the cost to live
lies in the basic necessities
of lack thereof
an eye for a kilo of beef
an arm for a bag of rice
dinner served
with the aftertaste of
slavery and genocide

the cost to live
is buried within values
numbers inflating
every second
every month
every year
every life time lived,
a reflection of a system
staring back at its own demise

there is a cost to live,
our people bear the brunt
of imperialist
spears and drills,
armed to their teeth
with bullets and greed

there is a cost to live
in a city built
on the graves of martyred children,
and of women,
of men; all done
at the behest of blinding thrones
and to feed the gluttonous beast named
overconsumption

we know the cost to live,
thus we bring forth
the payment it deserves
marching in the thousands,
and in the millions,
armed with knowledge
of the lands that nurtured our souls,
of the aspirations of the people
who commend
the cost to struggle
in order to make anew
the cost to living
a dignified liberation

i wish
i wish
i wish
i wish
i wish
i wish–
but alas!
even stars die out
our paths will diverge
and i will bleed out
and you will remain a spectre in my heart

i wake to a dream
that had you in it
we were entangled--
a mesh of bodies
under a thin blanket
i felt your teeth
scrape against my
skin,
your hands tracing vows
into my *******
despite the hunger,
we fell into a deep slumber
our lips longing
to hold each other in embrace

there are a few
simple steps
that you must follow
to become diaspora

to become diaspora,
one must first and foremost
be ripped away
from the lands that hold one’s soul

to become diaspora,
is to become (dis)illusioned
with the glitter, glamour
and stolen gold
of the First World

to become diaspora,
one must adhere to passivity
to survive in a crowd
of barred fangs
and white skin

to become diaspora,
one must learn how to speak:
the language of genocide,
the language of disease,
the language of thievery,
the language of war

to become diaspora
is to become one with bloodshed.
to be covered in every drop,
of sweat,
of blood,
of ****,
of spit
left behind on the grounds
which we now call
home.

ano nga ba ang wakas  
ng isang pag-ibig walang landas?
sinta, kumapit ka sa patalim
at isaksak mo ito sa baga mo--
at habang ika’y nasasamid
sa dugo’y mala putik ang testura
tandaan  
iyong adhikain inialay
sa bukas na mapanlinlang,
iyong buhay isinumpa
sa pag-ibig na walang wagas

sino nga ba satin ang uto-uto?
madaling naniwala sa tukso  
‘kay lambing at malumanay
subalit iyong mga pangako'y
hinulma sa matinik na katotohanan

sino nga ba satin ang uto-uto?
napaniwala sa pantasya
ng pagmamahalang
dapat na mapagpalaya

ako ba ang uto-uto?
isinumpa ng mga tendensiya
ng uring pinagmulan
isang kabalintunaan
sana’y mabalikwas
ngunit matigas ang aking ulo

ikaw ba ang uto-uto?
pero  
ikaw lamang ang makakasagot
sapagkat ito’y sulat sa hangin,
mga hinanakit at
sumpa na di makakaabot
sa iyo

ako yata ang uto-uto
napaniwala sa iyong
malalambing na tukso
dahil kahit ako'y nabudol
ng isang pagmamahalang mapagtaksil
ika’y hindi
mabitaw-bitawan