old bayonet--
I wonder if one touched
my grandfather's body

My hands are cold, too cold
the wind burning my nose,
as it pushes me across the road,
hitting me with the reality
that I'm not there where the sun is

Numbers jump out at me
Splashing my face
with their significance

Buses meeting trains and hotel rooms

...you never did leave, did you?

It was I who left.

Hours, numbers
Days, years
A decade and 3 years
and this is the first
but hopefully the last

Magnified void that clenches me

I get lost most times
but those numbers again,
Always coming up to remind me...

reflective tears
as the clock ticks past
to the past

and I am left with my hands
on my face and the clock's face

Trembling fingers touching keys

Chilled by so many reasons--
Emptied by the sighing seasons

I remind myself to smile,
amidst these blurry letters

Your laughter
resonating in my heart

Never leaving me

Dotted brush strokes
fill the air,
arresting me

All I do is stare,
yearning to be
on higher ground
Yet all I have is concrete

I walk to where
grass meets the worm
and look up at the s.weeping sky
delicate golden light facing me

The variegated rose catches my eye,
Yet escapes my lenses...
capturing mulberries instead
Mosquitoes feed upon me
and I let them

"Revel in this", my soul says
"It's been too long since you last
saved moments for your spirit."

sometimes
It is good to just be
like the mullberry

To darken as it ripens,
to fall,
possibly leaving stains
Yet can also feed the earth,
to grow...
then reach upwards
to touch
those brush-stroked clouds.

close my eyes
think of myself
being there

to where
screams
are free to roam,
then bounce back,
immune to tortured souls

allowed to spread
in       wa     e
                 v     s

for some reason,
Ararat comes to mind
right now
but to be honest,
Arayat would suffice

surrender...
surrender,
surrender

                   all these rocks

Can
I
disturb you?

Even just this once...

let me
let out
my

sanctioned screaming,
and release it to these mountains.

An almost stillness came about as she strode into my door,
like breath itself refused to move,
fearful of touching her mysterious beauty

But her obsidian eyes betrayed her.

Sharp and gleaming,
with a silver sheen
she looked at me,
and I knew…

---------------------------------------------------------------­-----------------------------

Molten lava spilled forth from her mouth, melting our clocks—
eighteen hundred nightmares compressed in two hours.
Long hand moving forward, as the short hand moved backward
How can memories persist in such an acrid life?

She spoke of a beast in the guise of a man,
one who ravaged innocence with the flick of a click
A coward that collected milk teeth for hardened bones
of other ***** beasts with no spine

That throaty tenderness when she spoke,
sprinkled crystal seeds of frustration in me
She says she loathed him, denied she loved him,
but her obsidian eyes betrayed her

There she was, a bud he plucked from the nuns’ garden
He grafted then he pruned her,
spreading her pollen, wafting her scent
yet folding her petals to himself

Caterpillars feeding upon her leaves,
she lets them devour her,
yet once they are wrapped in their cocoons to sleep,
she stabs them with her thorns.

Tears then slid down from her midnight lace eyes
and it was all I could do to catch them
She said she was weary of curtailing butterflies,
of tearing their wings before they can even fly

I had to ask, how many… how many winged gems?
She lifted her sleeves, and showed me her scars
One ugly mark for each innocent child plunged deep,
my heart getting slashed at least three hundred a beat.

----------------------------------------------------------­----------------------------------

A certain stillness came about as I strode into her door,
like fear itself refused to move,
letting breath touch her mysterious beauty for the last time....

Her obsidian eyes had betrayed her.

Sharp and gleaming,
with a silver sheen
I looked at the knife beside her.

Maroon-mapped sheets, a stunted womb.

Strains of Bon Iver’s “Flume”
flit past the sighing air like a butterfly,
and I knew…

Place your head on my shoulder,
let it stay there
and we'll just breathe
together
in
...and... out

Inhale positivity,
exhale negativity-

Pluck the sadness from the air,
unravel that ball of worry...
We'll find that knot
that started it all,
untangle it,
and wave ribbons
in the air

We'll let those colors swirl
around each other,
we'll blend them...
then weave them

into a tapestry

that comforts us
in the end

Doesn't matter
at all
if it turns out
too short

Our lives
are full of tangles
anyway,
a lot of thread
out there...

So place your hand in mine,
let it stay there,
and we'll weave
together
...in
...and.... out...

soft waves ripple the water,
               they come    and    they go,
           sprinkling seeds of fervent hope

   gentle waves tickle the sand,
            they come   and   they go,
       leaving dreams
                   of rapture
       behind

             Boastful waves CRASH into rocks,
    they come and they go,
           shattering dreams
                           to  s  m  i  t  h  e  r  e  e  n  s

frantic waves expunge the sea foam,
         they come and they go,
    d
      r
        ow
            n
              ing
                    
                   hope
                     as
                it does


    silent waves creep back to the sea,
they come and they go,
        a cupful of  
              tears in tow

A busy road.
A tree stump.
An old man.

Everyday at eight 'o clock
He sits there, cane tapping
just watching cars go by--
I among them

Such a lonely man,
I say to myself

Same busy road.
Same tree stump.
Same old man.

He looks up, cane twirling
and smiles at me
in that split second
I smile back

A roadside friend is gained.

Same busy road.
Same tree stump.
Different old man.

Day after day
He waves hi--cane dancing
Smiling
I wave goodbye,
no time to stop

Same busy road
Same tree stump
No old man

I screech to a halt
Ask of his absence

Clutching
a piece of paper
found taped on his cane
I weep in my car
and send a prayer
of thanks
to my roadside friend

Eleven words
Changed my world.
"Thank you lady in the blue car.
You make my day."

Same busy road.
Same tree stump.
Different me.

Sometimes, I cannot help but sigh
and wonder--
wonder deep inside of me
whether I could ever be like you.

I riffle through the pages of my soul
and find a lot of them empty
Unlike yours, which seem to be bursting, blinding,
bursting, and still continuing to burst with brilliance...

So much so,
that your soul's light
has spread far and wide,
very much like sunlight's fingers
opening the morning sky curtains,
touching and warming
those who need it.

Tanglaw
each step that you take,
each breath that you exhale,
each prayer that you whisper,
each beat of your heart
Tanglaw

I receive a smile,
and chat
with that man
who you've helped change...
Because of you,
the silent man now speaks, smiles.

You sit down to rest,
I see you talking to someone,
and I am almost fooled,
since you seem like old friends.
Because of you,
the lonely strangers become kindred.

It mystifies me sometimes,
of how you never seem to get tired.
It seems like I am the one who gets tired for you,
who gets worried for your own strength...
Then I see that glow from all around,
and I am reminded how you glean from this glow.

I see you as this beautiful ball of energy--
Never static,
bouncing from soul to soul,
illuminating parts of themselves
that even they never knew existed.

It is so amazing seeing this at work,
since the next thing I know,
the place is lit up,
Alive.
...and it is all because of you.

It makes me feel unworthy at times,
but oh how it also makes me feel so proud,
that I am a part of you,
and you are a part of me.

I have a lot of catching up to do,
since it seems I am lightyears from where you are

But I will try.
I will catch the tail end of your light,
clutch to it with my life, winding it around me,
let it embrace me--tight, so tight.
And I will never let it go. Never.
Until I also begin to glow.
Until I too, become that ball of light.

Hopefully when someone
riffles through the pages of my soul,
they will not find it blank,
but filled with gilt pages of light.

Just like yours.
Bursting and brilliant just like yours.

I cannot count anymore,
rather don’t want to count anymore,
but I still find myself counting
the minutes,
the hours,
the words...
the letters,
the figures.
The seconds until it is done.

“Save me, deliver me” comes to mind.
Mindless, with eyes closed.
--Just the mind moving to nothingness.
Fillaying. Sigheing. Relying on fingers flieing.

Figures crash through my mind,
as more than a thousand people’s words and thoughts trickle in...
the number 1,750 comes to mind write now.
That number could be higher, will most likely climb,
as shame creeps even lower.
Inverse proportions of figures and worth.

The heart wants to stop as do the fingers,
yet time moves on,  as the hands go round and round.

Next thing I know, it is 2 am.

And so I post this.
Hello. Goodbye.

I tried folding a paper crane again the other day
  and  it didn't turn out right

tracing back my folds,
I knew I missed somewhere

unfolding, re-creasing, refolding
just tracing my fingers back

fingers
    feeling the paper
and beyond

A three-minute fold
times 10 now

Even if I needed to do other things,
I paid no mind, determined to fold that crane

I had to get this right.
I had to.

Almost there...

As it turns out,
I only missed one step,
--something to do with its wings, I believe...

Amazing how a single step
could be so important.

Stretching its wings now,
the paper crane
soars proudly on my palm...
So beautiful.

In refolding this paper crane,
I hope I never forget...

Amazing how easily things slip from our minds,
but more amazing
is when our hearts Do remember.

We remember,
   and then we Do something...

...I have hundreds of paper cranes yet to fold,
it may be taking me far longer
than what I had initially planned...

but yes, you are in my thoughts,
   you are in my prayers...

and I shall continue folding these cranes.

...I revel in the thought, for that moment,
when I can send them flying towards the Sun...

you smile...

and then,
   and then

*I know no more

You are my sun, the planets and the asteroids in between,
actually, make that the energy that embraces the sun,
the elements and trace elements that make up each planet...

(Oh, my stars!)

You are each perfect petal that unfurls ever so slowly in the morning light,
actually, make that the light that kisses each dew drop which
awakes each petal with that sweet kiss...

(Oh, blush, my buzzing bee!)

You are that raindrop that refreshes my parched soul that's stranded in a desert,
actually, make that the mirage that proves to be an oasis
as my eyes widen in wonderment with the reality of You.

(Oh, shucks, my sweet breath!)

You are my golden compass whenever I get lost in the wilderness,
actually, I wouldn't mind getting lost, if it means
that I get lost in your soulful, beautiful eyes Forever

(Oh, you cheeseball, you!!)

You are the chocolate ganache frosting on that chocolate cake,
actually, you are the powdered sugar on my honey-dipped doughnut
that brushes my lips, the perfect complement for hot, hot coffee

(Oh, honey bun!!)

You are the--

Sweetcakes??

You are the freshly ground pepper that dusts softly on my carbonara, I'm just

Ahem!!!!

You are the freshly ground pepper that dusts softly on my carbonara,
actually it would be bland and incomplete without you and---

Hey, babe!

huh?!

I'm on dense mode right now, what are you really trying to say?
Come on, spill it, I NEVER hear it from you...


Ummm, ummm...I...I...

I mean, I--


Out with it, come on!! You can do it---"I...."

Hoo! Ok, I...

I can do this---

I...

(Note to self: This is IT!!!!!)

I--

Yesss...?!!

I
am
    the empty, wanting glass and you are the refreshing drink that fills me up,
actually,--

~BOINKKKKKkkK~ !! I'm walking away now!!
Geez, if you can't say IT without all the Fluffy, duffy, Fluff,
see me walking away for now...I need the Skinny, the skeleton!
Sometimes one just needs to Hear it, you know?!
Oh, and I love you,in case you didn't know...but see me walk!

Hey, honey bunny, smoochie sweetie pie?

...still walking away~~~~

I...

huff, huff, huff~~

I am walking towards you...

Huff, puff, puff and hufff~! (note to self: Walk on, walk on...)

I said I'm walking towards you...

~bump~!

and

I...
   Love
         You.

Pallid and forlorn,
my heart broke for her.
Never saw such gloom,
but somehow I knew
she shone from within...

She buried that,
feeling dry...gray-
a crumbled mask
made out of dust.

I asked her
one cold night,
“Do you weep?”

“My tears
    fill up
        seas...”




I
vowed to
kiss her
every night,
let her feel
she was loved...

And oh! How much
love she can give!
She's still shy, hides
from time to time,
but her smiles break free...
(One can't trap light's glow)

Her warmth makes me beam,
reveled eclipses.

Moon dust becomes blush.

If ever pain shall strike my wounded soul,
my consolation is you are my cloak
Your calming presence mending any hole,
protecting me from chills it might invoke

If ever moon and tide shall be at war,
and convolutes my tattered, wrinkled mind
I’ll plunge it deep into your ocean floor
of soothing words, ‘til sweetest peace I find

If ever sun shall fall upon its death,
my only prayer is that you'll be with me
For light within your heart is like my breath,
and this will last me for eternity

I know that life shall cease for me one day
But love, ah love, forever it shall stay...

I wander into this dark, misTearYous room
—and there he was...and wow! What a Fig!

He with the long, lustRuse hair,
sitting at a corner table, nursing a cup of hot cocoa.
Dang. He has better hair than I do!

“I’m  a  gin at  Ion’s,” were his first words spoken.
“I’m  a  gin at  Ion’s.” And then sighlens.

I was trying to look through his lens, and figure out his sighs,
when he utters, “I can see you are number—“

“Huh? I am number what? I don’t see any lines here..."

“Ah, yes you are, as I was... NumBer as in more than numb.”

Epicfunny!

He definitely got me, he with the misTearYous eyes
so I sit down and ask him what he means
(but I refused to ask how he saw through my numbity)

“What do you mean that you are a gin? And where is Ion’s?”

“Exactly just that. I’m a gin at Ion’s. A **** t’Eve.”

He tells me that Ion’s is nowhere, everywhere and knowhere,
of how anyone who takes even a sip of that gin can hold on to it—
too much, so much so, as to lose that grip on ReAhhlity...

I ask him what he does there.
Seemingly one word, two meanings—
"aMuse," says he...

He reveals he is also part-tickles, part abs-tackles
then he also exhails at wind ‘o pains,
to fog or clear up views and relayshunships...
But oh! How at one point he felt tieurd, of how he had so many callUses—
numb, tired of how it reCurse, of always being called upon, of being used

Sighlens.

Been used So many times, he didn’t know who he was anymore...
a Duke at Ion’s,
      a con’s front at Ion’s,
an ex pecked at Ion’s,
    a lucid at Ion’s,
              a rebel at Ion’s...

Oddly enough, even if he has been ‘d sign at Ion’s,
he still felt blahtantly invisible,
even if at one point he wore only a V-bra at Ion’s!

He chalks everything up to exPeerience, and has learned from it.
And that's why he's also known as a sensei at Ion’s (his personal favorite)

He says even if he can go beyond infinity, he—
He stops (ah gain!) and yes, there it sneaked in...Sighlens.

Telling me through the void, through his sighs, through his lens
To close my eyes, and figYour out myself.

And then I do...

ReAhhlieZing how much I could relate,
how I have been in DenyAll of my possiBElities.
It is all a matter of perSpeck'tEve, of looking at each tiny speck of life,
of creating something from each of it, entire universes even—
boundless

How odd that I myself felt like I'm a gin at Ion's...
Scrunchscrunch...Imaginations.
Addictive, yes, so I best be careful with where I take it.

I oh!pen my eyes and the fig meant to show me ReAhhlity had gone...

The scurry and flurry of thoughts
hound me
jabbing, stabbing
so I seek comfort
in the ebb and flow…

I do not rush and dive in.
Rather,
I let myself
slip softly…
easing myself carefully into
the saline calm

fingerlings of froth
licking my skin

Only my face,
save for my ears
greet frigid air

All the rest of me
just wants to
drown out
drawn out
waves
of thoughts
and words

It's not enough
to mute everything
so

I take that deep breath
and sink myself
deep
   deep
          er
        deep
               est

The weight of the waves
bearing down on me
s-lapping, c-rashing
th-rusting
p
  lung
          ing

me
to the unruffled depths

I crave for breath
yet

I welcome the cool liquid.
So soothing…
embracing me
drinking me in

I wallow in it
as it swallows me in

and then…
and then
I find out
that all along
I was inside
my own
tear
d
r
o
p
.
.

When tragedy strikes,
what happens to you?

Do you roll yourself up in
bubble wrap,
box yourself in
and pray that no one finds you?

or do you b-R-e-A-K
into a million pieces
and let others pick you up?


Reality feels like cork,
I push, will it to go and
stay                                            T
      d                                       O
        o                                  N
         w                         
           N                    d
                               l
                           u
                        o
but it          W


...I play zigzags
with it in the water,
and it still Refuses to

                           S
                        i
                   n
               k


I am Numb.
And I try so hard to remind myself

This isn't about me,
not at all.

The regrets are still there,
the could'ves of life


You try to make sense of the tragedy
and still feel like floating up there
with the truth

Because even if the truth is dense and heavy,
it can defy gravity,
much like my tears

Packed like sardines
inside a jeepney—
Too full,
with a jeepney strike going on.

Rushing,
mother and child ride along.

Greasy, *****, malnourished…
The woman holds a can—
a makeshift drum.
Little boy hands out envelopes,
he looks like he's 3 years old,
he's most likely 6.

Woman beats her drum,
nobody listens
chatter drowning out the rhythm…
Invisible ears to go with
invisible envelopes

His head touches my legs,
dissipating heat—
an indicator of how long
he's been under the sun and smog
The thought chills me…

He stares at my sister's shopping bags
with searing eyes…
Windows that I can’t bear to look into,
afraid to see my reflection of clouded guilt and frustration

I shake my head, no food to share
but my hands reach out to his,
to give him some money.
My sister remembers a bottle of iced tea,
and hands it to him.

He has a hard time opening it,
and asks for help from the school girls…
Invisible again.

I reach out and get the bottle from him
Temporary refreshment
for a body that is parched,
for a soul who is thirsty for so much more.

I cannot help but gulp in guilty air.

He sits on the aisle,
savoring the tea
as his mother thumps on the can.

The little boy retrieves envelopes, all empty—
as hollow as the sound of the beating drum.

What do you do,
what can you do?

The jeepney stops.
They alight from it...
The mother looks back
and says, "Salamat."
It goes straight to my heart.

Her eyes move me most—
one eye is cloudy, grayed out,
perhaps a manifestation
of the storms in her life?

That single word seared through me,
and I felt how much she meant it…

Her thank you
made me want to give so much more,
to call out to her and give whatever I had at the moment
but they are gone...
Lost in a crowd of faceless people,
and I myself want to get lost,
hide my face in shame…

What can you do?

Wave a hand in front of my face
and see magic happen…
That’s how I feel sometimes
Replace the face with a clean slate
or maybe not,
rather a scanned image of what’s truly within
so people will finally see
what should be seen,
and not what they want to

Somebody pointed it out to me one time,
and how true he is…
He said that one has never truly seen
one’s own face.

How ironic, right?
Yes, you see yourself in the mirror
but that’s only a reflection of yourself
And how you see your face,
would depend on the lighting,
and on the quality of the mirror…

I also have to ask, what defines a “good” mirror, anyway?

Photos of oneself are still somehow altered one way or another.
passing through lenses,
just never a firsthand account of seeing oneself
face to face—

I have seen my hands,
  each line, each groove and ridge of my fingerprints...
I have seen only the top view of my nose
…not my entire face really

So how ironic really that the blind
probably see their true selves,
see their faces much, much better
than those who can see with their eyes,
because they do so, through their hands…
touching,
         just feeling…

Wishing it was Wednesday
                            just so that today is over
                                     Doesn't matter what happens
                                                  between­ now and then...
                                       I guess I could live with that--
                            with what I did,
                    how I did it
               and why...
         Wish it was Wednesday
so I know how
to react
by

then

I may never know what exactly happened,
but I think I know the why of it

Tadhana…Fate…Destiny…Kismet…

Put it in so many words,
but it all boils down to that.

Tadhana…

shivers down my spine,
tears prickling my eyes,
as I hear once more the story,
the destiny
of two souls
one stormy day in July…

She was being stupid,
crashing into the waves that day
just for the thrill of it

He was being pensive,
reflecting on how those waves
just somehow seemed to soothe him

People slowly left the shores
as dark clouds loomed in the horizon
save for these two souls...

She wasn’t even supposed to be there,
just a spur of the moment thing,
forgetting her other worries
she loved storms, she loved the beach
combine them and for her it was bliss…

He went there for closure,
the 10th year of his brother’s death
trying to accept that he did all he could
he loved him, he loved the beach
but guilt drowned him…

The rains then came down in sheets,
winds whipping, storm waves crashing
she was almost at shore though,
when the undertow pulled her back

He thought he was imagining things,
his brother’s ghost perhaps?
When he saw her again,
and fear was tossed like jetsam

Was she the answer he was seeking for?
His redemption in another form?
Was this the reason why he was here now?
Her only hope for salvation?

Rushing out to sea,
adrenaline rushing through his veins
Faith and Fate working together,
he swam towards her

and as they reached the shore
the winds dropped to a whisper,
the waves went back tickling sand,
the raindrops trickled into drizzles

She was breathing, thank God
He lay beside her, exhausted
She could only thank him with a smile
well, a smile that could match the Sun

and she took his hand...
and put it over her heart

It was not so much that their hands fit perfectly,
but there was something else
mole on her right ring finger
perfectly aligning
mole on his left ring finger

Tadhana.

Shivers down my spine,
tears prickling my eyes,
as I hear once more the story,
the destiny
of two souls
one stormy day in July…
and of why I am here.

Tracing back…
that is what I am doing now,
just tracing back
along this woodland path,
in an attempt to grasp remnants
of a time
when I felt so alive, yet dying.

Thoughts and memories,
they fall  like these leaves,
a melange of confusion, beauty and frailty

Swept away by the wind, scattered
or swept into a pile, unified.

Either way, they can be stomped on,
brittle leaves crushed into a satisfying crunch.

All around me,
there’s a profusion of vermilion, gold and copper
but those reds have always been my favorite—
so alive, yet can also mean bleeding.

I see a pumpkin carved out,
a creepy smile adorning its face
A chuckle escapes from my lips,
remembering that time
when laughter lived in harmony
with love.

Now, I am not sure anymore…
Because how can something
that had so much hope, so verdant,
change?

I am a fool, for the answers
are so obvious—
I only need to look at these leaves.

So much like our lives, these seasons…

Not very long,
I will be staring up at argentine skies.

The thought of it gives me chills—
I pray for spring.

In a place
where trees caress heaven's cheeks
where winds whisper wistfully,
           sharing their secrets to those who care to listen...

In a place
where sun and moon meet, however fleeting,
where death and birth collide,
            giving way to the cycle of life

There is She.

the Diwata

enchanting ebony tresses amidst fairest skin
unspeakable beauty manifested
with a voice that could melt the sun
guardian spirit of nature

There she resides quietly in the trees,
~the Narra, the Acacia, the Balete
a blessing for those who care for nature
yet wrath and curse await those who abuse it

You may hear her song echo in the breeze,
her sweet breath to cool the rivers,
her teardrops mingling with the dew...

Next time you take a nature's walk,
stop, listen and just feel---
close your eyes and when you get that tell-tale chill
through your bones, through your soul,

know that she is there,
watching your every move---

the *Diwata

An inner earthquake rattles him again
             as the fiery sun dips in the horizon
             Can he too, hide his halo as such?
             Closing his eyes as he folds in his wings,
             wishing he could take it off
             He trembles...must he embrace darkness to know of love?

Sun breaks over the mountain range,
her obsidian skin absorbing the light.
If her body is like a canvas of night,
could she reach within herself,
beyond the horns and hooves
and find her own hidden sunrise, deep inside?

             The darkness is more reassuring
             than he could have ever imagined-
             something to truly weigh his goodness against,
             in a finely-tuned balancing act.
             And as the stars can help guide a lost soul,
             he too possesses a true north within.

Oddly enough, she welcomes the radiance,
such a stark contrast to what she has been used to-
rays drip into her like ink diffuses in water,
a momentary burst of chaotic brilliance,
followed by an even stillness.
She cannot escape it, becoming a part of her.

             The rooster crows for the third time,
             so he opens his eyes to this daybreak,
             emerald mountains shimmering in the morning light.
             Through abysmal depths, he arises and now realizes
             Darkness comes as the light falls, it is inevitable…
             yet Light also takes over that darkness.

With the thickening dusk,
clouds turn into amethyst ribbons.
The day's warmth thawed a part of her
that was kept frozen and dead for eons.
Now, she would do everything in her power
to keep it pulsing--to keep it alive.

---------------------------------------------------------­-----------------------------------------------------------------­---
             *Upon watching them, sheer fascination takes over…
             Even though these two are on different paths,
             they had both achieved a similar transformation,
             as if neither was an agent for one side, or the other.
             Not any longer.
             And how their auras shone
             ....in perfect equilibrium.

You speak of love, and I say nay
Betrayal is more like it
I trusted you, but you took advantage
plundering it to oblivion

Your tokens of love are laughable,
all merely fool’s gold
they satiated me before
now they disgust me                                                               ­       
          

We speak of different kinds of love
Yours is physical, mine is emotional
and I refuse to give in anymore
so throw away your bargaining chips

This love is not for sale.

Curved in a ball
thinking


Cars roaring by
-muffled.


Crickets chirping
-muted.


Eyes closed
pondering


Everything is still.
Except my heart-
...beating


Everything is hushed.
Except my mind-
...speaking


Everything is quelled.
Except my soul-
...opening


to the wonders
of
Quietude

Am I the only one to think
that a kite is such a sad thing?

Flimsy...frail...
never really free,
forever tied to a string

Yes, it can soar indeed,
so high, with the wind taking it places,
almost making it forget,
just enjoying the wind rushing through,
lighthearted

The wind drops,
then it gets snared
among tree branches maybe,
or perhaps stuck on a roof or elsewhere

with its string all tangled and knotted,
almost impossible to untangle

if made with paper,
it should be lucky to still be intact,
with nary a tear

more often than not,
it gets ditched in the trash,
the price to pay for
its momentary freedom

Sometimes, though
perhaps a rarity these days,
there is that boy who makes
that kite from scratch,
whittles the sticks himself,
painstakingly forming that frame,
creating that kite with love

So when it does get all tangled up,
that boy still tries so hard to fix it,
to make it new...
never minding the cuts
he gets in the process--

That string not meant to tie down
that kite,
but a lifeline to the boy

But like I said,
that must be a rare thing these days...

For I am one to think
that a kite is such a sad thing...
Flimsy...frail...
never really free,
forever tied to a string

rain
hits…stings…
my scorched skin
refreshing me
my troubles sloughing off like dead skin cells


                                                         ­                                                    too much rain now, seems like I am drowning
                                                        ­                                                                 ­                                  bob up, bob down
                                                            ­                                                                 ­                                     plunging deep
                                                            ­                                                                 ­                                             breathe in
                                                              ­                                                                 ­                                                       air


    ­                                                                 ­                  life
                                                                ­                   balance
                                                                ­                hard to get
                                                             ­                 but     possible
                                                            I walk…teetering buckets of water

Everyday she looks at herself in the mirror
but doesn't really see
             ...until today

Never realized until now
just how much depth
        superficial lines can behold...


She  t
         r
          a
           i
            l
             s
                along the scar on her left cheek

and remembers
just how much it hurt that day...
...the wound has healed,
though the heart is taking
a longer time to catch up


She   t...r...a...c...e...s...
the lines on her palm,
mulling over what fate has dealt her,
heart and mind interconnected
by the invisible lines of reason and feeling
fate lines to heart lines to life lines


worry lines, age lines and laugh lines
each tell a story
each a silent witness to her life
of sadness, of growing up, of happiness
...of loving and living


Crossing that finish line
is inevitable
She's getting there...
ever so slowly, and she savors each step
completely content with the etched lines
that she gathers along the way...

lokt dikshuneri
kipin eet, kees laustt
diss iys hardd

lokt mynd
kent tingk
wer diyd mye
spelink en mynd gaw?

awt da weendoe

nid napp baad

I have chosen You.
Sweet and handsome mortal, come to me…

Whisper to me your longings,
and I shall tickle your ear with my saccharine breath.
I shall take you to places
where only gods and goddesses roam.

Aware am I of how my radiant beauty entrances you...
Be thankful to the Fates that it is you I have chosen.
I have sprung forth from Ocean's foam,
but we shall churn that sea...
Flowers at my feet would pale
to the flowers that spring forth from my heart

How I know too well that my eyes mesmerize
A twinkle from the windows of my soul
and I know I have captured you.
I would gladly take off these necklaces ‘round my supple neck
if it means that your lips trail soft kisses instead…

I would happily unclasp these brooches in my hair,
and let my flowing tresses
tickle your gorgeous face and body,
as I take my turn to adorn you with my kisses.

I shall discard these golden robes made by the Kharites and the Horai
and reveal my nubile body for you to explore
with your eyes…
…with your hands
with your lips…

Let the Seasons be forgotten,
as we move to only know of Love.

I have chosen You.
Sweet and handsome mortal, Come to me…

She sits on a wall...

Riffling book pages, as faces pass by
She finds answers in silence
and understands
All is well.

Sad for leaves getting out of sight
yet still
happy for the humor she found within
She smiles...

guilty
of trampling all over
your heart

that's what I did
with vengeance,too

you skipped
over mine,
I trampled yours

now we're even,
or maybe not

never felt good
about doing that

but it justifies things...

seems like those
footprints
are still there

wash them away
with waves of laughter
erase all vestiges of me

or try to...

then forget I was ever there
that should be easy

...I never meant much to you anyway

Will you be loving me ‘til time is naught?
Your fingers only know of suppleness,
will they not flinch to touch skin wrinkle-fraught?
My beauty withers, cup reached emptiness…

Your love has set my heart aglow, renewed
‘tis ev’rytime your words lave over me...
Like soothing rain on desert sand subdued,
I soak it in, drunk for eternity

Do forgive me, for ever doubting you,
this pain has ravaged me, yet you’re still here.
‘Tis I you love, this I now know so true,
please stay with me, for death creeps in so near

Let saccharine lips meet for one last time
The windows close now, yet leave love sublime

Oh, fuming teardrop!
You’ve boiled over from wrath and anger,
leaving painful blisters as you sear the heart
Why you don’t evaporate is a wonder
but there must be a valid reason…
If only to let the heart know it lives
Oh, fuming teardrop!
Will you ever learn how to forgive?

Oh, defiant teardrop!
Teetering on the edge and glistening,
refusing to fall to make yourself known
It is not fickle mindedness playing,
rather, a power play of emotions
a blatant refusal to show what’s within
Oh, defiant teardrop!
Why even stop yourself before you begin?

Oh, crocodile teardrop!
If you were truly so, slink back shamefully,
recede to your lacrimal gland and stay put
There is no need for your insincerity,
the world is chaotic as it is, too troubled
Fall not, trickle not, trick not who see you
Oh, crocodile teardrop!
How can you be so heartless to fool people so true?

Oh, pensive teardrop!
How gracefully you streak down window sills
Wash away grime and grit, cleanse everything
Flow unhindered, purify hearts you fill
Laughter may be the music of the soul,
but you are pure— the distilled spirit
Oh, pensive teardrop!
Will you course down blackened hearts, pay a visit?

Oh, jubilant teardrop!
Married to laughter, frolic and dance to its tune
Give birth to hope then soar with elation
Brighten faces, sparkle days, light up the moon
Let souls remember that you speak of pain, joy
Let them remember, then allow them to heal
Oh, jubilant teardrop!
Why did I ever doubt that you are spirit revealed?

rain drops dribble
rivers run through green grass;
muddied bullfrog blinks

windswept leaves
fall on pavement;
dry and cold

I watch you sleeping,
shrouded by shadows
and I just want to curl up beside you,
hold you forever...

If only I could,
I would take away all of your pain,
everything that has been causing it
and absorb it

How I wish it were that easy

I am not even that strong
but I still want to do that,
if I could...

Role reversal--
I **** at it.

You've protected me for so long,
guided me, taught me

and now,
when it seems that
it should be my turn
to do that for you,

I fail miserably.

I seem so powerless
to what we are against

Is it because I am not yet strong enough...
or because you are so strong?

God knows how life has dealt you with
heavy, heavy blows
and yet you still stand.

Sometimes a bit frail,
yet your inner strength
always carries you through

How I wish I can be like you.

That black veil is still there
as I watch you sleep

When will it be lifted?

I do not know.

I'm here, though
always will be

Ever had those moments when you were convinced--
no, make that Definite,
that everything was going your way?

Map in hand, destination in sight
then only to be horrified
that you suddenly
didn't know how to read the map?
That the compass doesn't work,
that you misinterpreted the signs?

So you are left with nothing.
Stuck in a place
between the now and the future--

Which is basically nowhere at all.

Asking for directions is pointless,
because the people you ask
are as clueless as you are--
wandering in their own vicious circles;
of rings getting tangled, untangled,
clashing then finally collapsing
into unlinkable chains

A conundrum, really.

Imagine this map as a perfect puzzle image,
shattered into a million jagged pieces in midair--
and they lie suspended there,
floating, painstakingly taking forever
to fall--- to--- the......... ground
You try to catch them, but are hesitant,
because the pieces are so sharp, angry
leaving you with bleeding cuts all over
and yet if you fail to do so, and they hit the ground
they shatter once again,
as dust

Impossible task, really.

Crying does you no good,
since tears mixed with that dust--
well, you are only left with mud

So what's one left with?

Instinct.

Sheer gut.

And you can only hope and pray
that you don't make a wrong turn this time.

Completely thrown off course,
you follow what you think is right.

Collect yourself,
read the signs again

and walk on.

Might take you days, even years
but at least you still tried,
refusing to just stand still,
waiting for the paths to show you the way.

You pave those paths yourself,
without trampling on ants
and maybe one day
you'd suddenly find yourself
in front of that lockless door
that was meant for you alone.

It is clamped shut though,
and will only open when it sees you.

This is that door that actually leads to the
place you've been searching for all along.

It doesn't have any locks at all
simply because
You are the key.

Have you ever realized
just how much it hurts
to be trampled upon?
People taking you for granted,
for every miserable day of your life.
They need you to get where they are,
so they won’t have to get *****,
so that their paths could be a bit easier for them
but you never are truly recognized for it…
You are just a boring accessory
not worthy to be taken note of

It’s like in their eagerness
to reach that place, to meet that somebody-
they just skip, step, jump all over you
and just not appreciate
your importance

My curse though
is that I can’t cry out—
only remain stoic, hard.
Stable.
So I can withstand
all that weight,
of all those people using me
with them rarely looking back.

I know my purpose…
but it still hurts to realize
that this is all that I ever will be…
A stepping stone.
To dreams, to love, to life--
forgotten, left behind





073020111252a107

Outside my window,
the leaves are in a frenzy~
twirling, shaking and flying about
the wind just sending them off
in a scattered dance...
so similar to the
thoughts
chaotic in my mind

Sleep comes around,
but the dreams do not.

Or do they?
And I've forgotten them yet again.

They are but fleeting wisps for me...
iridescent ribbons of subconsciousness
winding through me,
teasing,
then eluding me

When I try to touch them,
my fingers ripple through a smoky haze
So real to me, yet intangible

Sometimes I wonder
whether I could pour something
over these dreams,
Splash! And they crackle,
crystallizing them, finally captured
Smooth, sharp, tangible

and then I change my mind,
since it doesn't feel right...

Like caging something
to admire its beauty

Somehow, even the word dream
seems so ethereal to me,
they are but soft whispers
weaving through my slumbering self

My dreams,
they have a voice
so melodic, yet incomparable
so beautiful, yet unrecoverable

My dreams,
they come in color
so alive, yet muted
so alive, yet unreal

My head touches the pillow,
and I sink into slumber,
a myriad of thoughts finally settling down,
as undulating curls of dreams rise up around me

Come to think of it,
this creates for me such a
fascinating image...

Myself enveloped in darkness,
with wispy colorful ribbons
floating by all around me
as I dream on...
a quick reprieve from reality







08272011306p408

Here, let me take your hand
and I'll fluff up that pillow for you
How odd that the wind is nowhere today-

Whistle a happy tune for me, love
Don't you always say that whistling
calls the breeze, invites it in?
It's never failed before,
just as seeing you never fails
to put a smile on my face
...I can almost forget the pain
Whistle for me, and I shall sing for you

This is how I've always imagined us,
in a garden, the wind tickling the leaves
as we both immerse ourselves
in music and laughter,
with the birds joining us in our song...

Just hold my hands, keep them warm
as we bask in the sun's golden rays...
seems like forever since I've felt it

Don't be afraid to close your eyes, love
I'm just here
...let me watch over you for once
You haven't slept for days,
let me do this
and sing you a lullaby

Hush, wind, hush
let my voice soothe his heart this time

I can feel your pulse-
it beats so much faster
as mine slows down,
slipping...
much like the sun slips from my eyes

Forgive me, love, for leaving you this way
I know you wanted to be awake when I go
But you've been so tired,
and I don't want to see your eyes' lights die
as my own flicker and fade

It's better this way, believe me

The two of us imagining a garden,
hand in hand

As the wind breezes past,
so shall I...
forever in your breath, my love
dwelling in your heart, fanning those flames

and when you feel that wind has left you,
remember what you always do...
Whistle and I am there




08172011 400p433