The noiseless violence.
You don't speak to yourself.

It was cold inside-
the sleeping volcano.

The years roll like
the yogic flying.

Bearded- you are not in air
not on land.

The revolt is my acid test.
Fingers become blind.
Cannot move in the valley
of faceless questions.

Deaf and dumb.
Mannequins stand in a
row to be covered up by the
glittering awards.

The gods of fire and storms seem to call.
Do you not hear that his end is near?
The deep is swallowing up the light.
Skies burn, winds drip emotions.
But unlike Fishes, multitudes of clouds
Dissipate like crowds, oceans
darken with grief as sun seems dulled.
Stars move with the procession
Of boats with floating lamps.
Fishermen’s vessels cross, slicing waves
underneath, spraying salt water on eyes.
Crisscrossing nets spread
Like wings of dove.
Overbearing waves heavy with boats
answer call of coming
School of fish.

Pained hands blister the night.
With Eyes that flicker like lamps.
They Be still and know of Sun’s
promised light.

(Paolo Jerome D. Cristobal / June 25, 2009 - Alabang)

In Nero’s private stage,
Disaster was
His audience. Rome mimics fallen Troy in play.
What was reflected in Nero’s eyes
when he sang of the swirling patterns
of fire? When Rome was caught burning;
When conspiring led to its fall.

Fire engulfed Rome with fiery teeth.
The clouds hide or faint into black smoke.
The skies bleed heavily with rust
Its brassy color mixing with the
*** of burning seas, like oceans melting

Could you not feel the sun’s weight?
Now it is incomparable to
Molten seas and softened lead!

Blood spilt from sea-point, waves wallow the cries
Of the fallen. Like a bellowing sound marching
Against caverns of ears, Copper soldiers
Melt into clouds oozing with emotion,
Shattering their now empty metal hearts,
Hollow hearts that outlive the muteness.

It is awakened when
Spark and light is absent.

(Paolo Jerome D. Cristobal / June 26, 2009 - Alabang)

What if
the Moon was just a giant torch using Duracell,
well,
who can tell me that it ain't?

and we are painted figurines
stood still
while someone changed the scenery?

What if what we see is the memory of life
the
way it used to be?

Reality is overrated
we eat too much
get constipated

it's a slog
a dog eat dog
and that's a feat
preservatives
forced into meat,
monosodium
is not your mate,
it hates you
body. mind and never mind
the soul
you eat it to be swallowed whole
by conglomerates that constipate
you even more,

Eager for a micro burger?
go macho
go macro

I eat crow
but
we've all done that.

When you picked up
my pen, I wept.

Mercury rising,
the vespa gets ready
to strike.

This lifeless clay
wakes up, to bear the pain.

Do you remember,
when you bent down to―
touch the feet of a broken Buddha?

Before the ashes blew away.
you looked back
to make sure, it was a dream.

Stripped to the last color.
Van Gogh commits a sin.
He becomes alive.

This was my regime.
This was my echo.