I am no poet, only poetic
who could never kiss the moon
in the evening twilight;
nor a man with a heart of roses,
to exude the fragrance of his love.

I am no poet, who can pen
profound mysteries about the past,
nor a man of beautiful promises
to be kept safe until the world is dust.

I am no poet, only poetic
who could never touch the souls
of every woman’s dreams;
nor a man with arms of a gladiator,
to protect her forever
from the shadows of her grief.

And as the sun sets in the horizon
from another blemished morning end,
resembles tears of thine eyes;
for my love for you, my majesty,
will never be enthroned
into your kingdom,
like when I am with you,
like I am to you,
my tongue speaks,
I am no poet, only poetic.

Come, let our hearts embrace thy warm embers,
I will keep you safe beneath my velvet feathers,
I will be the moonbeams to illumine your way;
Beseech reasons to brighten every mournful day.
Come, let our tongues speak every truth’s decree,
And sing a thousand songs of harmony to eternity;
The angels descend from heavens, and trust,
We will be together 'til our worlds turn to dust.
Come, let our eyes be never without light,
Of spring of tears have abandoned and dried,
Behold! Thy love quelled all my beautiful scars;
I will clench roses to exude the scent of my heart.
My only love echoes up on a tranquil shore,
Of laments of sadness forever will all deplore.

Even if this silhouette love
     would cry upon my grave,
Even if the stars collide
     and darken the eve,
Even if shallow rivers dry;
     tears deprive my plea,
There would still be you and me.

Come, let our hearts embrace thy warm embers,
I will keep you safe beneath my feathers,
I will be the moonbeams to light your way;
Beseech reasons to awaken each day.
Come, let our tongues speak every truth’s decree,
To sing a once melodious harmony;
The angels descend from heavens, and trust,
We will be forever till worlds are dust.
Come, let our eyes never be left deceased,
Behold thy love, of which my warfare ceased,
Of my tears diminished and secluded,
I would clench roses, of roses which bleed.
My love resembles upon every shore,
Of laments of sadness will all deplore.

Sino ba naman ako para magpakitang muli sa'yo
at sabihing sorry sa lahat ng aking nagawa?
Sino ba naman ako para humingi ng pagkakataong
maibalik pang muli ang mga nangagdaang panahon?
Sino ba naman ako para magparamdam muli
at sabihin sa'yo, na miss na miss din kita?
Sino ba naman ako para mahalin kang muli
at susubugang ibalik ang 'yong pagtinging nawala?
Sino kaya ako? Sino ba naman ako?

Ayos lang na magalit ka sa'kin, okay lang talaga! Promise 'yan.
Sapakin mo 'ko kung gusto mo, wala akong imik pa rin,
wala akong pakialam,
kasi ang alam ko pinaghintay kita ng matagal,
sinaktan kita ng matagal, iniwan kita ng matagal,
matagal na matagal, kasi mali lahat ng inakala ko.
Sabi ko, "You're too good for me",
tama! Oo, kaya nga siguro mahirap lumapit
at sabihin lahat ng nararamdaman ko noon.
Pero sino ba naman ako para humingi pa
ng isa pang pagkakataon na ibigin mo?
sino ba naman ako?
Kundi isang tao lang na wala ng silbi na sa'yo.
Okay, tanggap ko na, tanggap ko na lahat,
pero tanong lang,
May chance pa ba ta'yo?
May chance pa ba na maibalik ko ang nakaraang
inukit natin sa isang bato?
I think it's too early pa para magparamdam muli.
Pero teka lang, wait.....
tanong ko muna, bago matapos 'tong tula,
mahal mo pa rin ba ako?
O kaya'y,
hanggang ngayon ba'y may gusto ka pa rin
sa isang pahamak na katulad ko?
At sinasabi mo lang ba na wala na para
masaktan mo rin ako?
Please lang naman o, try to answer lang.
Kahit anong isasagot mo,
I will accept it naman.

I admit, I’m not really good at goodbyes,
not really a good man, either, and I’m tired.
Between every teardrop are your memories
I’m letting go,
and even if tomorrows might be forgotten,
I would never forget you.
I have loved you, and it was vivid and pure,
but I have to wander my world, and explore.
I’m tired of your self-seeking decisions
which could always lead to loud confusions,
tired of every cold war and of every hurtful word.
It might be the ending for us,
but indeed, a beginning for ourselves to wake up
a morning with a smell of a new mown hay;
maybe it’s best, if I walk on another way.
Well, sometimes you need to learn
how to be broken,
in order to be whole again.

Niadto ko, nibisita sa lugar
Kon asa mi una nagkita;
Mao ra japon,
Ang mga kahoy ug mga bulak
Nagasambit sa among gugma
Nga hain pa man dili gayod mawala.
Siya akong tunhay nga kalipay
Sa pagmata ko matag-buntag,
Tunhay nga kasingkasing
Sa iyaha, akong ginapamatyag.
Nikuha ko ug papel,
Aron magsulat ug balak para kaniya;
Maot man paminawon, apan
Akong buhaton nga patsyada.
Nitan-aw ko sa blanko nga papel,
Naghuna-huna,
Ug sa dihang nakahinumdum hinuon ko,
Unsaon man diay nako pagsulat sa balak;
Nga ang bolpen iya man diay’ng gidala,
Adtong minglakaw na siya ug una.