"constantino" poems
Milyun-milyong mga blankong mukha,
pipintahan,
papahiran ng pintora
ang iba’t ibang kastilyo ng pangarap.
Subalit sa paglipas ng panahon
ang mga kastilyong ito’y rurupok,
at sa isang ihip ng hangin
ay pwede ‘tong gibain.
Masasanay kang matalo,
para sa atin ‘tong mundo.
Para sa atin,
hindi para sa kanila,
kailanman hindi ‘to masasakop
ng mga mapapait na luha.
Nasanay ka na sa panonood
ng mga teleserye o pelikulang
kung ano ang theme song
ay ‘yon din ang pamagat.
Nasanay ka nang mag-abang
sa paiba-ibang kulay na buhok
ni Vice Ganda, o ni Yeng Constantino,
ang umasa rin sa paiba-ibang desisyon
ng mga tao sa paligid mo.
Nasanay ka nang magmahal ang gasolina,
at iba pang mga bilihin
ngunit hindi ang magmahal ng totoo,
dahil takot kang masaktan ulit,
ang iwanan, o umasa ulit,
sa isang relasyong pang-post lang
sa FB, IG o Twitter,
‘yong pang-“#relationshipgoals” lang,
nasanay ka na pero takot ka pa rin.
Nasanay ka na sa mga surprise quiz.
Sa exams. Sa reporting. Sa thesis.
Sa Singko, INC, Withdraw o Drop.
Sa pag-jaywalking,
dahil late na naman sa 7:30 AM class.
Sa paulit-ulit na sorry.
Sa paulit-ulit ding pagpapatawad.
Sa paghahanap ng ka-red string.
Sa paghahanap ng ka-forever.
Sa mabagal na internet.
Sa job interview. Sa gobyerno.
Masasanay ka ring matalo
dahil ganito ang konsepto ng mundo.
Patitikman ka muna ng pagkabigo,
bago ka ulit maging buo.
Baka rin bukas-makalawa
maiisipan mo nang mag-aral ng mabuti
at iwasang ang usapang mabote,
ang bumangon ng maaga
at hindi papatayin ang naka-set na alarm,
ang maging totoo
sa taong nagmamahal sa ‘yo,
o kaya subukang ipa-Photoshop
ang 2x2 picture mo sa resume
para sa paparating na job interview.
Masasanay ka ring matalo,
masasanay ka rin sa mga peklat mo sa puso.
Dahil hindi ito matatapalan
ng pulga-pulgadang concealer ng Maybelline,
o kahit ubusin mo pa
ang stock sa AVON, sa Watson, sa HBC, o sa Lazada.
Kaya tanggapin mo na lang
na ang buhay ay puno ng pagkatalo,
dahil sa huli para sa atin din naman ang mundo,
kaya wala kang dahilan para sumuko,
dahil ang sumusuko lang ang natatalo,
at ang hindi takot sumubok ulit
ang tunay na panalo.
Sep 6, 2016
Sep 6, 2016 at 8:03 PM UTC
Lazy Monday.
Raining Morning.
Inky pens.
Empty papers.
This 4-cornered room became a
Vast new world
When I met
You.
Your "What's your name?"
was more than a question, it was
An invitation to
A breath of fresh air,
A gulp of warm sunshine,
A waltz on green grass.
From small talk on the
Wet weather,
The films at the theater,
And our ******* professor,
Our lips spilled over.
Awkward smiles became
Shy giggles then
Uncontrollable laughter.
We pulled each other to conversations on
Artists Picasso, Van Gogh
Historians Constantino, Ocampo.
I told you about
Distant galaxies and the theory of gravity
While you said things on
Progressive policies and your farming family.
You said pick-up lines, I gave knock-knock jokes.
We tried to mash-up Let It Be and Let It Go.
Your mind was a treasure chest full of stories
Forever you
And your words are engraved in my memory.
All this ended though
When the clocks striked 3.
The session was over;
There's no reason to be here anymore
And so I guess it's best for us to just
Leave.
"It was nice meeting you."
But it's horrible that
We will never meet again.
What was us will just get lost in the plane infinity
For this moment that we shared
Is just a mere
Point of tangency.
Dec 16, 2014
Dec 16, 2014 at 2:00 PM UTC
i sit unbothered
as my insides have become
artfully intertwined into knots
so much so my sweet dearest grand-mother could
crochet a winter quilt with these guts of mine
how i wish our public educational system
would have enlightened our youth
enlightened us
enlightened us, that there would be days such as this
brooke constantino
Nov 20, 2017
Nov 20, 2017 at 12:26 PM UTC
I hear nothing but black and flickers of dimed candles
Shadows and I waltz
For they do not judge me
Of course my demons’
How did I become this deranged
Nothing but black
This bed-linen now
A blushing civil war
It tickles me pink
Or maybe it
Helps me recognize
That my crazy is ******* gorgeous
Yet sickening
Are you happy?
Sun up till sun down
It’s cold now, and so am I
I see you every where
In every thing
In every one
In the tiny wrinkles that rest upon my Antarctic like hands
The car that cut me off this morning
The lumps stuck in my throat when someone asks how you are
The chilly 5 minute walk to my vehicle on the hill
In the empty space that haunts me every night when I close my eyes
It’s cold, but so are you
Am I that easy to escape ones memory?
Brooke Constantino
Nov 10, 2017
Nov 10, 2017 at 1:11 PM UTC