He said she was "she"
He said he loves "she"
He said he adores "she"

She says he was "he"
She says she loves "he"
She says she adores "he"

But why does she says
and he said?
Is she really "she"
and he is really "he?"

She and he were bounded by a red string
She and he were fated with lingering
attachments to a "he" and "she"
really, they were meant to be

Bounded by fate and destiny
That...they can see
a knot of friendship
only "them" can unleash

Bounded by fate and destiny
not by love and intimacy
but by morale and respect,
and friendship so unwrecked

on that night
with winter
winds,
hums,
and miserable
breeze,
there he sat,
his eyes
wandering
from right to left
up and down
all around
corners to corners
branching
a thought
to another
a note
to a song
a word
to a poem.

him with his
glances,
stands
and built,
under that
moonlit sky
with starlights,
air filled with
warmth and
frost,
i witness his
cries,
heard his tears,
felt his fears.

i became
an overthinker
from worrying
about the other.

Fight is light
A sight that’s bright
The reason why we didn’t even try
To freely fly from the jail of lie

Bad is good, good is bad, it’s true, though it can make you mad,
Make you feel down and sad
War is something that’s good yet bad
Sweetness and bitterness, good and bad, are all it had

War and peace, love and hate
Just, reason, critic and fate
It had just started but it seems like it has already begun
With that, our hearts were shoot by an air gun

Spring of love, flakes of blood
Frozen heart, warmth rushing through the flood
I can’t find the words to say goodbye
I tried, and that’s not a lie

Foresee what would happen
If you continue this thing till the end
And now it’s too late
For you to change your fate

I used to possess this strength
With no limitation of length
Waiting, expecting, loving, caring, and forgiving
I’ve done ages ago, but I swear not for a living

Those fruitful days with all of you
I’ve had doubts if some of it is false or true
But I’ve had enough
Patience was replaced by anger that you can’t stop

I’ll say it one more time
My heart was a candy and turned into a lime
Then it has rotten and turned bitter
It rained and our memories was just a litter

Everything was now a trash
My head exploded and my heart crashed
Was broken into pieces
By unfulfilled promises

too poignant to remember
those revealed moments of felicity
with someone as exceptional as you
with someone as remarkable as your music

from those days of longing
seeking for those flawless keys
that you possess
i see the light,
from that illumination,
i see your smile...
i hear the music,
from that sound,
i hear your voice...

seldom, i think
of what would it be
telling you how i feel
singing a song
with lovable words
with endearing notes
and pleasant hums

Among those people
For me, you're the least lovable
Among the crowd
Your voice tells me you're the most proud

From the first of the days
I listened to your music
I can't find a way
Out of such sound so still

Distant as the ocean,
Bright as the sun,
Eyes of the soil,
A well-versed soul

You're a  flower that blooms in winter
I'm a bee who preyed you last summer

That "first" of the days
It was more than most
It was more than best
It was more than you

Then came another season
There you go, trying to know
That "me" I never wanted
That "me" I never liked
That "me" whom you preffered

But strokes of fate
Unleased its power: hate
Its not yet late
To be each other's soulmates

"He," i preferred so much
Wanting his touch
Seeking for that match
Made in heaven, so please watch

How "she'll" extract
His beauty and love
His songs and poems
His words and notes

My black and white attitude matches your golden strings
My soft touch lay upon your wooden surface
and harmony in each others' hearts is what it brings

On my shoulder is where you lie
And in my vast body is where I stand
Alongside your relentlessly endearing land
is the turf of joy and sorrow, where i cry

Your wand is so powerful
Enough to destroy my sheet, the one I rule
you broke my barrier and there goes your sound
to my heart's music, well-fated bound

They said you're but a three-stringed creature
But I think you're more than a literature
Beyond your ordinary life is golden glamour
One strike then luxury is your given demeanor

My keys will showcase your strings
Your strings will showcase my keys
You're my love, my one and only
My one true partner that my heart seeks
Through the clouds and reflections of beauty that I've seen,
I'm your piano and you're my Violin...

is this love
or a state of infatuation
that succumbs me
every time i see
a piece of thee

is this love
or a state of infatuation
that drowns me
every time i hear
thee sing

is this love
or a state of infatuation
every time a touch
from you i feel

is this love
or a state of infatuation
every time i get jealous
from seeing thee
with another

is this love
or a state of infatuation
every time i write
a poem about thee
on how you hugged my day
with your endless smiles

is this love
or a state of infatuation
that i feel at this very moment
this moment only i know
this moment that's indeed ephemeral
too quick to conclude
too sudden to say
too early to understand
that i love you
then this is limerance

maybe not
exactly a
panoply,

maybe not
really a being
of quintessential
remarks,

maybe not
a person who's
a redolent
of anyone,

maybe not,
maybe not,
or maybe yes?

"you"
bucolic,
idyllic,
scenic,
and
a voice of music,
a cynosure
perhaps?

you, yes you,
you,
always have been.

,

Saturday
someone knocked
again..
someone knocked
both were good

Sunday
i liked the first knock
i really liked it a lot
i fell deeply
it was steep
and risky

Monday
he stood tall
under the falling leaves
under those heavenly
evergreens

Tuesday
someone became sad
and i felt bad
for this someone
seems so succumbed
in a radiant sky
but full of cries
he knocked twice

Wednesday
i wrote him a poem
filled with emotions
and happy potions
it did work
but not much

Thursday
he started acting differently,
gradually and gently
he moved me
and so i did
he made me laugh
and so i did

Friday
something came to mind
i realized i was really blind
he told me, plenty of times
as the sound of wind chimes
disappeared and ended
its last notes
that it was me
and it was him.

she was doleful
loathful
but then
lonely,
scared
and worried.

everything might
reach its end.

he was so near
yet
why does he feel
so distant,
very far away
from me?

tears came down
rolling
trying to reach
for his voice
but he never came.
not again.
and then there was
a

words were too poetic
to critic
notes were too loud
to be heard
actions were too easy
to gesture
but for every leisure
time that
touches our hand
and grabs us
with it's strong
grip
there's a tip:
remember yesterday
see the future
and
live in that moment.

dreams were never
of those romances
but pure second chances.

happiness is never of others
but of self.

so i say this to you
i will always love you.

she wrote a poem
then...
about him and her
she was befuddled
baffled
she was explicitly
in love with them
she was uncontrollably
being fond of him
of her
of them
because
she was happy

maybe she was right
or maybe he has left
maybe she was wise
or maybe he is a dolt.

had nothing
to say.

to be gone.

well,
what do we
have right here?
that is him
of course it's
him
whom i saw
leaning on
the frozen walls
seeking
thinking
looking
hearing
the incorrect
the imperfection
and pure
imagination,
untouched truth
still lingers
within her
liking
loving
him
were all
that matter

is it you or him?
is it him or you?
or maybe both,
who knows?

he was my first Monday
you were my first Friday

he was my music
you were my words

but i know
deep inside
this dungeon
only
curiosity has risen
and
i was never fallen
from where i used to be
from where i was with my music

yes
i know,
it's still him
only that...
it felt like everything ended
last Friday.




but,
everything started
last Monday.

last thing i saw
was me trying to
lure you out
from that iglo

last note i heard
were just murmurs

last words i read
were simply "dead"

not that i saw,
i heard,
nor word,
but i felt.

be that as it may
during this
winter holiday
that wraps you
with it's arms of
cold daybreaks
i try to let you
witness
how life
destroys yours
and mine.

but
it created shimmers
of hope
at least for me
and yes i see
how every piece of me
directly points
to your street
clamoring
for every piece
of thee
for every word
you say
for every breath
you take
for every love
you give
and for every one
of it
you receive.

just having me
see, hear, feel,
and love you
makes me feel
lifted
where all wishes
are simply granted
with all i wanted
which are
life, emotion, and
you, my kindred.

the dawn was
waving its
morning greetings
at me.

the dusk is
far from sight.

the sunrise was
singing the luna's
song, still.

the morning breeze
had such ambience
with lesser interests.

noontime approaches
and touches
her skin.

the afternoon sunshine
fell to the grounds,
ghastly indeed.

dusk haunted her
down and asked
her to die.

but the evening
moonlight caressed
her softly,
gently,
quietly.

the midnight satellite,
with its relentless
love for the sun,
seem to be too frail,
too feeble, and blind.

but in truth,
he was all
that mattered,
when she wasn't.

the day was nice,
she read her
usual reads,
she listened to her
usual music,
she spoke with her
usual someone.

suddenly,
she saw the yellow
sunset
gradually fading,
slowly reaching
and painting
the skies with
deep blue.

no lights,
no shines,
no glimmers
and shimmers,
no flickering eyes
that lighted her night.

there's an endless,
eternal solstice
of the unknown.

i may have been
too dense
to notice
i may have been
too incompetent
to absorb
that it was him
then and the day
before.

she's back.

in a cold,
dark room
where no one
else knew,
a little infant
made his way
to deep and
sound
slumber.

the music
played reminded
her
of last summer,
so hot, humid,
not much to
remember.

she faded,
when he did.

she was breaking

nothing.

yes, twas
a hundred and sixty
days of pure
happiness and love
of pure insanity
and sadness.

those words
werent really meant
to hurt me
nor to encourage me
but
twas meant to
tell me
that those
a hundred and sixty
days were all
untamed,
untrue,
unloved
and then all stars
became blue.

tears wrapped my cheeks
air left my chest
trembles visited my hands
i will never understand
what happened
this night
from felicity
to fondness
to like
to love
to betrayal
to anger
to sadness
and to, again,
loneliness

the simplicity of those mesmerizing sweetness
the eternal wealth of pure love thus seems lifeless
everything envelopes the joy of living
truly satisfying, truly encouraging

i thrive for joy,
i thrive for life,
i thrive for love.

i seem to know and not to know
i seem to see and not to see
i seem to be and not to be

i will be and i will see
the hidden beauty
of this life deemed to be
the most unwanted creation
it is in dying that i live and clamor for thee

on that friday
night with showers
or rain
t'was chilly
and windy
and loud
and crowded
lost and
shrouded
with endless cheers
and yells.

after everything else
there comes
goodbyes and
farewells.

she then grabbed
him by his arms
neared her face
towards his side
and with one stride
she left a warm
and frosty touch
on his cheeks
and blurred the
whispering, cold
mob.

this is a continuation
of what took place
that frosty night
with glimmering,
shiny
phosphenes,
endless bokeh.

he was right there,
parallel from my
spot,
and we thought
of nothing
but what we are
in, right at that
moment.

as he sweep
my hair from
my cheeks
to my ears,
from my face
towards my back,
he took his hand
placed it on top
of my eyes,
cold they
were,
he then
gently,
touched my
left cheek
with his
chapped lips.

under the horizon
and the boundary
of pure attachment
and of
love
there he stood.

between the moon
and sun
there he
laid.

along the busy
and crowded
hallways
there she
laughed
and popped
and dropped.

near the utmost
love and
friendship
she offers
thus,
everything prospered
everything did.

it means what it
says and she stays
behind his back,
in front of his
reflection
and his unheard voice
so dear and so unlived
yet beautifully appreciated
and loved.

i became his listener
and he's my keeper.

we are born
to live,
not to die.

we walk
to explore,
not to please.

we sing
to express,
not to keep.

but,
during this
seemingly
endless Saturday,
she was dying,
she was pleasing,
she was keeping.

she had
anhedonia

t'was a moonlit night
when she and he
had a fight.

t'was a blue sunlit
sky
when he and i
met.

t'was a translucent
daylight
where surprising
movements
took place.

at first,
t'was formidable,
daunting, and daring.

she was haunted.

the second time,
t'was sweet,
sweaty,
red,
and tired.

t'was
him and me
under the hidden,
private, and
quiet sun room,
full of kisses,
hugs,
breaths,
temptations,
chaos,
trickery,
and all
terpsichore.

...remarkable day
...nothing's left to say
...it's been done
...i finally see
...what i feel
...we became closer
...more than ever
...then we loved each other...
...we lost our "forever"
...full of regrets
...yet full of sentiments
...forlorn goodbye
...my friend
...my lover
...my rainbow
...and my sorrow...

the long day
is finally over
far from one
another,
they are.

nearest in
each other's
heart,
they are.

apart from
the world
they used to stay.
they made a way
for them to
keep their
bond.

yes, t'was nice
him and her
together,
forever and ever?
nope, they were
ephemeral.

all truth, no lies
everything ended
and started
with a sigh

thus, he could be mine
but, that's a crime

starting with how
every word,
every note
he says
and sings,
were too soft,
too subtle,
to be heard
but i did.

wounded arms
can't come across,
but it's not a
great loss
if it prevents me
and deceives me,
from doing
and believing,
something
and some things

yes
i regressed
but i shall transgress
from liking
to loving
from dying
to living
all for them
all of for Him
all of for "he"
and all for
"she."

maybe there were butterflies
maybe there weren't
maybe there were skies
maybe there weren't

i was scared
of being glared
at, and am fed
up, with such hurtful stuff

maybe i was too trust worthy
maybe i'm not
maybe i was a fool
maybe i'm not

i seem to be alive
on a count of five
i needed to dive
and die

i weren't trusted
weren't loved
weren't friended
but then i was dead

i thrive for love
for trust
for understanding
and comfort

i thrive for liberty
for time
for consolation
and independence

i thrive for self-peace
but i guess
there's nothing left to see
in this world of deathly reality

under such
grayish, rusty
roof,
with the howling
sound of violins,
there she witnessed
the mini, gentle
foot steps,
the ligth-weighted,
vibrant,
elegant
blush of her dress,
with pure, innocent,
angelic eyes,
dark hair,
and crowned
heir.

she was my darling,
my sweet nightingale,
my beloved strings,
seemingly unwanted,
but completely,
a wish granted
by the stars, the galaxies,
oh, my beautiful
anemony, my antonym.

he did
and
she did
parallel music,
parallel art,
parallel mistakes,
yet perpendicular love.

maybe i was wrong
or
maybe i was right
that all this time
you were all alone
alone in the corner
of your own world
of your own dome
a dome of fantasy
of reality
and of melancholy

maybe i was right
that all along
you were sad,
lonely, doleful,
sorrowful
or however you name it

you called me a hare
at the very least
i didn't care
but you were my puppy
so adorable
endearing, loving
and caring as it is.

i may not know
all your worries
no need to scurry
no need to hurry
finding, searching
and seeking
for solutions
only time can give you
only God can provide
only yourself can ignite.

I may not be so
of a close friend
of a close homie
of a close whatever
but at least, i'm a close hare
your hair?
i'll touch it no more
for now
but i hope
you'll be okay
that you'll be fine
again or not

note
friends are always there
like particles in the atmosphere
like notes that you hear
like food you prefer
like love and anger.

as he made his way
towards her
end of the day,
she was all that happy,
looking at his
endless beauty,

his arms intertwined
with hers,
her melody reaching
his chuckles and screams
and cries.

they leave those soaring
individuals,
roaming inside the familiar,
spectacular room.

then they walk
along the busy
pavements,
with sounds of
the pouring rain.

as she steps away
from her light of day,
as the sun sets and
the moon awakens from
its slumber,
she remembers and treasures
every foot step he takes
away from her distance
and slowly, gradually,
she writes a poem,
a letter, a song,
about how she loved
how he walks away.

i open my eyes,
each sunrise
to feel
his warm breeze.

i walk the pavements
of wisdom
just to sense
his saturated touch.

i look up and witness
the horizontal thin layers
of autumn skies,
forcefully done
like his breathless goodbyes.

yes, there were
ambivalence
at first.

or maybe,
there weren't
who knows?

i had to
do
what i did
just to
dissemble
the fact that-
that there were fear
in her eyes,
yours truly,
and yes,
i was able.

although
languor
caressed my cheeks
like no one else did
my mind
my heart,
up to my thalamus
down to my tummy butterflies,
i was filled
with
mild
jubilation.

felicitous
thoughts
overflowed,
lik­e halcyon notes
and waves
refracted on the walls,
and scenic moonshine
and sun rays
draw my days like
it was them
asking me
to saunter,
and to murmur
the words
"you" wanted to hear

but the sound
the keycaps make
doesn't end
with simple
"hey and hello"

it actually started
with a "ping"
and there she goes:
"hey, i have
a not-so-huge crush
on you,
a tiny little crush,
like vapors
no roar."

thirteen nights passed,
thirteen days trashed,
she thought t'was done,
over, capped,
she thought that
it was just a snippet of
likeness and will
soon conclude.

so, step 1: deny? maybe
i was wrong? or was he?
step 2: wrath! rant?
oh trust me, she had
thirteen people to chat
step 3: no more bargains,
no more trades,
no room for sadness
just proceed with
step 5: acceptance

but.

he said but this:
"your name, yes yours
were the first
to enter in this
quadrilateral dialogue
box, and yes
thirteen moons passed
and still, you're
all that "cached"
in my memory,
not too blurry to skim
and not too
drunken to spill."

there he and she started
typing the cynosure
story.


maybe i like you,
or maybe i don't
and today,
this day,
this night,
is when you'll see
and
when you'll hear
with your human lens
and mundane ears
what we are
how we are
and what we may be
and that is the
denouement
of our story,
so,

this is my proposal:
thirteen days sketched to three

a person of truth
my cure
innocent look
devilish book.

a person of kindness
too soft
too subtle
too hard to
tell.