.ludo savis... play nice... ludo savis... play nice:

i knew the relationship was over when i encountered her ex-boyfriend sitting in her st. petersburg flat drinking ***** with me, no, wait, it was when she started questionning me using cosmopolitan magazine quiz about perfect girlfriends on our way from st. petersburg to moscow to see metallica, while all i wanted was to listen to bob dylan and appreciate whatever rural russia had to offer... beside that? it took me quiet a time to fiddle through and find the glagolitic alphabet, the slavic alphabet before the learned greek came across "my" people, given the romans never venture that far... good luck finding an african phonetic encoding system, beside the hieroglyphs... i won't bother looking right now... not to insult, though: so much for a large phallus megalomania contra envy... Ⰶ: życie (life) is not the half of the caron ž in the form of: the acute... (ź): ździra (don't ask, seriously, the word implies worse than ***** / szmata)... źródło (source)... eh... the one-armed caron (ž)... ź... i can't explain it any further: you need to speak the lingo to keep the "nuance" alive... southern slavs treat the caron akin to ž = ż... how beautiful... given the english language has no diacritical marker application: can't exactly claim diacritical markers using only the automated hovering decapitated heads above ι & ȷ... i'm not english i'm tired of looking up h'america's *******! i don't need not fancy pants to debrief the people i'm concerned with to mind, not giving a **** about them... thanks for your jeans: subtitle made in canada... beside the whole mao shitshow of: made in china.... back in the 1990s! *******... even in terms of music h'america isn't really relevant.. it just is... and "whatever" this "is" is to be, will remain... but only as an r.e.m. ref. pointer, that requires the physical translation of the lyrics: the one i love... a simple prop: to occupy my mind.... fire! the silesian vampire... because... said so... learning about monsters is what i could only fathom, which included me... but, sorry... the glagolithic script... ⰄⰀⰏ: dam... i.e. i will give... fun fact: r.e.m. didn't sell their: it's the end of the world as we know it (and i feel fine) to microsoft for a commercial break.. glagolitic script... where are the africans? oh, right, nowhere when phonetic encoding is turning heads... **** me... even the blind are onto the affair...  i went as far back as the glagolithic script: pre cyrillic, about the same time that the latins incorporated the northern "savages" with applying the chisel to the ᚱ / R... ᚠ / F... copernican "up-side down": why do all tree (beside the pines) resemble a Y shape, a gamma? why did god compensate his existence with opiates?! refresh my memory, though, why am i drawing blanks at african phonetic encoding? **** me, the blind drew something, the deaf too... if you played the guitar, forget about reading braille... you need tender, french, fingertips.... you can't play the guitasr and read braille... mind you... encoding morse overshadows braille... but even the european blindman overcomes the fully ****-naked butter-cup sprinting *** of a black man every day of the week: i'm not here to compensate for a leprechaun's sized *****: mind you... in the hands of a porcelain ***- beauty? everything looks like a hiroshima... i just started to entertain an asian fetish... 4th knuckle mizzing... missing... the most ****** aspect of a female aesthetic? her hand... when *** & the city cited trimming ***** hair (no circumsion, really?), so no asian porcelain hands, no 4th knuckle missing?! i hate what the anglo-speaking world has become, it's this, this, this quasi-Islam.... at least i respect the Quran... but 1984, by the secular prophet of the western world? why do people still calling it: silicon vallyey... it's a ******* curtain, smart-you not seeing the replacement mechanisms of the silicon curtain: now wow... ******, where you're getting-to-go get from? any ideas?! a tehran baza?! ******. 1960s homosexuals fiddling their way past the tunis police, happy? loitering sucker-****** pansie? again... entertain me... where is the african phonetic encoding system... this is my "i.q." avenue masterpiece... i don't care about i.q. but a ******* blind man beat the african at phonetic encoding... personally?

one just simply falls, tired of the right-wing momentum regarding beauty, it's such a bothersome crtique of its generic foundation if beauty..... i hate it, this objective classicism: back to the future take no, 4; *******...

             again, where were the africans sorting
out their invetement in the slave trade...
ONLY WHITE PEOPLE
WERE BAD, CONCERNING BLACK PEOPLE...
Idi Amin... Idi Amin Idi Amin Idi Amin Idi Amin
Idi Amin... Idi Amin Idi Amin Idi Amin Idi Amin ....
******! please!
ever see an african-h'american in africa?
   ******! please!
ever see an african-h'american in africa?
i said: ******! please!
ever see an african-h'american in africa?
i'd love to see an african-h'american
in africa... mouthin-off their stature...

                   african phonetic encoding....

debussy                                       chopin




satie                                              schumannn...

­and?
              there's too much of loon'don....
                   had enough of it, ****'s....
too much ***-kissing,
too much of the h'american swindle...
carelesss buggers; these brits...
******* ****** jolly-tribe
               ****-ups....
  
i drink and relax solving a sudoku -
i'm not doing it to compete -
   just having a conversation with
my neighbor about the difference
between Alzheimer's
and dementia brought back memories
of what i negated for some time...

it's only when someone else tells
you of their elder relative's dementia
you muster the courage to
spot the same symptoms in
your relative...

         my grandfather has dementia...
my early teenage years,
every summer visiting him,
traveling to Krakow,
     going fishing,
riding our bicycles in the afternoon...
he feeding my what books
i should read...
      i still visit,
  spend about a month,
say, keep him company,
   fix up the kitchen...

  but it's such an exhausting disease...
not so much for the sufferer -
this mild form of Alzheimer -
no killer proteins eating away at
the brain cells -
   dementia?
the ontological nadir of old age...
then again, perhaps the zenith...

a closure...
   the long term memory opens,
while the short term memory
closes -
   he still can solve a crossword
puzzle like a mad genius...
but he lapses into what is
the cinema of mortality...
                 he remembers things
like the two SS-men
   posted in my home town,
running up to them
and saying -
herr bitte bon-bon!...
  the raven black of the uniform
and the glaring *******...

    i blocked the fact that it was
dementia, when my grandmother
thought it was wise to scare all
of us, uncle, mother and father
into thinking it could degenerate
into Alzheimer's...
        he still recognizes me!
Alzheimer's sufferers can't
even muster that!

   at best... dementia couples itself up
with melancholia,
  the natural melancholia
akin to the sadness expressed by
Nietzsche: only when the house
has been completed,
but never during the construction...

dementia is just an endless memory
loop...
   when man is allowed to finally
put down the hammer, the sickle...
and retire?
  he's standing on the precipices of mortality...
on a dam about to crack open,
and release a surge of the sea
of memory...
   why wouldn't he take the time
to remember?
  to remember himself?
        
the tedium comes when the same
persons implores others to listen to them...
when memories become less
of the old man's cinema and more
affairs of an oral culture -
our culture has lost the point
of oral transmission -
  hence dementia sufferers have
to evolve -
                  into not talking so much...
not as a mean spirited conviction -
why? i do the same -
   i have about 10 focal memories
that constant revive me -
               and i'm only 32...
          but i don't talk about them...
hell, i won't write them...
   it's my own, private cinema -
but my grandfather comes from
a time before the optical explosion
of television...

         i don't need to hear what he saw -
all i need is to tattoo his mannerisms
and face onto my psyche...

   but dementia, thank god,
is a listening tedium...
                     point being...
a life opens up,
   but any immediacy of life disappears...
hence his persistent ability
to solve crossword puzzles,
enjoy reading the newspaper -
but the significance of remembering
yesterday is missing...
    
he's an old man...
   he has no obligations in terms of
duty in a professional arena of
the metalwork factory...
why wouldn't he attempt to push death
aside and not linger on
the memory of his, magnum opus -
his life sigma oeuvre?

     me?
  some would call this music neo-**** skinhead
****...
   wumpscut, two songs...
   thorns & wreath of barbs,
     bunkertor sieben (reprise)...
but it relaxes me when sitting on a sudoku,
drinking Bacardi cola and lime...
      enjoying the cool August air
after just enough rain
that manages to exfoliates the flowers
with refreshed sensuality...

  sudoku no. 10101...
    after enough numbers pop up,
the tactic is to hone in on one number
in each of the 9 squares and 9 vertical
and 9 linear line...
for sudoku no. 10101 in the Friday's
edition of the times?

   it went something akin to this

[8, 5] - [3] - [1] - [9] - [7] - [2, 6] - [4]

that's the closest schematic
i'll have for you,
   with regards to how the grid is filled.

i drink and relax solving a sudoku -
i'm not doing it to compete -
   just having a conversation with
my neighbor about the difference
between Alzheimer's
and dementia brought back memories
of what i negated for some time...

it's only when someone else tells
you of their elder relative's dementia
you muster the courage to
spot the same symptoms in
your relative...

         my grandfather has dementia...
my early teenage years,
every summer visiting him,
traveling to Krakow,
     going fishing,
riding our bicycles in the afternoon...
he feeding my what books
i should read...
      i still visit,
  spend about a month,
say, keep him company,
   fix up the kitchen...

  but it's such an exhausting disease...
not so much for the sufferer -
this mild form of Alzheimer -
no killer proteins eating away at
the brain cells -
   dementia?
the ontological nadir of old age...
then again, perhaps the zenith...

a closure...
   the long term memory opens,
while the short term memory
closes -
   he still can solve a crossword
puzzle like a mad genius...
but he lapses into what is
the cinema of mortality...
                 he remembers things
like the two SS-men
   posted in my home town,
running up to them
and saying -
herr bitte bon-bon!...
  the raven black of the uniform
and the glaring *******...

    i blocked the fact that it was
dementia, when my grandmother
thought it was wise to scare all
of us, uncle, mother and father
into thinking it could degenerate
into Alzheimer's...
        he still recognizes me!
Alzheimer's sufferers can't
even muster that!

   at best... dementia couples itself up
with melancholia,
  the natural melancholia
akin to the sadness expressed by
Nietzsche: only when the house
has been completed,
but never during the construction...

dementia is just an endless memory
loop...
   when man is allowed to finally
put down the hammer, the sickle...
and retire?
  he's standing on the precipices of mortality...
on a dam about to crack open,
and release a surge of the sea
of memory...
   why wouldn't he take the time
to remember?
  to remember himself?
        
the tedium comes when the same
persons implores others to listen to them...
when memories become less
of the old man's cinema and more
affairs of an oral culture -
our culture has lost the point
of oral transmission -
  hence dementia sufferers have
to evolve -
                  into not talking so much...
not as a mean spirited conviction -
why? i do the same -
   i have about 10 focal memories
that constant revive me -
               and i'm only 32...
          but i don't talk about them...
hell, i won't write them...
   it's my own, private cinema -
but my grandfather comes from
a time before the optical explosion
of television...

         i don't need to hear what he saw -
all i need is to tattoo his mannerisms
and face onto my psyche...

   but dementia, thank god,
is a listening tedium...
                     point being...
a life opens up,
   but any immediacy of life disappears...
hence his persistent ability
to solve crossword puzzles,
enjoy reading the newspaper -
but the significance of remembering
yesterday is missing...
    
he's an old man...
   he has no obligations in terms of
duty in a professional arena of
the metalwork factory...
why wouldn't he attempt to push death
aside and not linger on
the memory of his, magnum opus -
his life sigma oeuvre?

     me?
  some would call this music neo-**** skinhead
****...
   wumpscut, two songs...
   thorns & wreath of barbs,
     bunkertor sieben (reprise)...
but it relaxes me when sitting on a sudoku,
drinking Bacardi cola and lime...
      enjoying the cool August air
after just enough rain
that manages to exfoliates the flowers
with refreshed sensuality...

  sudoku no. 10101...
    after enough numbers pop up,
the tactic is to hone in on one number
in each of the 9 squares and 9 vertical
and 9 linear line...
for sudoku no. 10101 in the Friday's
edition of the times?

   it went something akin to this

[8, 5] - [3] - [1] - [9] - [7] - [2, 6] - [4]

that's the closest schematic
i'll have for you,
   with regards to how the grid is filled.

oh sure sure, the uncircumcised man,
crucified when all the orthodox were
drunk,
                   פור day,
       drunk cruxion?!
                 lovey purin "misgivings";
what's next?

   oh sure sure, the jews would hav e crucified
me on the hill of: tel megiddo
****-heads throwing up their kippahs
into the air in some skewed form
of celebration...
       like bacchus entering
Valhalla asking: where's the mead?
    i've had too much wine...
where'y the whiskey?

   i'll keep repeating...
              talk about jews among the polonaiase?
hush hush: ****, dont want to bring
bad luck... jews in poland are very much akin
to roma gypsies: lucky charms...
but... do you see any ******* leprechauns
around? look at me: i see none...
  let's tell the joke in verse,
not the stadard: a priest a rabbi and an imam
walk into a bar...
****... is that even a joke?! muslims don't drink!
what's the imam having; cranberry juice?!

and englishman a scot and an irish walk
into a bar... the three of them walk
out on stag-duty with inflanted sheep and
speaking cymcru... terrible joke...
as all my jokes were to begin with...

         i am currently navigating,
my uncle's ex girlfriend is sleeping downstairs
on the couch,
blah blah Tuscany... blah blah prosecco...
i'm becoming suspect: she's a gemini,
isn't she? all the geminis i ever met where
extroverted self-absorbed louis XIV types...
they need to, they need to self-absorb themselves
in order to extract the sort of energy
associate with rhetoric,
   and how they constantly digress,
there's always a sub-plot to the plot... nay,
there are always sub-plots...
          great company, i mean...
when a person speaks all the time there are
no awkward moments of silence,
until the said person tells the "eager" listener...
play some music...
she's a warsaw girl, so she's a pretty learned
in the ways of the world,
i'm just an ostrowiec commoner...

    oy vey! oy vey: she'***** 40 and lamenting...
i too complain about my uncle...
she had an abortion with him...
i once talked with my uncle about music
while he surfaced at mrs. roshandler's back garabe...
we ate sri lankan fried chicken wings and
chips and listened to californication
for the very first time...

   abundance of hope in Tuscany...
"apparently"... but if you have ever watched
a woman, borderline on asylum incarceration?
i was looking at one just example...
  it's not a pretty sight...
even when she asked: how's *** and business?
i'm a monk...
          or at least i tend to...
even if she came from a stock of
failed relationships: fine fine...
            now?

i served up decent food,
a malvani and a tikka masala curry...
          naan bread,
     turmeric infused rice,
vanilla cheese cake with strawberries...
she enjoyed it,
i like to please people...
    mind you: ever see a slim chef?
i wouldn't trust a slim chef,
i never have, i never will,
you need some chubby chub chub rounding-offs...
mind you: i much prefer cooking
food than eating it,
but i would never trust a chef associated
with a c.o.d. associated with counting calories...
never have, never will...
two noteworthy proverbs:
1. too many cooks in one kitchen =
no decent meal is being made...
  one cook, one couldron, that's your best bet...
2. never trust a slim, athletic cook...
those ******* can shove their kale
       smoothies....
they can slurp up those smoothies
turning their ***** in straw ******* vortexes!
i'll cook on lard trimmings,

em....
  [9] - [2] - [6] - [3] - [8] - [1] - [4] - [5, 7]?
that's when the sudoku puzzle was filled...
all the nines... all the twos... etc. became filled
in the 9 grids...

well...
     "apart" from: my uncle's girlfriend:
i've been living in englamd
for nearly 30 yeasrs...
i've dated a french girl,
an australian, a russian....
but u've never dated an english
girl: i guess they much prefer
aged pakistani grooming gang
members....
            i guess:
**** gasoline on them,
they're all readied and geared up!

braille contra morse?
if you want to play the guitar?
forget the braille....
you need tender fingertips
to read braille...
morse? nit so much...
here's a comparison...
i see!

    a.:   ⠓⠑   ⠺⠓⠕
                       ⠎⠑⠑⠎
    ⠊⠎       ⠁⠃⠇⠑
                   ⠞⠕
                                     ­   ⠗⠑⠁⠙

b. play the guitar and learn to....
read finger tip braille, ******....

· · · ·  ·         
· − −  · · · ·  − − − 
· · ·  ·  ·  · · · :
                  · ·  · · · 
▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄ ▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄ · − · ·  ·  (a / b)
      −  − − − 
                   · − ·  · ▄▄▄▄▄▄▄ − · ·  (a)

(he who sees: is able to read)...

           i can attest...
             i would find myself readily reading
morse in braille,
than braille by itself...
                far more easier.

finger-tips... i'd sooner read your morse
as braille, than braille as morse..

Lord, para kang driver ng shuttle. Sa bawat pagpara ng mga tauhan, humihinto ka. Ang bawat isa’y may tangang istorya at pawang may mga kakambal na destinasyon.

Sa dilim, tanging ang ilaw mo ang nagbibigay pag-asa sa mga tambay at naghihintay na pagkatao. Hindi mahalaga sayo kung matagal na silang nag-aabang o kararating lang nila sa tagpuan.

Hindi naman lingid sa aming kaalaman na diretso lamang ang daan; alam naming dumaraan Ka talaga sa amin at minsan ayaw lang talaga naming pumara. Kung malayo kami’t nasa eskinita pa; kami ang nararapat na maglakad patungo sayo at maghintay. Minsan nga lang mahuhuli kami sa oras, pero babalik ka naman para sa amin.

Hindi ka napapagod pagbuksan ng pinto ang bawat pasahero; kahit may lakas naman ang bawat isa. Isasara mo ang naturang pinto nang kami’y maging ligtas.

Matulog man ang isa sa amin, ang byahe’y isang hele. Minsan talaga malubak lalo sa tigang na kapatagan. Sa bawat alikabok at aspaltong sinsayaran; nananatili ka sa iyong pagmamaneho.

Minsan, mabilis ang takbo; minsan mabagal. Tulad ng bawat panalangin; minsan agapan **** sinusolusyunan; minsan naman, tinuturuan mo ang bawat puso kung ano ba talaga ang "paghihintay." Pero alam namin -- mabilis man o mabagal ang takbo; hawak Mo ang oras at tanging kaligtasan at kabutihan lamang ang alay Mo sa amin.

Sa pangunguna mo, salamat po pagkat may iisang direksyon ang biyahe. Alam namin ang patutunguhan buhat sa karatulang nasa salamin. Pag sinabi naming “Dito na lang,” muli kang humihinto at muli kaming pinagbubuksan para lumisan. Hindi ito paalam; bagkus, bukas ay sasakay muli at tayo’y magkikita sa lagi nating tagpuan.

“Alam mo kung nasaan ako; hihintayin Kita. Lord, salamat sa kaligtasan.”

"Ilabas ninyo ang kuya namin!" sigaw ni Mon.

"KUYA! Kami to mga kapatid mo!" sigaw naman ni Jef.

Halos magambala na ang mga kapitbahay sa kalye Casa dahil sa ingay ng pagsisigaw ng magkakapatid. Mahigit sampung taon na rin nilang hinahanap ang kanilang nakatatandang kapatid. At may nakapagsabi sa kanilang nasa kalye Casa lamang ito at kasama ang tunay nitong mga kapatid.

"Anong problema ninyo ha? Nakakaistorbo na kayo sa kabilang at sa kalye rito. Sino ba hinahanap niyo ha?" lumabas ang isang matangkad na lalaki at nagsalita sa kanila.

"Alam naming nandito ang kuya Regie naman. Ilabas niyo siya!" sigaw ni Mon.

"Walang Regie dito. At sino kayo? Ni hindi ko nga kayo kilala e," sagot ni ng lalaki.

"Kilala ka namin at ikaw ang nakatatandang kapatid namin. Magkakapatid tayo sa ama. Ikaw si kuya Ryan," wika ulit ni Mon.

"Ah ganun ba? Bakit hindi ko yata alam? Sino bang tatay ang tinutukoy mo?" takang-taka ang mukha ni Ryan nang sabihin nito na magkapatid daw sila sa ama.

"Hindi ikaw ang sadya namin dito. Ilabas mo ang kuya namin!" wika ni Jef. Agad siyang nakipagpatintero upang makapasok sa loob ng bahay. Pero napigilan ito ni Ryan.

"At anong karapatan mo, ninyo na pumasok sa bahay ko? Kayo ba ang may-ari?" mataas na ang boses ni Ryan nang mga sandaling iyon pero nanatili pa rin siyang mahinahon dahil ayaw niyang gumulo pa. "Ang mabuti pa ay umuwi na lang kayo. Walang Regie dito. Nagkamali kayo ng pinuntahan."

"Hindi kami aalis dito. Alam naming nasa loob ang kuya namin. Ilabas niyo siya?" nagpupumilit pa rin si Mon at bigla na lamang niyang iwinaksi ang kamay ni Ryan na nakaharang sa pintuan ng kaniyang bahay. Hindi naman hinayaan ni Ryan na makapasok ito at doon ay ibinuhos na ang kaniyang galit.

"SUBUKAN NINYONG MAGPUMILIT PA NA MAKAPASOK! Ipapa-barangay ko na kayong lahat!" halos kita na ang mga ugat sa leeg ni Ryan sa pagsigaw nito sa kanila. Pero hindi pa rin natinag ang magkakapatid.

"Wala kaming pakialam kung iyan ang gusto mo!" bulyaw naman ni Mon.

Magsisimula na sana ang matinding kaguluhan sa pagitan ni Ryan at ng magkakapatid nang isang boses ang kanilang narinig.

"Sino ba ang hinahanap ninyo ha?" wika nito at mula sa likuran ni Ryan ay nakita nito ang kaniyang kapatid na inaalayan ng isa pa niyang kapatid. Mangiyak-ngiyak naman ang magkakapatid na Mon at Jeff nang makita ang pakay nila.

"Kuya! Kuya Regie!" magkasabay na tawag nila sa pangalan nito.

"Sinong maysabi sa inyo na lapitan ang kuya Ron ko ha?" sigaw naman ng isang binata na nakaalalay kay Ron.

"Hayaan mo muna sila Anghel," saway nito sa kapatid na patuloy pa rin sa pag-aalay kay Ron.

"Kuya, ako ito, si Mon at kasama ko si toto Jef. Kuya, miss ka na namin. Uwi na tayo, please!" nang mga oras na iyon ay nanatiling walang emosyon si Ron sa mga salitang kaniyang naririnig.

"Hindi ako si Regie at lalong hindi ako ang kuya ninyo. Wala akong kapatid na Jeff at Mon. Anghel lang at kuya Ryan ang mayroon ako. Kaya, pakiusap umalis na kayo rito!" wika ni Ron.

"Kuya, bakit? Ano ba ang nangyari? Anong ginawa niyo sa kuya namin ha?" nagtatakang tanong ni Mon nang mapansin sa iisang direksyon lang ito nakatingin.

"Bulag ang kuya Ron namin. Naaksidente siya. Kaya kung maaari ay lisanin niyo na ang bahay namin dahil hindi ito makabubuti sa kaniyang pagpapagaling. Pakiusap," sagot ni Anghel.

"Kuya. Alam naming ikaw iyan. Ikaw si kuya Regie namin. Ikaw ang tumulong sa amin nang mga oras na kailangan ka namin at nandito na kami upang kami na ang mag-alaga sa iyo. Please bumalik ka na sa amin. Nakikiusap kami kuya Regie. Kuya Ryan, payagan niyo na po kaming iuwi kuya namin," parang gripong sunod sunod sa pag-agos ang mga luha ni Mon.

"Walang isasama! Hindi niyo siya kuya. Kuya namin siya! Umalis na kayo rito!" bulyaw ni Anghel. Naitulak ni Anghel si Mon at muntik na itong matumba. Nang makabawi ay sinuntok niya si Anghel sa mukha at nakipagsuntukan na rin ito kay Mon. Pilit namang nakikinig at nakikiramdam si Ron sa mga pangyayari.

"ITIGIL NINYO 'YAN!" sigaw nang sigaw si Ron pero tila walang nakakarinig. Panay naman ang awat ni Jef at Ryan kina Mon at Anghel. Hindi na nakatiis si Ron at muli itong sumigaw.

"TITIGIL KAYO O AKO ANG AALIS!" lahat ay napalingon kay Ron at maagap na bumalik si Anghel sa tabi ng kaniyang kuya upang pigilan ito.

"Sorry, kuya," pagpaumanhin ni Anghel.

"Kayong dalawa, Jeff at Mon, pakiusap. Ayaw ko ng gulo. Umuwi na kayo dahil walang Regie sa pamamahay na ito. Hindi ko kayo kilala at lalong wala akong matandaang tinulungan ko kayo bago pa ako maaksidente. Kaya, umuwi na kayo!"

Hindi naman nakapagsalit sina Jef at Mon. Mabibigat ang mga paang nilisan nila ang bahay na iyon na patuloy pa rin sa pag-iyak dahil nabigo silang iuwi ang kanilang kuya Regie.

Habang papalayo naman ang magkapatid ay doon na bumigay si Ron at hindi na napigilan ang pag-agos ng kaniyang mga luha. Ang totoo ay kilala niya sila ngunit ayaw na niyang matali pang muli sa nakaraan. Masaya na siyang malaman na ang kaniyang mga step brothers ay nasa mabuti nang kalagayan. Kahit sa kaloob-looban ng kaniyang puso ay sabik din itong mayakap sila pero naipangako niya sa kaniyang sarili na kalimutan na niya ang kaniyang pinagmulan at ang mga taong naging bahagi ng kaniyang nakaraan. Nais niyang ituon na lamang sa kaniyang tunay na mga kapatid ang pagmamahal na hindi niya naiparamdam sa mga ito buhat nang sila ay nawalay sa isa't isa.

'ere i r: "thieving" around with some base ęgliş -

it must be admired: this citizen
politicized majority:

that a people can fathom fudge packaging
tier upon tier:

and serve both a democracy of voices
and the necessary vote: illiterate X
"acronym" piece o' pie for a signature's
worth...

wow and doubly: wow... on a continent when
there's this status quo class strictures:

moths, cobwebs(,) and spare change...
this grand asymptomatic clue...
i hope to pretend
to steal a language from
a people... that have no diaspora poignancy -
because: there's this squatting "elsewhere"...

litany of secrecy that has to become:
blunt dumb and grating
cheddar: stoic-esque...
the blunting of the knife and
the sharpening of the tongue...

i will still find the sort of reggae i want...
culture's harder than the rest
(full album)...

picky moi: burning spear's
marcus garvey -
the black voice
that demanded of his
choccy people a repatriation
process:
how alien it must seem
to be african-american
going to a majority black
country...
how unwelcome
one must be...
to be black and thrown back
into kenya...
speaking no word of the native
breath...
what statues of agony
an IDI AMIN could...
and did... dying a slow death
in the ***** of arab racialism...
oh sure joys of sculpture...
unforgiving in how
legs dismembered would
be reattached to sockets where
arms ought to imitate bird flight
with flapping: and vice versus...
i suffer to have not this sort
of imagination!

but that is a song...
   i'm here attempting to steal
english from the english:
it's not "about to" happen
either...
i'm getting drunk on
the cocktail: before, of course...
i come across some
bureaucratic "sensibility":
some angry ***** mad
enough with the least
authority given...

         that people given
the least authority tend to abuse it
the most...

i had to look at europe "elsewhere"...
milan kundera pointed
out this quote
'quarrel in a far away country,
between people of whom we know nothing'
by neville chamberlain
when appeasing ******
concerning the merger of
extended bohemia
into the third *****...
                
  it would seem: it would always
be easier to treat the middle east
with enforced straight lines...
e.g. iraq / jordan never look
like naturally invoked
land masses -

no mountain range no river...
it's not that i have to blame
the english pauper for
a past history of colonialism...
but... to have little knowledge
of your neighbour's lot...
was there any similar ignorance
when: outstanding brits
matched napoleon's ambitions?

i test my own patience with this...
at what point will i finally state:
well... given the air of politics
weaving its way trickle down
into the publically paid bureaucracy...
em...
is it racism or is it...
an african fetish?
     like me... i'm all for porcelain girls
of the orient: no one wants
to **** exhausted gammon... do they:
in this mismatched kama sutra... do they don't they?

i'm sensing a fetish for... it's gone beside
a racism: i'm looking to the east
of what's still europe -
a zilant semblance written
in "old orthography" of the tatars...
   qazan - someone's knowing on my door...
the germanic peoples pushed...
then the slavic peoples pushed...
then the mongols and the turkmen pushed
this great funnel and sieve
of a: pseudo-continent that's probably
only an extended experiment
of great mother asia and uncle siberia...

after all: isn't australia an island?
who ever has to hear the same
soft-narrative: out-of africa...
except those pesky eskimos -
      frisky... but we left africa
with no thinking equipment -
no phonetic encoding...
    if we left with some arabic...
but we didn't...
if we left with some sanskrit...
but we didn't... some chinese ideograms...
but we didn't...
no wonder we left...
i don't endear myself to pursue
hieroglyphics as sensible enough:
to counter the modern emojis...

which they are...
pits and falls in the latin alpha-beta-coy...
then..
to "work" by loiter -
no wonder: grievances
when work is drudgery -
when one cannot perfect
a deed - but has to churn out
appeasement after appeasement:
slurp an oyster from
an ****...

i still must be thieving english
from... the english...
leftovers of the forever debased
schizoid - or the new lineage
bound to bilingualism:
a return to thematic crude-,

no... i can't digest this:
there's some sort of drama:
but there's no staging for it...
an open round-up of applause...
devoid of choice is a higher
tier condescending-
           for lacking will -

to write this very little...
but then to harness the prospect
of a sunrise: an 8am welcome!
welcome to no night
of finitudes... of conclusions...
my foot will never stand
in thailand: because
of the thai surprise...
easily a ****-along story
for a vanguard torry:

        i will have two Plantegenant
old housewives
when there's: the food
i need to curate for my palette:
a sad sad show-story...
when i... walk out from the house
and tug a dead-weight
of consumerism from my
mother's girdle...

          i call it... playing banjo
with toothpick... 'n' esse...
      the pristine curation of sharpening
teeth: to bite into a tide...
into a swelling heave of a wave...

i want to be able to be normal
sleeping with a foreign body
in my bed...
i was once able to sleep with a dog...
i am as finicky as the cat
that attempts
to sleep with me in the same
bed....
shadows clamour and therefore
clash...

  the british isles are too grand...
i want something smaller...
i want a life among the faroe islanders...
escape escape forever
this unforgiving narrative...

can you look at a people you're acquiring
to "ally"...
never marking your own horrors...
with your own black hitlers...
i can attest to the bleach...
but you can't somehow blank slate:
state a genesis without a dichotomy...

let's go! black history month!
now is the time! now i want to remember
IDI AMIN!
  black history month!
i want to remember IDI AMIN!
no... not marcus garvey:
proponent of repatriation...
i want to remember: IDI AMIN!
after all... the mongols have
their "abraham" their genghis khan...
and they have their pocket
of leftover in crimea with
that mongol-europeans: the tatars...

i have no love for history come
the tide of relating the Iberian peninsula...
south h'america... "mine"?
the north coast of africa...
fizzling out of in-breeding...
when the goth came across
the instigators of conquest of the "muzzies"...
cocktails on us! boyos!

i want to... ******* boil with teasing!
i want to fathom a spectacle of trolling!
i want to smear faces into ****!
i want the wholesome crescendo!
i want to itch with
******* out buckwheat digestion!
i want chocolate!
i want a swiss fountain of chocolate!
i want to see IDI AMIN
a proud addition to:
no blacks ever do or did:
any b'aah... b'aah ad ad...
            
i wish "my" people came to "origin"
with a post-colonial narrative...
poor shmucks the scots are...
but they were: "missing"...
you can't retrace a colonial past
to the present citizen of spain:
how well the post-"racialists" peoples
of the southern continent managed to:
you can hear talk
of an argentinian... but he's not spanish...
a brazilian: but he's not... portuguese!

this anglo-saxon "pond" livestock
of memory... do away with us...
i know it's terrible to have a genesis
story so short-lived that europe
is a *******-riddling reminder:
when there's an already political class
harvesting the least worth of fathom...
don't pretend to be historical tourists:
my dutch ancestry...
my german ancestry... my "ancestry":

you deserve the quiff and joking slander:
superior the world's a-hole all over...
who are your little people looking
for in our little funnel of
a constipated asia looking for?
currently?!
the greek aren't admired...
they aren't admired because
they gave a birth to the antagonist
in cyrillic...
and that's that!

or... the greeks aren't admired
because: the metaphor: byzantine -
a complexity of bureaucracy -
but the singing... deaf tone reading of plato...
forget aeschylus -
they were prone to heave
a turkman invasion of
the balkans... given...
the venetians sacking:
the supposed holy place of...
aan eucharist convo. with a pagan "pope"...

like... the 4th crusade was not
a hard-on... for anyone to not fathom...
the inheritance of a history
i must truly deserve...
otherwise: the history overtly given...
to subsequently filter...
how the capetian king philip
augustus is known to me
is: it's not a beyond noticeable
comparisons...
it's just stalemate...

i am furroging in asp and waspishness:
i need a language of antagonism...
i find my most pristine "saint"...
i could cling to a fetish for
interracial *** exploits...
but then i'm a bland white man
and i might require a dodgo lemon
squeeze of eyes...
when a ***** is not in use
and it's hardly a reserved reading
for: expansion... broadening one's mind
with: *******... that "sort" of phallus
size just wouldn't do...
it's no joke but then i prefer
jerking off to... something akin
to... bronzino's venus, cupid,
folly and time...

even then! then!
a woman directly descended from
the titans... aphrodite was...
beside the lineage... from hyperion...
astounded... passed into
the ***** of the olympians...
cherry picking my vavous ego-foetus
of mind into a progress and
future investment...
how the **** spoke...
and became apparently a parody
of parrot chokes...
given the farts would have
to commence at some, point, or "other"...

to demand "pushing boundaries"...
i have them here: ever present always
apparent...
i would sacrifice my whole for these...
as to never have to:
speak a language of appeasement...
as to never speak a language of
a gradual inclination...
or / of never rocking the boat...
i want to drown drunk!
i want to drown a drunkard!
i want to savour a relfish for...
autumn perfumes towing
accents of a variation of timbers...

now i want to stand naked!
i want to be awash with moonshine...
i want more of the night
i want more of the creases in
attaching bone to the formidable
tendon pressures...
i want the technicality of nouns
being lost... i want misnomers...
i want all this supposed word / techno-salad
to be all! furore!
i want to eat the native
with an imagination worth
of a tartar -
  
           i want my tongue to sliver into
the cheddar spronge of their borrowed
brains every time they test themselves
on eating a tartare: notably raw beffrey (b'ee'f)...

yes... this is my former european
status: having to cleave... from it...
because the liberal authorities of
vest-inwested western georgian:
gregorian: kiev is my own project
of last interests...
how isn't it...
ukraine might somehow
rely on article usage: notably:
the ukraine...
there's that "a" associated
with the polish-lithuanian commonwealth?

from sea to sea:
from the baltic sea
to the black sea...
oh look! i too can inherit something...
like a hebrew might inherit
the aesop the king solomon...
like aesop might inherit Tironian
notations...

i am drinking but my cat isn't agitated
by it: troll troll lullaby!
let's celebrate!
dancing monkeys dancing
truants!
it wouldn't: it couldn't possibly
be a black history month
without mentioning
IDI AMIN... dying peacefully
in the arms of sleep
among the saudi camel-jockey "racists"...

how they have been fleeing
the ****** status of harems...
how they were escaping polygamy...
how i wasn't racist how i was
merely ill-conceived over
a work-around of fetish...
i was already a walking abortion...
manic street preachers' debate:
i wasn't enough gay or
feng shui enough...
or brilliant neon purple enough...

hello brilliance! hello party! hello
gay...
ancient europe:
ai viast lo lop....
               creases in my forlorn...
i want: besst attired summation:
this  ****** bulgarian...
this european that's only aa figment
of imagination:

indignations of scythe:
that nothing is borrowed:
that all is: at limbo gested...
                      to heave a scythe
and stone...
i pretend to swallow a breath...
i am aching at the knee
and ankle...
             i am formidably
   nuanced amsterdam...

                  i have to tell
that yawn and "story" for some
variation of catholicism to trickle down...
this forever impossible
and: my-overtly-inflated
char of wording...

                harvest the pea and
dollop of hypersensitivity toward
hue best ascribed to "foliage";
or a burgundy that's neither
purple or red
or wine... or the papacy
of Avignon.

Nung araw na nagtapat ako
Totoo ba yung sinabi mo?
Nalaman ng buong klase
Alam mo bang nasaktan rin ako?

Kinabukasan nagulat ako dahil di nagbago ang tingin mo
Kahit na inaasar ka ng mga barkada mo
Nilapitan mo pa nga ako
Ngunit ako 'tong si tanga na umiwas sayo

Ilang araw ang nakalipas
Patuloy pa rin ako sa pag iwas
Pilit nila tayong pinag usap
Ngunit ayoko pa ring kumalas

Sa bawat paglapit mo saakin
Mas lalong naguguluhan ang aking damdamin
Bakit ba patuloy mo pa rin akong pinapansin?
Kung sinabi mo nang wala kang pakialam sa'kin

"Hoy! Bata! Magpapakamatay ka ba?"

"Magpapakamatay ka nga e. Buhay nga naman o!"

"Sigurado ka na ba sa gagawin mo, bata? May maghahahanap ba sa iyo kapag nawala ka? May magluluksa ba sa bangkay mo kapag namatay ka?"

"Bata ka pa. Alam kong marami ka pang pangarap sa buhay mo. Kung may magulang ka pa at mga kapatid, sana naiisip mo rin sila. Sana mararamdaman mo rin ang mararamdaman nila kapag nalaman nilang magtatangka kang magpakamatay. Isipin mo bata."

"Kung desidido ka na at sa isip mo ay wala ng nagmamahal sa iyo, sige.. ituloy mo ang pagpapakamatay mo. Basta iyong pakatandaan na sa bawat yugto ng ating buhay, minsan lang tayo binigyan ng pagkakataong itama ang kung ano mang pagkakamaling nagawa natin. Wala tayong karapatang wakasan ang buhay na ipinagkaloob sa atin ng Maykapal. Sige, bata. Mauna na ako. Advance rest in peace."

Dinig na dinig ko pa ang paghampas ng malalakas na alon sa baybayin nang mga sandaling iyon. Naalala ko pang nababasa na rin ang aking mukha sa bawat tubig-alat na dumadampi sa akin noong mga panahong tinangka kong magpakamatay.

Gusto kong wakasan ang aking buhay.
Gusto kong malunod.
Gusto kong tangayin ng mga alon ang aking katawan.
Gusto kong mapuno ng tubig-alat ang aking ilong at bunganga hanggang sa mawalan na ako ng hininga at unti-unting bumulusok pailalim sa kailaliman ng dagat.

Ngunit... ang salitang binitiwan ng isang taong iyon ang nagsilbing leksiyon sa akin na pahalagahan pa ang aking buhay at ang mga taong nagmahal sa akin.

"Kung desidido ka na at sa isip mo ay walang nagmamahal sa iyo, sige, ituloy mo ang pagpapakamatay mo. Basta iyong pakatandaan na sa bawat yugto ng ating buhay, minsan lang tayo binigyan ng pagkakataong itama ang kung ano mang pagkakamaling nagawa natin. Wala tayong karapatang wakasan ang buhay na ipinagkaloob sa atin ng Maykapal."

Noon, akala ko ang pagpapakamatay ang solusyon upang takasan ko ang dagok sa aking buhay. Nawalan ako ng tunay na ina. Namatayan ako ng ama. Pinagmalupitan ako ng aking madrasta. Hindi ako minahal ng mga kapatid ko sa ama. Kaya naglayas ako at napadpad sa baybaying dagat at doon ay naisipan ko na lamang na magpatiwakal.

Nawalan man ako ng magulang pero alam kung may nagmamahal pa rin sa akin. Hindi ko sila kadugo pero lagi silang nariyan para palakasin ang loob ko. Sila ang mga tinatawag kong mga kaibigan.
Pagkatapos ng nangyari noong pagtatangka ko ay ipinagpatuloy ko ang aking buhay. Sa tulong ng aking mga kaibigan ay nagtagumpay akong maging masaya.

Hindi ako nag-iisa. Tinulungan din nila akong magbalik-loob sa Diyos. Ang mga nagawa nila ay isang napakalaking biyaya sa akin.

"Kung sa tingin mo ay hindi mo na kaya, magsabi ka lang. Kaming bahala sa iyo," naalala kong sabi ni Jem.

"Kaibigan mo kami. Huwag kang mahiyang magkuwento sa amin. Promise, makikinig kami," pag-aalo sa akin noon ni Jinky.

"Hindi lang ikaw ang may pinakamabigat na suliranin sa mundo, Igan. May mas mabigat pa sa pinagdaraanan mo. Tiwala lang na makakayanan mo ang lahat," kumpiyansa namang wika ni Kuya Ryan.

"Kalimutan mo ang mga bagay na nagpapadagdag lang ng kalungkutan diyan sa puso mo. Tandaan mo, ang Diyos ay laging nakaakbay sa iyo. Nandito ako. Narito kaming mga kaibigan mo. Tutulungan ka naming bumangon," nakangiting saad ni Charm.

"Huwag ka na ulit magtangkang magpakalunod sa dagat ha? Kapag ginawa mo ulit iyon, kami na ang lulunod sa iyo. Ha-ha. Biro lang. Lakasan mo ang loob mo. Hindi ka nag-iisa," ang loko-lokong wika ni Otep.

Sa tuwing maalala ko ang mga kataga at salitang galing sa mga tunay kong kaibigan, panatag palagi ang loob ko na hindi ko na uulitin ang nangyaring iyon sa buhay ko. Papahalagahan ko ang hiram na buhay na ipinagkaloob sa akin ng Maykapal. Gagawin ko ang lahat upang maging masaya.

Narito ako ngayon sa Manila Bay at naglalakad-lakad. Gusto ko lang sariwain ang mga alaalang naging tulay noon upang pahalagahan ang buhay ko ngayon. Hindi man lamang ako nakapagpasalamat sa taong sumaway sa akin noon. Kung may pagkakataong makita ko man siya ay taos-puso akong magpapasalamat sa kaniya.

Pinagmasdan ko ang karagatan. Wala pang isang minuto akong naroon ay may nahagip ng mga mata ako ang isang babae na dumaan sa harapan ko. Patungo siya sa mabatong bahagi. Tila wala siya sa kaniyang sarili.

Nilingon ko ang paligid. Wala man lamang nakapansin sa kaniya. At wala ngang masyadong tao na naroon nang mga oras na iyon.

Mukhang magpapakamatay yata siya. Alam ko ang eksenang ito. Kung dati ako ang nasa posisyon niya, ngayon naman ay ang babaeng ito. At dahil ayokong may mangyaring masama sa kaniya, ako naman ngayon ang gagawa ng paraan para matulungan siya.

"Miss, magpapakamatay ka ba?" hindi niya ako nilingon.

"Magpapakamatay ka nga. Sigurado ka na ba sa gagawin mo?" lumingon siya sa akin at kitang-kita ko ang luhaan niyang mukha.

"Alam ba ng pamilya mo ang gagawin mo? Alam mo ba ang mararamdaman ng ina at ama mo kapag nawala ka? Sa tingin mo ba ay tama ang gagawin mo?" nakita kong napabuntong-hininga siya na tila nag-iisip sa mga ibinabatong tanong ko.

"Napagdaanan ko na rin iyan at diyan din mismo sa mga batong iyan ako dapat na magpapakamatay. Pero... hindi ko itinuloy. Alam mo ba kung bakit?" tumingin siya sa gawi ko at nagtama ang aming paningin. Parehong nangungusap.

"Ba-bakit?" nauutal niyang tanong sa akin.

"Bakit? Dahil wala tayong karapatang wakasan ang buhay na ipinagkaloob sa atin ng Maykapal. Ang buhay natin ay mahalaga. Sana maisip mo iyon. Hindi pa huli ang lahat para itama ang mga bagay na sa tingin mo ay mali o nagawa mo. Hiram lamang ang buhay natin. Magtiwala ka, Miss. Mahal tayo ng Panginoon. Mahal niya ang buhay natin. At alam kong mahal mo rin ang buhay mo," iyon ang mga huling katagang binitiwan ko saka ako tumalikod sa kaniya.

Hindi pa man ako nakakahakbang ay narinig kong tinawag niya ako. At nang lumingon ako ay bigla na lamang niya akong niyakap.

**

Ang pangalan niya ay Yssa at siya lang naman ang babaeng tinulungan ko tatlong buwan na ang nakararaan. Siya lang naman ngayon ang kasintahan ko. Pareho kaming nagtangkang wakasan ang aming buhay, ngunit pareho din naming napagtantong hiram lamang ito at dapat na mahalin namin. Sinong mag-aakala na kami ang magkakatuluyan sa huli?

011717

(Para sa lahat ng mga tumatakbo, mga napilayan at napaltusan. Para sa mga gusto nang huminto pero may humihila sayo pabalik na hindi mabuo-buo ang loob **** lumisan kasi pagod ka na rin sa katatakbo. Oo, ayos lang maging totoo't amining pagod ka na. Natakot kang humarap sa mundo pagkat napuno ka ng sari't saring mga isyu sa buhay mo, kaya akala mo walang saysay ang bawat salaysay. Akala mo, wala nang nais makinig sa bawat kwento **** tila paulit-ulit na lang. Akala mo, tuldok na at wala nang kasunod pa. Wala kang matakbuhan at lagi ka na lang tumatakas. Oo, nasanay ka na at akala mo ayos lang at tama yun. Nagtatago ka sa dilim at ayaw **** lumantad, natakot kang makita yung totoong ikaw kasi ayaw **** mahusgahan o makaani ng masasakit na salita. Natakot kang magtiwala ulit pero pag lumantad ka, doon ka lang pala makalalaya. Saksi ang lahat ng nilikha sayong pag-amin na hindi mo kayang mag-isa, na ayaw mo nang mamuhay nang may paglihim. Na gusto mo nang magbago at patuloy na lumaban -- lumaban nang patas at ayaw mo nang talikuran ang nakaraan. Na gusto mo nang harapin ang mga hindi matapus-tapos na mga isyu sa buhay mo -- mga isyung tila mga sundalong kalansay buhat sa nakaraang kailangan mo nang sugpuin. Oo, kaya mo. Oo, kaya Niya sa buhay mo. Buhay ka pa, humihinga ka pa. Kaya mo yan!)

Ayokong palipasin ang sandali nang pagpikit -- habang nakasandal ka sa kalangitan. Habang iniisip **** hindi mo Ako kayang abutin. Iniisip mo sigurong kinaligtaan Kita, na hindi na Kita tinitingnan pagkat mas pinili **** magtago sa dilim. Akala mo siguro'y hindi ko alam kung nasaan ka -- kung saan at paano mo isinantabi ang sarili mo kaya't hindi Ko maibuhos ang pagpapala Ko sayo. Oo, kasi umiiwas ka, umiilag ka at nilalayuan mo Ako.

Hindi Ako nakikipaglaro ng Tagu-taguan sayo kung saan ay ihahatak mo ang iyong sarili palayo sa Akin at itatatak sa puso't isipang hindi ka na pupuwedeng lumantad hangga't wala pa ang liwanag. Naghihintay lang Ako, naghihintay Ako kung saan mo Ako pinasandal at sa bawat melodiya't pag-indak ng mga ulap na wari mo'y nagtatago rin Ako, noon pa ma'y inilantad Ko na ang Aking sarili sayo. Hinihintay Kitang magpasakop sa Ilaw Ko, nang magkusa kang magpataya sa Akin gamit ang Aking mga yakap.

Pagkat hindi mo na kailangan pang magtago -- hindi mo na kailangang maghintay nang napakatagal para lamang masabi **** nahilom ka na. Ang paglantad mo ay siyang pagsuko mo at bagamat ito'y pagsuko, makinig ka: naging matapang ka na. Hindi mo na kailangang yumukong tangan-tangan ang hiya pagkat sa iyong pagpapakumbaba'y itataas Kita gamit ang aking Ngalan at titingala ka na. Matititigan Mo na rin Ako, makikilala mo na rin Ako.

Iba't iba man ang anyo Ko'y Ako pa rin ito. May ipinapaabot lamang Ako sayo nang mas maging malapit tayo sa isa't isa. Igagawad Ko sayo ang aking lakas kasabay nang pagbitaw Ko ng mga Salita. At kahit gabi na'y mag-iilaw at mag-aapoy ka pa rin pagkat ikaw na ang magiging taya. Ikaw na ang maghahanap sa mga nawawala't magbubukas ng pintuan para sa mga nagtatago't nagpabaon na sa dilim.

Wag **** tulugan ang dilim pagkat parating na ang Umaga kung kailan at kung saa'y mas magiging lantad na ang lahat. Babangon Ako hindi bilang Buwan na may pakislap na liwanag ngunit bilang Haring Araw at susugpuin ang dilim. Wala nang makapagtatago pa pagkat magiging hayag na ang lahat.

Kaya Anak, wag kang matakot at ngayon pa lang ay ihayag mo ang iyong sarili sa Aking liwanag -- sa Aking liwanag na papandong sayo at uutos sa dilim nang tuluyan mo nang masilayan ang iyong sarili -- ang iyong sariling may pagpupunyagi. Maghanda ka, malapit na ang pagdating Ko. Maghanda ka, magkakasama na rin Tayo.

Hindi ko alam kung mababasa mo ito.
Pero kailangan kong sabihin ang tibok ng puso ko.
Wala rin namang mapapala dahil wala na ring pag-asa
Kaya kung sasabihin ko ito, sa akin ba'y may mawawala pa?

Kagagaling ko lang sa isang bagyo
Pero nakagugulat na hindi ako sinipon, kahit basang-basa ako.
Nagsumikap magbihis, para makapasyal uli
nang makita ko ang matamis **** mga ngiti.

Hindi na ako nagpigil, wala nang mawawala sa akin
Kailangan kitang makilala, kailangan kong magpapansin.
Pangalan mo lang ang mayroon ako, pero nahanap agad kita
Akalain **** nasa iisang gusali lang pala tayong dalawa?

Hindi ako gwapo at hindi rin malakas ang loob ko
Nakakaawang kombinasyon sa mga panahong ito
Mas gugustuhin ko pang magpasensya at maghintay
Pero paano lalapit sa pagkapangit na manok ang pagkagandang palay?

Inalis ko na sa utak ko ang pag-aalinlangan
Alam mo na ito, dahil may bulaklak ka na kinaumagahan.
Ayoko nang secret admirer, dahil hindi na tayo bata.
Pinaalam ko kung sino ako, para makipagkilala.

Sinulatan kita, makailang ulit
Para alam mo na ako yung nangungulit.
Kaso hindi ko alam kung bakit
Ni isang sagot, wala kang binalik.

Hindi ko na kaya maghintay pa ng matagal
Kailangan ko itanong, kailangan ko malaman.
Hindi ako magwawala kung hindi ka interesado
pero sana sumagot ka, para hindi na ako manggulo.

Ilang sandali pa, tumunog na ang telepono ko
Lumukso ang aking puso ng makita ko ang pangalan mo!

"Salamat sa bulaklak, pero mali ang pagkakaintindi mo
"hindi ako naghahanap ng lalaking iibigin ko
"Pagkat may iniibig na itong aking puso
"Pasensya ka na, patawarin mo na ako".

Matagal akong natulala sa aking nabasa
Biglang lumiit ang mundo ko, hindi na ako makahinga.
Naglakas loob akong sumagot at sinabing "naiintindihan ko
"salamat sa pagsagot, at magandang gabi sa iyo".

Gusto ko lang sabihin, sa mga makakabasa nito,
walang ginawang mali ang dalaga sa kwento ko.
Hindi ko man siya nakilala ng lubos ay nakatitiyak ako
Nang inihulog siya ng langit, sobrang swerte nang nakasalo.

Hindi ko gugustuhing agawin ka.
Kasi kung maaagaw man kita, maaagaw ka rin ng iba.
Kung mabasa mo man ito, okay lang bang hilingin ko
kapag niloko ka nya, pwede bang sabihan mo agad ako?

"sumulat ng mga "paano kung" sa buhay ng isang tao
may mga pag-ikot o pagbabago sa mga konklusyon
sansaglit nguni't mahaba nung nilikha
may mga tainga sa mundong ito, nag nagkukusang-loob
bukas and mga palad at bukas ang mga labi akong tatanggapin
nangingibabaw sa kanilang isipan ang pagbating ito:
"Maligayang pagdating, Makata,
Sabihin mo sa amin..."

welcome poet, tell us....

Translated-for me by Sally, who welcomes everyone...

Just an an excerpt from http://hellopoetry.com/poem/615068/where-has-writing-gotten-me/