My heart is a nest of a thousand moons,
each one, a fissured marble of hope
each one, a chunk of prayer
my tongue cannot chant on its own.
Tell me, how can you know
you’re not going to break tonight
when your chest shrinks against your bones
being pulled by the gravity?
Tell me, how do you know
your light’s not going to fade tonight –
you’re not going to be dragged by the wave?
a nest of a thousand feeble moons;
a chamber of all brittle hopes;
trembling, crumbling against my skin –
and this evening,
as the ocean replaces the blood in my veins,
Bakunawa rises, slithers,
she rips her way into my heart,
biting one hope after the other,
devouring all of them whole,
until I can no longer stand the pain,
until I can no longer feel a beat against my chest.
These shattered cries,
they’re no prayers to fend off the monster,
they’re no rituals to cease the tremor;
I no longer know if my voice
is just a crack of the moon
or a thunder I cannot hear.
I no longer know if my tears are just blood
seeping out of the splinters of the cloud.
My heart –
it’s but a nest of a thousand moons,
weight all falling down on me;
and yet my heart –
its beat is running away from me,
it’s pumping all away from me.
My heart –
it has lost all of its hopes;
So, tell me, how can you know
if the moon is shining back again?