land's moniker
mulls utmost care

     Kalinga

branding the ox
      of men with glaringly

  immaculate chiaroscuro,
atop hills flourishing
with the fruits emblazoning
  reticence.

  chase angel-ward, the synopsis
  of meaningfulness,
    jagged, indelible accoutrement
    akin to the brand of
         chaste heritage,

   galvanizing this epitaph
     with aesthetic nativity,
  gallant mambabatok - fill my bones with the ache of your past,
   carve in me what the rippling
    shrill of air has toppled
      in the highlands

  you have us shaking the blood
    of this archipelago like boughs
   breaking free from water's ebb,
   frenzied by the river-warm
    serpentine embellishment
   the strike of the thorns
    mints in our untouched bodies!

   altogether in this numerous hike
   we go in pursuit, hunting the
   nibble from flesh to bone,
    revealing the rebel, body
       to soul.

Whisperings of a morbid night foretell
Of a humble visitor that the velvet shall grace
Hope sears through the indolent air
Mutterings of a sweet dream it lays.

And its wispy arms, it spreads
Turned crystal white with its eternal age
With clandestine diligency it works around
A heavenly glow kindling from its face

It leaps across with its companion
On amethyst streams, through its sprays
The curved drops of life falling with a time-less reflection
Vivifying the wind in the boundless chase

And it blankets the forests in its spell
It plummets meticulously into the dark
Veering down the crevices unwelcome
Effacing the veneer of darkness, on a journey it embarks

It's gentle in its temperament
But of sturdy shoulders it boasts
With an unfaltering expression it entails
With a vivacious drive, all, it endures

Somewhere across a strewn landscape
An irrational vindictiveness comes to work
A carpet of bullets laid across
Sprays the emblazoning red across in its mirth

Fulfilling a painter's dream
The lewd red glistens on the grass
A town awakened to a carnage of dreams
The stars flicker, frightened, the night they grasp

And a clarion mingled with the mud beside
A crestfallen spectacle it boasts
This verbose only euphemising the sight
Knitting the strands of malice, the blood flows

Cries of agony and pain resound through the stench
Corpses of infants clinching their mother's
And the face of a young girl clinging to a pole
Whimpering at the face, numbness inside, it bursts

And this despondent night, the visitor visits
Sweeps across the blown landscape, dispassionate
Stops beside the girl and in its soothing elegy
Tells tales of the battles of happiness lost in time's chase

And Hope, it lingers on
With ardent belief and patience to reap
And the girl weeping with blank, black eyes
The memories that shall never be cast, the mother she shall never see

The young ones of a bird remain
Stranded in their nest, their stomachs inviting
Squeaking and gnawing with their tiny beaks
Oblivious, their mother shall never appear, suffice in this cold, biting

A mother in a furtive torment
Fruits of whose shall have been sweet
A life that may have spawned, laughing with clenched fists
Unknowing, what the vicissitudes shall entail, what fate it shall meet

A boy with a kite in his hand
And a euphoric smile on his face
With dreams of racing with the wind
And mists of clouds that he shall chase

Hope casts an omnipresent shadow, moves along
With a passive effect binding them all together
Harbringing life, sweeps off the tears
Lifts them up to the zenith in its calm, dependent clutches

Kingdoms fall and statues wither away
The tide of time takes its toll on all, in the unduelled race
But Hope suffices, clings on to the little crevices
Gives little flocks of dreams for the girl to chase

we did what we could that night
and a supernal being is ashamed.

this is the drift of thought
in the vast ocean of gilded gold
frothing at the edge of rotund:
giving back a silenced enigma,
spewing the answer in an exhaust
of white rancid smoke
dharma burns plastered to cigarette.
burning and burning, afloat are the high-pouncing embers looking for fleeting shades and dagger-ambulations
of a shadow's swagger in tectonic soiree.

we did what we could that night.
like a flash of lightning at the back
of hoarded hills,
or say, something brutal and brash with
modern sensibilities we never jell —
we come not with softness or life
peering out of our eyes like little girls
serenaded by mad men in the eve of
forlorn nights. we did what we could
and some god cringes, winces away
like the erratic dance of candleflame.

the leviathan black spreads its parasol
and we are no strangers.
when our veraciousness starts to pierce
the veil, the populace should start
to worry of their trapped conditions.
we came here for something:
be it flesh, be it wisdom, be it plain inebriations — we will never flinch
at the squalor of tomorrow's sobering.
keep in mind, kaibigan.

    it's all levitation and transcendence.

the darkness wept as the car
groans near the end of its immaterial life.
i flick the last cigarette into the grey-faced pavement.
all oceans drowned,
all shadows burgeoned,
all fires emerged plump,
this silent radio rivers
through the wave of this ephemerality,
the onomatopoeia of strangeness,
the   thud
      of the senseless head of metal
     on the body

the   clackety-clack
       of hours thereafter!

ayeayeaye! the streets sing no mild
  appendage. the solstice is lost
    in the length and precision of all things.
bringing ourselves to the brink of absence,
    our pallid selves set ablaze, emblazoning
the quick life of matchflame or rumble of    
    thunder — the steady phoenix of
       that night! this is learning
  to breathe again, o, what currents purloined in vicious swarth as we keep
     this river flowing into our throats,
  jamming our souls to compelling music.

   remember kaibigan,
it's all levitation and transcendence.

I march alone,
a flaming candle,
clasped within shaky hands,
as I travel the rocky path,
of the darkest hour,
searching for my lost companion.

The intensity of the winds,
blow with invisible ferocity,
attempting to extingiush,
my only source of light,
in the obscurity of this journey,
to find what is no longer mine.

The cluttered valley of stones,
sporadic and jagged,
engenders my feet to lose,
their sight to guide me,
as a shadow blinds them,
stumbling with the challenge,
of yet another obstacle.

Raindrops stain my skin,
tingling through my core,
like an icy kiss of death,
burning my torso.

An intangible blazing arrow,
splicing through the hearth,
of my being,
trembling with fatigue,
as I fall to my knees.

Despite the weakness,
of my quivering limbs,
I now stand upon two feet,
unwavering in the harsh atmosphere,
engulfing my petite frame,
as I glance in all directions,
to behold what I have lost.

Unfortunately I shall never reach,
the one I once yearned,
to travel the vast lands with,
as our destinies collide,
but betrayal leaps from a canister,
opened by the hands,
of a ***** friend choosing to become,
my nememsis,
as a vile murky sludge bursts out,
of the jar.

Putrid animosity creeps out,
spreading upon my trusting soul,
like the black plague,
relentless with thorns of corruption,
leaving me to make no other choice.

The toxic Substance,
leaves me with a distaste,
burdened at the loss,
of what I seek;
Nausea sweeps across my bridge,
of loyalty,
wishing abandonment,
is not the lyrics,
I must sing to remain,
in the palms of safety.

Loooking behind me is not an option,
fleeing to an unexpected direction,
a turn resulting in a shift,
of purpose in my investigation,
of life beyond the rudiments,
I thought to be the focus,
guiding me.

Feelings of Isolation,
begin to blossom,
until I realize my possession,
of the lit candle,
my fingers cling to,
restoring balance.

As I lift my gaze,
away from the  dancling flames,
of fire,
I feel the desire,
to trust my intuition,
always drifting through,
the entirety of my chimerical mind.

Instincts take over me,
driving meto paint,
the world carrying the fruits,
of a visually compelling existence,
as I encounter the joys,
of a voice entertaining my ears,
the fiery memories,
emblazoning a scuplture,
moving me to create new stories,
sniffing the tantalizing aroma,
of Wild roses,
conjuring a persona,
bravely foolish enough to chance,
the tide Swirling,
with a sea of opportunities.

Would you watch me, while I sleep? (Just a thought
So many other things you’d rather do,
I’m a probable loss, not really sought).
Would it so surprise you, if you loved too?

Pieces are designed to fit in puzzles,
And this puzzling world threw you my way.
I puzzle over you, and I struggle
To see the light, though it’s breaking my days.

I’ve seen bleak futures, lit by fireworks
Emblazoning hope in those ocean eyes.
I play with the pieces, turning your perks
Over, competing the potential highs
With perception. Potentially. You,
Enlighten me. Let me brighten you, too.

So bright
And yet so cold
I unscrew you
So that a neon flora
Could shine
Above and empty room

Purple and green petals
Glowing in tubes
In the peripherals
Blue eyes shining
And flickering
Alongside the
Bolts striking the rod on the roof
Emblazoning momentarily with
Sharp and blinding
Flashing
Strobe like for
A split second
Followed by the thirty-two  inch sub
Fluttering
Making you quiver
And clutch the fuzz on the side

so many things wander
   in the night of the world - electric
  saw of the Hemiptera's wing uncertain
   of its path, or a hand like a beast
   in the ornate flesh, the sea of
undergarment with its saltine moistness,
limbless lips frittering onto squashed out
      softnesses that remember the fervor
  of grip or the pleasures of breathing after

     the tempest of beings,
   so many things in different placements
   displacing me here,
   savoring the impact just before the crunch of the bone,
   down to its last ache between the
    gnash of teeth and the miserly space
   of cerecloth to a body—

  they are many things trundling
   in the moment and i am just as much,
  yet a passing only, scouring the walls
   of graffiti emblazoning abstract unfathomably reachable and misunderstood, lost in ineffable translation — this doting darling
    contemplates death and
i understand now, going deeper
  as fish sinks into further blue,
wet with something else but water.

A city of people
Established under the concept of individuality from its collector,
Accustomed to the separation and liberty
Others are not so lucky to receive.
Yet in the raptorial eyes of authority and power,
No such liberty matters.

In a country of despots,
The autonomy of this shelter threatened with extradition,
And the consequence of more strings
Being tied to the city by the ever-present hands of the puppet master.

A city of people
Protesting this invasion of the home.
Lives put on pause as a people’s purpose is pushed to the forefront.
Streets stuffed full,
Airports shut down,
The voice of the people shall be heard.

A city of people
Suffering through the brutality of their protectors.
Emblazoning their message to the masses.
Shattered windows and graffiti reveal the real truths.

Tear gas,
Fire,
Ammunition,
Authority.
The ruined arm of a medic cries louder than his plea for help.

No help has come.

In distant countries
Those with an audience speak out in the name of Hong Kong.
Punishment is inflicted upon them by the puppet master.

Money with the power of silence,
And censoring opposition.
Money with the power to end careers.
And keep the people blind.

Like the strings on a puppet,
Chinese business holds control.

A city united.
Abandoned, but not powerless.
Never paralyzed by the fearsome eyes of control.
Ever strong,
Stand with Hong Kong.