maybe we were two lonely souls in an
infinite number of universes
that coexists at the same time
so in the least cases when other universes
cease to rotate;
we were looking at each other’s eye—
half consciously exchanging breaths as we stood
in a random street on a random time with random people
in Metro Manila.

maybe we were two lonely souls
devoid of life with its absurdities and ambiguities
that when other universes began to move—
adverse was ours.
we were motionless and breathless
and static and frantic
amongst the dismal place where we stood
under the rain and under the heat of the sun;
dear, did you feel the spontaneity of our souls
for the first time in a lifetime?

maybe we were two lonely souls
searching for our own universe in this
infinite number of universes that when
we finally had the chance to meet on
a road with nowhere to go while listening
to our timeless symphonies of pleasure, pain, and lost;
we found universe at each other’s soul.

maybe we were two lonely souls
before we met in Metro Manila.
maybe we were two lonely souls
when we were living in abyss.
maybe we were two lonely souls
before we found our infinite universe at each other.
maybe we were two lonely souls
before we knew love.

(06.19.16)

The audience, silent, took a breath in unison
Included in the orchestra was every instrument imaginable
Banhus and Gadulkas played folk and polkas
The brutish brass, bodyguards and protectors of stringed melodies

Included in the orchestra was every instrument imaginable
A concert harp, plucked by fingers long, smooth and sharp
The brutish brass, bodyguards and protectors of the woodwind class
Saxophones provided a melancholy lilt, the timp was traditionally built

A concert harp, stroked by running fingers, smooth and sharp
Every sharp and flat note was passed through the throaty reeds of oboes
Saxophones reminiscent of ‘jive’, the timp in its size had nowhere to hide
This exhibition of musical traditions played late into evening with no intermissions

Every sharp and flat note accounted for, motifs carried whispers of folklore
Banhus and Gadulkas, swapped stories with bassoons and bagpipes
The exhibition had finished, piano keys rested, every note has its operatic death

The audience, silent, took a breath in unison

i screamed into the empty void
all alone
paranoid of everything

the emptiness
moaned back at me
its nature
making me its slave

my dreams
shredded me apart
piece by piece
made me weak

my thoughts haunt me
they are my inner demon
screaming into
worlds unknown
(b.d.s.)

when someone knows how bad you can become;
How much of a mess you can be,
or are;
How much trouble you can cause;
And what words you've been keeping.

..But still -
they want your presence in their days.

They appreciate you,
along with what you can
or cannot give them.

And they make you laugh,
when you don't
even dare to smile.

In the beginning, there was  Genesis (Life),
placing an emphasis
on expressing just what is stressing us
We keep testing ourselves and what's surrounding us
We're always hurting ourselves, shadows are doubting us

But sunny days exist to remind us
the road less traveled keeps our fears far behind us
We seek a glimpse of the hope we're taught to wish upon,
the secret fault in our stars, the ones we're wishing on

Truth is protruding a menacing declaration
Living life bottom’s up 'cause we're searching for inspiration
Matter over the mind, alcohol over manners
Obsessive, manic depressive,
we're always dropping the hammer

We feel the happiness, the hate, and the heartbreak
the undeserving hurt and the fears that raise our heart rate
the fond memories and the catchy melodies,
the lasting friendships and irreplaceable family...

...and then with Life comes  Death,
we see it everyday - the sick and hungry losing health
We make do with the bitter taste of joy,
that sweet scent of sorrow,
functioning in a manner
that distances our tomorrow

Bury the ones that we've lost,
the hands of time are clapping
Standing ovation to loss?
We question what just happened....

...and after death comes  Enlightenment (Synthesis),
We're taking sage advice
from the ones who brought us into this

You give a man a fish?
He's fed and on his way,
but if you teach a man to fish,
you feed him everyday

Rip off a piece of that canvas,
paint to your heart's content,
and trust that we'll understand this
and give you our consent

Very capable of manifesting a journey
so write to the beat of your rhythm
but please, not in a hurry

Just close your eyes and dream,
and listen to the stream
Tune yourself to the infinite
and find your inner theme.

She spoke rather enthusiastically of her planned trip to India, of her love for yoga and her passion for the pursuit of enlightenment. I was never one for spiritualism but she seemed so full of life and she had this appetite for experiences that was awe inspiring. Her hands moved feverously when she spoke, almost spastic but my focus, never more clear in recent memory remained on her eyes. They were soft with nativity but they carried with them a profound sense of conviction. Many before me have spoken of the eyes as the window to the soul and I had never fully understood the sentiment until I found mine intertwined with hers. Like a bridge over a seething river; our gaze had brought us closer. I felt as though we were no longer divided by ego, pride or other such frivolous illusions.

The conversation flowed so effortlessly, one could only describe it as natural. Had I been a determinist I would have regarded the meeting as fated to occur. She could shut me up just by talking; I always loved that in a woman. My fixation slowly slid down from her eyes to her mouth and almost like a fever coming over me I wanted to kiss her in that instant but you can’t just lock lips with your waitress in the middle of a café during lunch. Once again the nuisance of social structure and etiquette impeded upon my desires or so I told myself; knowing full well I could have just as easily stood up, grabbed her by her narrow hips and pulled her in tight for a good old fashion French baiser. Instead I allowed my longing to fume up inside of me like a tremendous furnace clouding my thoughts with black smoke and self-doubt. It was not society who was stopping me; it was me who was stopping me. Regardless of socially appropriate behavior we humans had always had a choice but like fools we often idly choose to cave under the pressure of our cultural conditioning. I like all cowards before me, used words like "can’t" as an excuse to allow moments of beauty to slip from my fingers and into the abyss. It was like a black hole, an all devouring entity that consumed all of our potential greatness and crushed it into nothingness.

Maybe in some alternative universe, somewhere in the infinite there was me sitting at that café gushing over her and she was standing there all delicate-like, telling me how she wanted to spend a month in India. Maybe that version of me acted on his impulse and he felt alive when he kissed her; in a way I may never feel. I hope somewhere in the vastness of this existence there is someone enjoying that kiss because if I squandered the only possible chance for that instance to ever occur then I cannot conceive of a greater tragedy.

The words float wonderfully across the open meadows of dew,
Transforming after each bounce, every green blade aiding the future tense.

Where is she?
The words sing gleefully as they play in the morning sun greeting the new,
Creating in a birds mind for the angels always have wings, their hearts immense.

We have found her!
How is she?
The words dance around her aura, admiring the warmth of the fog, the breath of two,
Imagining only a walking stick next to foot prints, compassionately using sixth sense.

Well, what do you think?
I quite like the sound of her!
Who is she?
The words visit my throat shakra, my hot blood pumps connecting, trusting in you,
Rebirthing poetic love, Meditating towards the peaceful calming lavender incense.

She reminds of someone I know, or knew...
Wow, does she remind you of tink?
We should all be together!
But will she?
The words kiss me good bye, twinkling in my blue eyes, and I bid them adieu,
Reharnessing my self worth, becoming a readied spirit warrior, taking on the intense.

My past created my present
Yet, it’s nowhere near my extent
My future is undefined
Something that is only mine
Time will pass, and I remain infinite  
An existence classified as definitive