This is my world, this is my world.
All men and women wear eyeglasses.

All truths we are tasked to seek on dusted glasses
Of windowpanes behind the windowpanes.

Ah, we see clearer, said the top, we see better
If things are viewed on top, by top, the top

Refuses to see, they refuse the refuse.
Screen them, screen that. They will not see

Them, believe us, trust our hindsight, we have foresight
Bring us the microscope, that magnifying glass.

This is our world, you’re living in our world.
Wear that eyeglasses, we customized them for you.

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.

This is my world, this is my world.
All men and women wear eyeglasses.

All truths we seek on dusted glasses
Of windowpanes behind windowpanes.

Ah, we see clearer, said the top, we see better
If things are viewed on top, by top, the top

Refuses to see, they refuse the refuse, further
Screen them, screen that. They will not see

Them, believe us, trust our hindsight, we have foresight
Bring us the microscope, that magnifying glass.

This is our world, you’re living in our world.
Wear those eyeglasses, we customized them for you.

Can you hear them?
Yes, they are crying.
Can you see them?
Yes, the farmers, yes.
No, I mean,
The blood, the blood.
Each grain is pregnant.
With blood, with blood.
No! let’s fill the rice fields.
Let’s plant bullets.
No, with blood, with blood.
When will they learn?
Why? Is there something to learn?
Why is there something to learn?
Why, is there something--
They can no longer learn.
They can no longer hear.
They can no longer see.
Why? I demand an answer!
Why do I demand an answer?
Why?
You killed them.

In Tibiao,
My childhood’s home
I remember riding on a karosa, a cart
Being pulled by my grandfather’s carabao
While watching the setting sun
As we go home
After his day’s work,
I, accompanying him.

Tonight,
Seeing vehicles
Plying EDSA, lugging tons of passengers,
With their back lights, neon red, glaring
I think of hundreds and hundreds of bull frogs
Being pulled on their hind legs
With their smoldering eyes
Looking at me.
The night
Is my grandfather
Walking me home.

Or,  The Poor Man's Bread*

Three pieces
Of pandesal to begin a day.

Where’s the salt in here? I ask.

Then came three beads of sweat
Trailing my face after a walk

On three streets:
Valero, Leviste and Dela Costa.

I climb on the 9th Floor,
Of Liberty Centre Building,*
To make salt.

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.

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. "

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.

While I wait for the first raindrop
Of the day, you are there in the silence
Of the aquarium, placid, not moving, waiting to be seen.

While I wait for the elevator to open,
You caught my attention
By the colors of your body, neon
Blue crisscrossing the yellow
Tang of orange sprinkled on the dorsal fin, with linings of black
To a puzzle, a maze, a labyrinth

Reminding me of a cartoon movie I saw yesterday
While my nephew is being bathed
By my brother and his wife.

The blue tang finds her own parents
The gist was beyond that,  I think:
It’s about finding one’s self amidst oblivion
When our dear memory forgets
Its own memory.

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*  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.

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.

Imagine my surprise
Seeing you
Yesterday.

How often do
Our friends visit us
If at all

There you are
In silence
In the side walk

A wild
Green In the city

How did you come here,
My healer?

The last time I saw you
You were there
Near our river

Where the mountains
Meet the sea

Is it really you?
Or a spitting image
Of a daughter?

Touch my nostalgic wounds
Can you heal them?

Bleed if you must
Please
So I can be there

In your blood
Once more

Oh gentle wind, kiss my beloved with these words:
Rainbow adorns the sky,
to pave my way
straight to the heart.

That the rain pattering, blotting the windowpane
are my tears.

Distance carved between us.

The thunder, hear!
I’m fighting with the gods,

The lightning that fetters me
Will unbound.

What’s impossible for two hearts unrelenting,
both love tempered by truth.

Together, we live love eternal.

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.

He entered our window
On his chariot, gold
Crashing the balloons
Left by a Sunday celebration,
My nephew’s 1st birthday
Last Sunday, yes, last Sunday
When all of us orbited
The sun
On an evening
Until 10:30, post meridiem.

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.

The day I lost my voice
I did not cry
I rejoiced.

The day I lost my voice
I gained an ear
I listened.

I listened to flowers’ whispers
To bees’ chatters
To bamboos’ laughter
To children’s banters and giggles
To moon’s  cries
To sun’s admonishments

If now, you plead me: speak
Please,
Don’t cry for me
Rejoice
Gain an ear
Listen

If now, you plead me: speak
Please,
Allow my heart to do it.

The circle of life:
Rays of the sun
burnt the santol leaves that were
Dried, red, brown, in a mound
Acrid, pungent.
Jumping crustaceans play with
Sige-sige, puyo, fishes;
Screeching of kikik, on the background
That winged insect, luminous wings before
Trapped that kitten on Alaska can, 370 mL
I see the abandoned casing with a hacked back:
Red, brown, dried, clasping
the bark of that old mahogany tree,
Or santol, leaves
A mark on that childhood memory:

Mother screams
“Go home!”
Arms akimbo
You boil that tower of beer crowns and eat you will!, later
Sweats, sweltering sky
She’s towering.
***'s rim, circled, I opened.
Ah, the circle of life!

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.

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 it dawned on me
That rain and music can meld
That rain and music are one
The notes and quavers of music
Companions to patters of rain
It is your half-note
That flies me to the Moon
Your steady rhythm
Plays with me among the Stars.
And when all is done
Wake me up by your rest
And the rain is gone.

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

The gate of the chocolate house
Opened, and its windows of truth
Were opened to all.
The speckled bird from
The sea has just arrived.
It flew around the backyard tree,
Sizing up at which branch
He will take his rest.
My eyes rove like the bird’s eye
Shifting views:
From the gate,
To the windows,
To the speckled bird,
To the sea,
To the branch,
To the tree,
And to the bird’s eye on the mirror.

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.

Seeing things in pairs:
Two laborers waiting,
Puffing cigarettes,
Early for work.
Conversing behind the glass,
A couple sits face-to-face
At a convenient store.
Their hands, each hold a cup of coffee.
I saw a sign:
Half human, half horse.
I know I am near.
I see two “Caution” signs
Set aside, inside our building.
In my presence, the door slide
Opens, and then close.
The way I open myself
To the possibility (thus waiting)
To that day
When both our days open,
Then close.

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.

We, three children,
bound by that gossamer of a weaving.
Oh, Mama’s moon.
“I’ll cook one for each of you, my triumvirate.”

“One I give to you, my Oldest”.
She clasps it to her heart.
The tide rises,
men fall.

“To you Middle One, this.”
She tinkers the heart that made it.
The world bleeds,
men fall.

What of mine?
To oblivion it is: I will stash.
I, Older than my grandmother, and to her.
But Oblivion’s easy,  a fish caught mine.

Mama sung, we slept.
“Hush, my dear triumvirate, tomorrow
we’ll cook again.”
Crescent smiles formed our lips.
Three moons, crushed to smithereens;
And so was her sanity, and ours.

I spent the morning
Looking at you
Every now and then
An old friend talks to you
You accepted them
One by one
See,  they have returned
I told you they would
Like that story, a father to his son
You accepted them
I’m your friend
I lose a body part
Every time a friend arrives
And knocks a piece of me
An ear now, an eye later
A hand here, a leg there
No tearing of limbs
But a silent diminution
An erasure to an unwritten pact
I called your name
You hear me, a whisper now
Of a wind.

~~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.

The red round fruits of the tree,
where the roots I saw
hanging on its branches
yesterday,
are strewn all over the ground:
little, plump and round,
like the smile of the sun
gently breaking
to greet you.

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.

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.

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

For  loving  you  is  an  Original  Sin.

The car ran over the cat.
I am on the right side of the ride.
A woman shouts, <Stop!
I’m just right there.>
Pointing.
<Dangerous to alight here,
In the middle of the street.>
the driver said.

The car ran over the cat.
I am on the right side of the ride.
<Drop me in front of Citibank>
I said.
A taho vendor is serving a lady.
<How much?> I asked.
Twenty-five pesos.
<Give me one.>

The car ran over the cat.
I am on the right side of the ride.
In my mind:
<The city could be cruel to cats.
So you better know which
Is right.>

When the arrow strikes,
The heart breathes its last:

They will be one.

My legs are burning;
In cupped hands, the heart.

I am burning –  the holder
Of the arrow

And I, will be one.

Fully aware or not, we survive
This life thriving on clues.
How a baby beaming means
An angel is coaxing him to smile,
The elders would say. Snap,
And there it is, his only photograph
As a baby, hanging on his mother’s
Bedside green wall. Asked or not,
We tend to offer evidence that we grow up;
That indeed, we started off as tiny things,
Later into trees with unruly branches.
We try to take a second look at the faces
We see. Perchance, to remind us: Where
Have we met the unfamiliar ones? Those
Not perfectly aligned; the photograph’s
Uncomfortably pegged to a rusty nail.
Meanwhile, our eyes are gravitated
To the smudges forming around
The edges of that photograph,
Made perhaps by the mixing
Of time & water, forming maps
Of places and distances, where
The this once-child would go.

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.

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.

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.

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.