
But a name, a noun, to feed their protruding stomachs, stinking,
to wash their rotten soul, perhaps.

Azucena,
Asocena,
But that’s not your name.

Lives intertwined.
You are the flower that blooms,
amidst turmoil.
On azure skies of my morning,
you’re there.
Dawn welcomes you with fervor.

Intertwined lives.
You are a flower that blooms,
amongst great men, great lives.
Though sundown paints blood, spews out false promises
You’re there, unmoving.
Crepuscular creatures sing till dusk bows its head.

Death’s kiss is nothing.
Softness of your lips, fountain of youth
kissed by Death.
Counts,  3, 2, 1. Then you’re gone.
“No, I’m here,” say you.
“Hear me, I’m here”. Twice.

A child,  I see in that diaphanous veil.
Old age is nothing. We mastered it,
time and again, time.
Zephyr carries your smile, laughter, whispers
to me, on my rocking chair, cradling,
Truth lifting me,
“Yes, I heard you”.
“That’s why, I’m here”.
“I heard you”. Thrice.

Lives intertwined, intertwined lives.
Nothing is forever, but our love
Like that flower:
Eternal, undying.

Virtue in waiting:
Patience is tested, again,
hair cut, then go home.

’P’s don’t **** people.
Golds, gunmen do it for them.
Or, they let them die.