"Maaari ka nang maging malaya"
Eto ang mga salita
Na pilit ko mang ulit ulitin pa
Sa aking sarili, ay hindi narin naman
Magkakaroon ng bisa, sa ngayon
"Maaari ka nang maging malaya
O aking sarili, pakinggan sana
Huwag nang bumalik sa naparam
Lumakad na palayo at magpaalam"
‘Not your fault’ says he, with his charming smile - but yes, yes it is.
I saw charming charm like it really is.
I continued, deluding me - thought I knew pain.
Refused to know I’d know this pain again.
She though, lives with her status intact.
I, who had little, no longer have that.
There’s not much to salvage in old sad old tales...
maybe a stone-built cottage in Wales?
What if we had met
In Florence, say five centuries ago
Would you have let
Me be your Leonardo ?
You gentle face I would have framed
In the back, a sfumato of Tuscany
You, I would have named
My Mona Lisa, smiling to eternity.
Laid now on his smooth bed
For the last time, watching dully
Through heavy eyelids the day's colour
Widow the sky, what can he say
Worthy of record, the books all open,
Pens ready, the faces, sad,
Waiting gravely for the tired lips
To move once -- what can he say?
His tongue wrestles to force one word
Past the thick phlegm; no speech, no phrases
For the day's news, just the one word ‘sorry';
Sorry for the lies, for the long failure
In the poet's war; that he preferred
The easier rhythms of the heart
To the mind's scansion; that now he dies
Intestate, having nothing to leave
But a few songs, cold as stones
In the thin hands that asked for bread.
There's something frightening in you,
and I've always been attracted to the things that scare me most.
I guess you could call it a counterphobic attitude.
Just as all these words are meant for ghosts.
But I'm sick of the sound of crunched eggshells,
and the elephant in the room leaves me crowded.
So hand me that broom;
this dust is being swept under the carpet.
The thing under your bed is just in your head.
What if In another time,
Loving you for the second time will be crime,
What if you and I will meet again,
Will you take a risk? I wonder when.
In that time, being behind the bars,
Is an indicator that I went too far,
Too far for me not to notice,
*That I went beyond the axis.
— The End —