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AUGUST Sep 2018
Sa pagibig....

Pwede kang magdala, o ikaw ang dadalhin
Pwedeng kang paasa, o ikaw ang paasahin
Pwede kang manggamit, o ikaw ang gagamitin
Pwede kang mabigo, bago mo sya bigoin


Bago magmahal, dapat bang handa ka?
Na Bago ka masaktan, kailangan ng anestesia, ano para manhid muna?
At dapat bang may pamunas? Bago ka lumuha?
Ahh, Bago pala ang lahat, ano ba magiging luma?

At Ganon ba ngayon pagnagmahal?
Para manalo ang taya, dapat **** isugal!
Pano kung lahat mo na ginawa? Kulang parin
Di ba masakit?
Kung Alam na nating masikip sa damdamin, pinipilit pang pagkasyahin

Lahat naman talaga pwede diba?
Tulad ng sinabi ko sa unang stanza

Pwede kayong dalaway magkatuloyan
Pwede ding tuluyan kang iwanan
Pwede ka nyang maalala, pwede ding kalimutan
Pwede ka rin nyang paalalahanan na wag mo na syang ligawan
Pero laging pakatatandaan....
Lahat ay nagtatagumpay lang kung naiiwasan ang kabiguan

Pero ako, di parin ako matatakot magmahal
Kasi alam kong darating ang araw di magtatagal
Na ang natagpuan ko man di sakin itinadhana,
May itinadhana para sakin na di ko pa natatagpuan
Dun ako naniniwala,


Ang puso ko di parin nakasara
hinihintay lang kita aking sinta
Hanggan sa panahon na tayoy magkita
Lahat ng pagtingin ko sayo na

Ngunit ngayon, sa paglipas ng panahon
Ang anyo ng pagibig ay nagbago, Lasa nagkaroon
Noong nanliligaw sobrang sweet,Naging bitter ng nabasted
Meron pa ngang iba, iba iba ang tinitikman ng di mo nababatid

Parang sa kape din, noon stick to one lang ang timplahan
Ngayon naimbento na ang 3 in 1

Parang tema ng pelikula din, noon may happy ending
Ngayon dapat happy lang walang ending
Noon ang poreber pinaniniwalaan
Ngayon ang poreber, walang ganyan
Noon may pagibig na wagas
Ngayon ang pagibig nagwawakas

Kaya naaalala kita sa Noon at ngayon
Kasi,,,,
Noon, saksi ang langit,nagsumpaan tayo
Ngayon, dahil sa galit, sinusumpa mo na ako
Noon, ang nadarama natin masaya lang
Ngayon, ang nararamdaman natin masasayang lang
Noon, hawak hawak pa kita,Ngayon, bakit bumitaw ka na
Noon, andito ka pa, Ngayon, bakit anjan ka na

Di ko mawari ang pagibig kung itoy biyaya bakit masakit
kung gaano katamis noon, ngayon walang kasing pait
kung gano kainit noon, ngayon napakalamig
Kung gano ka kinikilig noon ,ngayon naging manhid

Kung gano tayo kalapit noon, malayong agwat ngayon
Kung gano tayo nagaalala noon, biglang nagkalimutan ngayon
Kung gano tayo kasaya noon, walang kasing lungkot ngayon
Pangako **** di ka magbabago noon, ngunit nagiba ka na pala ngayon

Kung Ano man ang meron noon, lahat yun nawala ngayon
Jame Aug 2016
Paano ko ba sisimulan ang sulat na ito na iginagawa ko na naman para sa’yo?
Marami na akong naipon na mga sulat, sulat na punong-puno ng mga walang kwentang kasaysayan at letra na hindi ‘ko maigunita sa iyo
Bakit? Ewan ko, hindi ko alam, putangina may pakialam ka ba?
Hindi ko alam kung ibibigay ko sa’yo ang mga sulat na hindi ko natuluyang ibigay sa’yo dahil Una, hindi ko alam kung may pakialam ka pa sa mga salita ko
Ang aking mga salita na punong-puno ng galit, ng damdamin at pagmamahal
Kasi Pangalawa, noon, kahit walang kwenta ang aking mga sinasabi, ito’y tuluyan **** binibigyan ng halaga
Noon, kahit ako’y galit sa iyo at ika’y galit sa akin, nauubos ang iyong salita at hininga sa mga bagay na gusto kong marinig para lang tayo’y magkaayos
Noon, nakuntento tayo sa isa’t-isa kahit tayo’y naliligaw at nabubulag pa sa mundong ito na punong-puno ng kasinungalingan
Noon, ginagawa mo ang lahat para lang tayo ay magkita
Noon, pinupuno ko ang iyong mga araw nang ligaya at mga ngiting hanggang tenga
Noon, hinahayaan mo lang tayo’y maging masaya
Noon, ako’y sa iyo at ika’y akin
Noon, ika’y andito at wala doon
Noon, ako’y mahal mo at ika’y mahal ko
Naghahanap ng mga dahilan kung saan ako nagkulang, o kung saan ako nagkamali
Kung ito ba’y dahil sa aking pananamit o sa aking pananalita
Kung ito ba’y dahil hindi ako kagaya niya o sadyang nawala na lang talaga ang iyong mga nararamdaman bigla
Kaya inuulit ko, saan ako nagkulang? Saan ako nagkamali?
Nagkulang ba ako sa higpit nang yakap at haplos?
Nagkulang ba ang aking mga boses sa pagsigaw sa mundo na mahal kita?
Nagkulang ba ako sa pagsuyo at sa aking pagamin ng mga kasalanan?
Nagkulang ba ako sa pagbuhos ng aking mga damdamin?
Nagkulang ba ako sa paglaban?
Nagkulang ba ako sa bilang ng araw na mawawala ka na?
Nagkulang ba ako sa halik?
Dahil sinta, kung alam ko lang ng mas maaga pa na ika’y hindi magtatagal, sana’y tinagalan ko ang aking mga halik at inagahan ang aking pagbitaw
Pero hindi,
Kaya ang nagbunga ngayo’y isang babae na katulad ko na
Ngayo’y nasasaktan at nalulunod sa sariling mga luha
Natatapilok sa sariling mga paa, dahil sa sariling katangahan
Ngayon, isang tanga na natalo at nakanganga
Ngayon, umaasa na lang ako sa isang idlap ng iyong mga mata
Ngayon, naghihintay na lang ako sa iyong pagpansin o pagtawag sa aking pangalan
Ngayon, nagbabakasakaling may halaga pa rin ako sa’yo
Ngayon, umaasang iniisip mo pa rin ako
Ngayon, nagbabakasakali na masaya ka na.
Masaya ka na sa kanya.
Masaya ka na sa piling ng iba.
Mas masaya ka na kesa aking nagawa.
Ngayon, nangangarap na lang na maging masaya
Ngayon, sinusubukang kalimutan ka
Pangatlo, dahil ngayon,
Mahal pa rin kita,
at wala ka na.
#tagalog #past #noon #ngayon #pagmamahal #love #filipinopoem
Random Guy Oct 2019
Ang kwento natin ay binuo sa gitna ng maling sitwasyon at maling pagkakataon.

High school.

Magkaibigan tayo noon.
Nagsasabihan ng problema, umiiyak sa isa't isa.
Kabisado mo ako, at kabisado na rin kita.
Tantya ko ang birong magpapatawa sayo at tantya ko rin naman ang tamang kiliti upang mawala ang galit mo.

Nakahanap tayo sa isa't isa ng kanlungan at hingahan sa nakakasulasok na mundo.

Lumapit at patuloy pang napalapit ang loob ko sa'yo, at ikaw sa akin. Hindi ko na rin namalayan na mahal na pala kita. Taguan ng nararamdaman ang nilaro natin ng ilang buwan. Totoo, laking gulat ko rin sa sarili ko kung paano ako nahulog sa'yo. Dahil ang katulad mo ay isang dyosa na hindi ko dapat lapitan, hagkan, o kahit hawakan man lang. Hanggang ang simpleng tingin ay naging mga titig, mga haplos lang dapat sa kamay ay naging mga kapit, at magkatabi lamang ngunit iba ang dikit.

Napuno ang puso ko ng pagmamahal at umabot na ito sa pagsabog. Naglahad ng nararamdaman, nagbabakasakaling pareho ang 'yong nadarama.

Pero mas laking gulat ko nang sabihin **** mahal mo rin ako. At isa 'yon sa pinaka masayang araw ng buhay ko.

Simula noon ay araw araw nang hawak ang iyong kamay, inaamoy ang iyong buhok, nagpapalitan ng mga mensahe, kinakantahan; ginagawa ang lahat upang mapakita lang sayo.. na mahal kita. Pero higit sa mga pinakita natin sa isa't isa ay mas tumimbang ang mga hindi natin pinakita ngunit pinadama.

Hawak ko ang buwan at ang mga bituin kapag kasama kita ngunit bakit ba kapag tayo'y masaya ay talagang lungkot ang susunod.

Nalaman ng mga magulang mo kung ano ang meron tayo. Hindi ko noon inasahan na ang mga susunod na mga linggo at buwan ay ang pinaka madilim na parte ng buhay ko. Dahil ang kwento natin ay binuo sa gitna ng maling sitwasyon at maling pagkakataon.

Papasok ka sa eskwela ng mapula ang mata at may pasa sa braso. Ngunit ang mas pumapatay sa akin ay ang ngiti sa labi mo. Mga ngiting hindi ko masabing peke dahil totoo. Dahil ba masaya kang makita ako kahit na ang sakit na nararamdaman mo ay dahil sa pagmamahal ko? Hindi nanlamig ang pagmamahal natin dahil sa kung ano mang ginawa natin sa loob ng relasyon. Kundi ang lamig ng pataw ng galit ng mas nakatatanda sa atin. At ang mas masakit ay hindi pa natin kayang lumaban.

Ang hindi mo alam ay walang lumipas na araw na hindi rin ako umiyak sa harap ng ating mga kaibigan, sa harap ng salamin, sa harap ng isang ****, sa harap ng mga matang nangungusap at ang sabi ay...

"may isang pagmamahalan na naman ang namatay."

Pinatay sa gitna ng saya, pinatay sa gitna ng ligaya, pinatay sa gitna ng magandang paglago.

Pinatay tayo ng tadhana. Pinatay tayo ng mga taong walang tiwala. Pinatay tayo ng mga taong ang  tingin sa atin ay mga isip-bata. Oo, tayo'y mga bata pa noon ngunit alam ko, alam ko na ang pag-ibig na 'yon ay totoo.

Nagsimula ka ng hindi pumasok sa eskwela. At kung ilang oras kitang hindi nakita sa iyong upuan ay ganon ding haba ng oras ng aking pagiyak sa likod ng silid. Sinisisi ang sarili sa kung bakit ganito at bakit ganyan. Bakit ganito ang tadhana? Bakit ganyan ang pag-ibig? At makikita nila sa mga luha ko na lumuluha na rin ito dahil sa patuloy na pagpatak, bagsak sa kahoy na upuan. At mas lalong bumabagsak ang luha ko dahil hindi ko alam kung anong nangyayari sayo. Sinasaktan ka ba? Umiiyak ka rin ba? Mahal mo pa ba ako? Kung pwede lang hugasan ng luha ang mga tanong ay kakayanin, dahil sa dami ay kayang anurin ang mga ito.

Ilang linggo pa ay hindi na tayo nakapag usap, pumapasok ka ngunit ang kaya lang nating gawin ay maghawak ng kamay. Dahil kalakip ng mga salita ay patak ng luha. Kaya tinakpan natin lahat ng ito ng hawak sa kamay, patong ng ulo sa balikat, yakap. At hindi ko inasahan na huli na pala 'yon. Dahil tapos na ang taong 2011-2012 ng eskwela. At hindi na kita nakita; ni anino, ni bagong larawan mo, sa loob ng maraming taon.

Ang meron lang ako ay ang manila paper na binigay mo sa kaibigan natin para ibigay sa akin. Na nagpaisip sa akin na sana, sana man lang ay nakita kita bago mo inabot ang pinaka mahabang mensahe na nabasa ko, mula sa pagiibigang pinilit na pinapatay.

Pagkatapos ng mga tagpong iyon, nalaman kong lilipat ka na ng eskwela sa susunod na taon. At parang 'yon na ang nagpa manhid sa pusong meron ako noon. O kung meron pa ba ako non noon. Dahil sa ilang linggo at buwan ng pinaka madilim na parte ng buhay ko ay unti-unti na pala itong nabasag, nawala, at nadurog.

Ilang taon rin bago ito nabuo o nabuo nga ba talaga ito. Ilang taon din akong nagmahal ng walang puso, dahil utak ang ginamit ko. Doon ko nasabi na ang pagmamahal ko sayo ay ang unang pagmamahal ko sa una kong puso.

Ilang taon akong nagpagaling, nakahanap ng kanlungan sa iba, kasayahan, kakumpletuhan, kabuuan.

Sa likod ng aking isip ang tanong na, "Nasaan na kaya s'ya?"

Hindi naaalis sa mga inuman ng barkada ang mga tanong na, "Saan na s'ya? Nakita mo na ba 'yon ulit?" Alam kong ramdam din nila, na kahit ano ang isagot ko ay may marka 'yon sa puso ko.

"Nakita ko s'ya sa Fatima ah."

"Nakakasalubong ko 'yon ah."

At kahit ilan pang pahapyaw ng mga tropa ang magpaalala ng ikaw ay may sakit pa rin. Kahit hindi ko ipakita, ramdam.

Walong taon.

Walong taon ang lumipas ng muli tayong magusap.
Kamusta?
Maayos naman,
Ikaw?
Okay lang din.

At para bang binalot muli ang puso ko ng muling pagkawasak mula noong umpisa.

At tila ba hindi pa pala natapos ang istorya natin sa nakalipas na walong taon, hindi pa pala namatay ang 2012 na bersyon ng mga sarili natin.

Nagusap tayo. Pero 'yon pala ang mali natin. Na kaya pala hindi na tayo nagusap hanggang sa mga huling sandali ng pagkikita natin ay alam nating ang mga salita ay katumbas ng luha, at ang mga salita ay katumbas ng sakit, at ang mga salita ay katumbas ng muling pagwawakas.

Apat na libo tatlong daan at walumput tatlong milya ang layo natin sa isa't isa. Muli, ang parte ng kwentong ito ay nabuo na naman sa gitna ng maling sitwasyon at maling pagkakataon.

At ang pinaka masakit sa lahat at ang punit sa kwento nating dalawa ay meron na akong iba. Dahil alam kong hindi kita nahintay, at sana malaman **** hindi ka rin naman nagparamdam. Ang kwento nating dalawa ay masyadong naging komplikado dahil sa iba't ibang kamalian ng sitwasyon at pagkakataon.

At alam kong sa pagkakataon na ito ay hindi na dapat natin ito sisihin, dahil ang kamalian ay nasa atin nang dalawa. Kung paanong naging sobrang huli na pala, o sobrang aga pa pala.

Ang kwento nating dalawa ay maaaring dito na matatapos ngunit ayoko naman ding magsalita ng tapos, kagaya ng nangyari matapos ang walong taon, biglang nabuksan ang kwento. At hindi ko alam kung ilang taon ulit, o talagang tapos na.

Pero kagaya nga ng sabi mo, ito ang ang paborito **** kwento sa lahat, at oo, ako rin. Ang kwentong ito ay magsasalin salin pa sa inuman, sa kwentuhan, sa simpleng halinghingan, kwentong bayan; na may isang lalaki at babae na nagmahalan kahit pa pinilit itong patayin at makipag patayan. Isang kwentong puno ng kawasakan, at patuloy na pinaglaruan ng tadhana. Tapos na nga ba ang pahina? Muli, kagaya ng nakalipas na walong taon, ang sagot ay oo. Ngunit ang kwento ay buhay pa, at patuloy na mabubuhay pa sa puso ko.
giggletoes
Ipadeola Glory A Feb 2020
NOON
A whole day lives in a room
That accommodates the noon,
Which is just before the afternoon
And when no one sees the moon.

No one regards the noon,
But yet regard afternoon
Which comes after the visitation of the noon.

By heart dances to the noon tune,
When I'm said to be immune
And is unheard of having danger loom,
While it stays in its room.

Approaching comes the noon with fumes,
Even without perfumes,
Giving a beautiful tune
Than that of a sand dune.

A minute lasts the noon,
When silence may last in a room,
So does the noon leave boom,
Thereby leaving the afternoon
To rule the rest of the day,
Before the approach of the moon.

But look...
Approaching comes the noon.
As the day takes form
And the night comes to an end
Then I’ve already made the first mistake
And I know it’s still a brand new day
What can I do to be set free
That I may follow You

I need my Saviour by my side
Morning, noon, and night
I need my Saviour by my side
Morning, noon, and night
I need my Saviour by my side
Morning, noon, and night

What can I say to excuse myself
There is so much I know
I cannot explain why I serve You in pain
When You have made the way
Still I sit here and burn in my desires and lusts
Lord Jesus have Your way

I need my Saviour by my side
Morning, noon, and night
I need my Saviour by my side
Morning, noon, and night
I need my Saviour by my side
Morning, noon, and night

Now I pray for Your strength today
Hold my hand and lead the way
Help me to see me the way You see
And make me follow You
Jesus I surrender all
To You my King of Kings

I need my Saviour by my side
Morning, noon, and night
I need my Saviour by my side
Morning, noon, and night
I need my Saviour by my side
Morning, noon, and night
“Tabing Dagat”

Naalala mo pa ba? Ang huling sandali na kasama kita?
Nong panahong sinabi **** susuko ka na
Nong panahong ako ay binitawan mo na
At ika’y umalis at iniwan ako sa tabing dagat mag isa

Saksi ang mga hampas ng alon noon sa mga pangako mo
Pangako na noo’y pinanghawakan ko at ngayon ito’y nag laho
Pangako mo na parang kastillo ng buhangin na iyong binoo
At sa isang iglap lang ito’y hinampas ng alon hanggang sa ito’y gumoho

Inukit mo pa noon ang pagalan naten sa basang buhangin
At sinabayan mopa sa pag kanta na puno ng mga dalangin
Dama yong pagmamahal noon at sa init ng mga yakap mo
Pero dama ko rin yong sakit nong araw na ako’y iniwan mo

Hawakan mo mga kamay ko at walang isa sa atin ang bibitaw
Ngunit nong pag bitaw mo mundo ko’y tuloyan naring nagunaw
Saan na ba yong mga pangako mo noon na pinaniniwalaan ko
Mga pangako na ngayo’y diko alam kung yon ba ay totoo

Nilakbay ko ule ang dagat dahil baka sakaling nan’doon ka
Kaso ultimo animo mo’y di ko na masilayan at di ko Makita
Nag laho ka na nga gaya nong mga pangako mo noon
Babalikan pa ba ako kahit alam kung may mahal ka na ngayon?

Kay sakit mahal na pag-ibig naten noon ay  inanod narin ng alon
Tanging alaala naten nong kahapon ay siyang lage kung baon
Kung sakali mang babalik ka pa alam mo na kung saan ako makikita
Sa tabi ng dagat kung saan mo rin ako iniwan at binitawan  sinta
#heartbreak #love #broken
Part I

It is an ancient Mariner,
And he stoppeth one of three.
‘By thy long grey beard and glittering eye,
Now wherefore stopp’st thou me?

The bridegroom’s doors are opened wide,
And I am next of kin;
The guests are met, the feast is set:
Mayst hear the merry din.’

He holds him with his skinny hand,
“There was a ship,” quoth he.
‘Hold off! unhand me, grey-beard loon!’
Eftsoons his hand dropped he.

He holds him with his glittering eye—
The Wedding-Guest stood still,
And listens like a three years’ child:
The Mariner hath his will.

The Wedding-Guest sat on a stone:
He cannot choose but hear;
And thus spake on that ancient man,
The bright-eyed Mariner.

“The ship was cheered, the harbour cleared,
Merrily did we drop
Below the kirk, below the hill,
Below the lighthouse top.

The sun came up upon the left,
Out of the sea came he!
And he shone bright, and on the right
Went down into the sea.

Higher and higher every day,
Till over the mast at noon—”
The Wedding-Guest here beat his breast,
For he heard the loud bassoon.

The bride hath paced into the hall,
Red as a rose is she;
Nodding their heads before her goes
The merry minstrelsy.

The Wedding-Guest he beat his breast,
Yet he cannot choose but hear;
And thus spake on that ancient man,
The bright-eyed Mariner.

“And now the storm-blast came, and he
Was tyrannous and strong:
He struck with his o’ertaking wings,
And chased us south along.

With sloping masts and dipping prow,
As who pursued with yell and blow
Still treads the shadow of his foe,
And foward bends his head,
The ship drove fast, loud roared the blast,
And southward aye we fled.

And now there came both mist and snow,
And it grew wondrous cold:
And ice, mast-high, came floating by,
As green as emerald.

And through the drifts the snowy clifts
Did send a dismal sheen:
Nor shapes of men nor beasts we ken—
The ice was all between.

The ice was here, the ice was there,
The ice was all around:
It cracked and growled, and roared and howled,
Like noises in a swound!

At length did cross an Albatross,
Thorough the fog it came;
As it had been a Christian soul,
We hailed it in God’s name.

It ate the food it ne’er had eat,
And round and round it flew.
The ice did split with a thunder-fit;
The helmsman steered us through!

And a good south wind sprung up behind;
The Albatross did follow,
And every day, for food or play,
Came to the mariner’s hollo!

In mist or cloud, on mast or shroud,
It perched for vespers nine;
Whiles all the night, through fog-smoke white,
Glimmered the white moonshine.”

‘God save thee, ancient Mariner,
From the fiends that plague thee thus!—
Why look’st thou so?’—”With my crossbow
I shot the Albatross.”

Part II

“The sun now rose upon the right:
Out of the sea came he,
Still hid in mist, and on the left
Went down into the sea.

And the good south wind still blew behind,
But no sweet bird did follow,
Nor any day for food or play
Came to the mariners’ hollo!

And I had done a hellish thing,
And it would work ’em woe:
For all averred, I had killed the bird
That made the breeze to blow.
Ah wretch! said they, the bird to slay,
That made the breeze to blow!

Nor dim nor red, like God’s own head,
The glorious sun uprist:
Then all averred, I had killed the bird
That brought the fog and mist.
’Twas right, said they, such birds to slay,
That bring the fog and mist.

The fair breeze blew, the white foam flew,
The furrow followed free;
We were the first that ever burst
Into that silent sea.

Down dropped the breeze, the sails dropped down,
’Twas sad as sad could be;
And we did speak only to break
The silence of the sea!

All in a hot and copper sky,
The ****** sun, at noon,
Right up above the mast did stand,
No bigger than the moon.

Day after day, day after day,
We stuck, nor breath nor motion;
As idle as a painted ship
Upon a painted ocean.

Water, water, every where,
And all the boards did shrink;
Water, water, every where,
Nor any drop to drink.

The very deep did rot: O Christ!
That ever this should be!
Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs
Upon the slimy sea.

About, about, in reel and rout
The death-fires danced at night;
The water, like a witch’s oils,
Burnt green, and blue, and white.

And some in dreams assured were
Of the Spirit that plagued us so;
Nine fathom deep he had followed us
From the land of mist and snow.

And every tongue, through utter drought,
Was withered at the root;
We could not speak, no more than if
We had been choked with soot.

Ah! well-a-day! what evil looks
Had I from old and young!
Instead of the cross, the Albatross
About my neck was hung.”

Part III

“There passed a weary time. Each throat
Was parched, and glazed each eye.
A weary time! a weary time!
How glazed each weary eye—
When looking westward, I beheld
A something in the sky.

At first it seemed a little speck,
And then it seemed a mist;
It moved and moved, and took at last
A certain shape, I wist.

A speck, a mist, a shape, I wist!
And still it neared and neared:
As if it dodged a water-sprite,
It plunged and tacked and veered.

With throats unslaked, with black lips baked,
We could nor laugh nor wail;
Through utter drought all dumb we stood!
I bit my arm, I ****** the blood,
And cried, A sail! a sail!

With throats unslaked, with black lips baked,
Agape they heard me call:
Gramercy! they for joy did grin,
And all at once their breath drew in,
As they were drinking all.

See! see! (I cried) she tacks no more!
Hither to work us weal;
Without a breeze, without a tide,
She steadies with upright keel!

The western wave was all a-flame,
The day was well nigh done!
Almost upon the western wave
Rested the broad bright sun;
When that strange shape drove suddenly
Betwixt us and the sun.

And straight the sun was flecked with bars,
(Heaven’s Mother send us grace!)
As if through a dungeon-grate he peered
With broad and burning face.

Alas! (thought I, and my heart beat loud)
How fast she nears and nears!
Are those her sails that glance in the sun,
Like restless gossameres?

Are those her ribs through which the sun
Did peer, as through a grate?
And is that Woman all her crew?
Is that a Death? and are there two?
Is Death that Woman’s mate?

Her lips were red, her looks were free,
Her locks were yellow as gold:
Her skin was as white as leprosy,
The Nightmare Life-in-Death was she,
Who thicks man’s blood with cold.

The naked hulk alongside came,
And the twain were casting dice;
‘The game is done! I’ve won! I’ve won!’
Quoth she, and whistles thrice.

The sun’s rim dips; the stars rush out:
At one stride comes the dark;
With far-heard whisper o’er the sea,
Off shot the spectre-bark.

We listened and looked sideways up!
Fear at my heart, as at a cup,
My life-blood seemed to sip!
The stars were dim, and thick the night,
The steersman’s face by his lamp gleamed white;
From the sails the dew did drip—
Till clomb above the eastern bar
The horned moon, with one bright star
Within the nether tip.

One after one, by the star-dogged moon,
Too quick for groan or sigh,
Each turned his face with a ghastly pang,
And cursed me with his eye.

Four times fifty living men,
(And I heard nor sigh nor groan)
With heavy thump, a lifeless lump,
They dropped down one by one.

The souls did from their bodies fly,—
They fled to bliss or woe!
And every soul it passed me by,
Like the whizz of my crossbow!”

Part IV

‘I fear thee, ancient Mariner!
I fear thy skinny hand!
And thou art long, and lank, and brown,
As is the ribbed sea-sand.

I fear thee and thy glittering eye,
And thy skinny hand, so brown.’—
“Fear not, fear not, thou Wedding-Guest!
This body dropped not down.

Alone, alone, all, all alone,
Alone on a wide wide sea!
And never a saint took pity on
My soul in agony.

The many men, so beautiful!
And they all dead did lie;
And a thousand thousand slimy things
Lived on; and so did I.

I looked upon the rotting sea,
And drew my eyes away;
I looked upon the rotting deck,
And there the dead men lay.

I looked to heaven, and tried to pray;
But or ever a prayer had gusht,
A wicked whisper came and made
My heart as dry as dust.

I closed my lids, and kept them close,
And the ***** like pulses beat;
Forthe sky and the sea, and the sea and the sky,
Lay like a load on my weary eye,
And the dead were at my feet.

The cold sweat melted from their limbs,
Nor rot nor reek did they:
The look with which they looked on me
Had never passed away.

An orphan’s curse would drag to hell
A spirit from on high;
But oh! more horrible than that
Is the curse in a dead man’s eye!
Seven days, seven nights, I saw that curse,
And yet I could not die.

The moving moon went up the sky,
And no where did abide:
Softly she was going up,
And a star or two beside—

Her beams bemocked the sultry main,
Like April ****-frost spread;
But where the ship’s huge shadow lay,
The charmed water burnt alway
A still and awful red.

Beyond the shadow of the ship
I watched the water-snakes:
They moved in tracks of shining white,
And when they reared, the elfish light
Fell off in hoary flakes.

Within the shadow of the ship
I watched their rich attire:
Blue, glossy green, and velvet black,
They coiled and swam; and every track
Was a flash of golden fire.

O happy living things! no tongue
Their beauty might declare:
A spring of love gushed from my heart,
And I blessed them unaware:
Sure my kind saint took pity on me,
And I blessed them unaware.

The selfsame moment I could pray;
And from my neck so free
The Albatross fell off, and sank
Like lead into the sea.”

Part V

“Oh sleep! it is a gentle thing,
Beloved from pole to pole!
To Mary Queen the praise be given!
She sent the gentle sleep from heaven,
That slid into my soul.

The silly buckets on the deck,
That had so long remained,
I dreamt that they were filled with dew;
And when I awoke, it rained.

My lips were wet, my throat was cold,
My garments all were dank;
Sure I had drunken in my dreams,
And still my body drank.

I moved, and could not feel my limbs:
I was so light—almost
I thought that I had died in sleep,
And was a blessed ghost.

And soon I heard a roaring wind:
It did not come anear;
But with its sound it shook the sails,
That were so thin and sere.

The upper air burst into life!
And a hundred fire-flags sheen,
To and fro they were hurried about!
And to and fro, and in and out,
The wan stars danced between.

And the coming wind did roar more loud,
And the sails did sigh like sedge;
And the rain poured down from one black cloud;
The moon was at its edge.

The thick black cloud was cleft, and still
The moon was at its side:
Like waters shot from some high crag,
The lightning fell with never a jag,
A river steep and wide.

The loud wind never reached the ship,
Yet now the ship moved on!
Beneath the lightning and the moon
The dead men gave a groan.

They groaned, they stirred, they all uprose,
Nor spake, nor moved their eyes;
It had been strange, even in a dream,
To have seen those dead men rise.

The helmsman steered, the ship moved on;
Yet never a breeze up blew;
The mariners all ‘gan work the ropes,
Where they were wont to do;
They raised their limbs like lifeless tools—
We were a ghastly crew.

The body of my brother’s son
Stood by me, knee to knee:
The body and I pulled at one rope,
But he said nought to me.”

‘I fear thee, ancient Mariner!’
“Be calm, thou Wedding-Guest!
’Twas not those souls that fled in pain,
Which to their corses came again,
But a troop of spirits blest:

For when it dawned—they dropped their arms,
And clustered round the mast;
Sweet sounds rose slowly through their mouths,
And from their bodies passed.

Around, around, flew each sweet sound,
Then darted to the sun;
Slowly the sounds came back again,
Now mixed, now one by one.

Sometimes a-dropping from the sky
I heard the skylark sing;
Sometimes all little birds that are,
How they seemed to fill the sea and air
With their sweet jargoning!

And now ’twas like all instruments,
Now like a lonely flute;
And now it is an angel’s song,
That makes the heavens be mute.

It ceased; yet still the sails made on
A pleasant noise till noon,
A noise like of a hidden brook
In the leafy month of June,
That to the sleeping woods all night
Singeth a quiet tune.

Till noon we quietly sailed on,
Yet never a breeze did breathe;
Slowly and smoothly went the ship,
Moved onward from beneath.

Under the keel nine fathom deep,
From the land of mist and snow,
The spirit slid: and it was he
That made the ship to go.
The sails at noon left off their tune,
And the ship stood still also.

The sun, right up above the mast,
Had fixed her to the ocean:
But in a minute she ‘gan stir,
With a short uneasy motion—
Backwards and forwards half her length
With a short uneasy motion.

Then like a pawing horse let go,
She made a sudden bound:
It flung the blood into my head,
And I fell down in a swound.

How long in that same fit I lay,
I have not to declare;
But ere my living life returned,
I heard and in my soul discerned
Two voices in the air.

‘Is it he?’ quoth one, ‘Is this the man?
By him who died on cross,
With his cruel bow he laid full low
The harmless Albatross.

The spirit who bideth by himself
In the land of mist and snow,
He loved the bird that loved the man
Who shot him with his bow.’

The other was a softer voice,
As soft as honey-dew:
Quoth he, ‘The man hath penance done,
And penance more will do.’

Part VI

First Voice

But tell me, tell me! speak again,
Thy soft response renewing—
What makes that ship drive on so fast?
What is the ocean doing?

Second Voice

Still as a slave before his lord,
The ocean hath no blast;
His great bright eye most silently
Up to the moon is cast—

If he may know which way to go;
For she guides him smooth or grim.
See, brother, see! how graciously
She looketh down on him.

First Voice

But why drives on that ship so fast,
Without or wave or wind?

Second Voice

The air is cut away before,
And closes from behind.

Fly, brother, fly! more high, more high!
Or we shall be belated:
For slow and slow that ship will go,
When the Mariner’s trance is abated.

“I woke, and we were sailing on
As in a gentle weather:
’Twas night, calm night, the moon was high;
The dead men stood together.

All stood together on the deck,
For a charnel-dungeon fitter:
All fixed on me their stony eyes,
That in the moon did glitter.

The pang, the curse, with which they died,
Had never passed away:
I could not draw my eyes from theirs,
Nor turn them up to pray.

And now this spell was snapped: once more
I viewed the ocean green,
And looked far forth, yet little saw
Of what had else been seen—

Like one that on a lonesome road
Doth walk in fear and dread,
And having once turned round walks on,
And turns no more his head;
Because he knows a frightful fiend
Doth close behind him tread.

But soon there breathed a wind on me,
Nor sound nor motion made:
Its path was not upon the sea,
In ripple or in shade.

It raised my hair, it fanned my cheek
Like a meadow-gale of spring—
It mingled strangely with my fears,
Yet it felt like a welcoming.

Swiftly, swiftly flew the ship,
Yet she sailed softly too:
Sweetly, sweetly blew the breeze—
On me alone it blew.

Oh! dream of joy! is this indeed
The lighthouse top I see?
Is this the hill? is this the kirk?
Is this mine own country?

We drifted o’er the harbour-bar,
And I with sobs did pray—
O let me be awake, my God!
Or let me sleep alway.

The harbour-bay was clear as glass,
So smoothly it was strewn!
And on the bay the moonlight lay,
And the shadow of the moon.

The rock shone bright, the kirk no less,
That stands above the rock:
The moonlight steeped in silentness
The steady weathercock.

And the bay was white with silent light,
Till rising from the same,
Full many shapes, that shadows were,
In crimson colours came.

A little distance from the prow
Those crimson shadows were:
I turned my eyes upon the deck—
Oh, Christ! what saw I there!

Each corse lay flat, lifeless and flat,
And, by the holy rood!
A man all light, a seraph-man,
On every corse there stood.

This seraph-band, each waved his hand:
It was a heavenly sight!
They stood as signals to the land,
Each one a lovely light;

This seraph-band, each waved his hand,
No voice did they impart—
No voice; but oh! the silence sank
Like music on my heart.

But soon I heard the dash of oars,
I heard the Pilot’s cheer;
My head was turned perforce away,
And I saw a boat appear.

The Pilot and the Pilot’s boy,
I heard them coming fast:
Dear Lord i
George Andres Mar 2018
Isang-libo, siyam na raan, siyamnapu't-siyam
Nang una nilang marinig ang pagtangis

Dalawang libo't labing-walo
Napakarami kong gustong bigkasin
Pero nauutal ako't lumalabas pagiging utak alipin
Para sa'yo sana, gusto ko pa ring sabihin,
Na, patawad Felipe, kung kay hirap **** mahalin

Wala ako nang tumangis ka kay Macoy
Huli kong nalaman ang tungkol kay Luisita
Masyado pa ba 'kong musmos upang ibigin ka?

Lubha lamang daw akong bata
Nagpupuyos ang damdamin
Walang pang kaalaman magdesisyon ng tama
Mapusok at madaling matangay
Manatili na lamang daw ako sa klase,
at kinabukasan ko'y sa mataas na marka ibase

Kaya't pinilit kong hindi pakinggan ang pagdaing mo
Ano bang alam ko upang magalit, maghimagsik?

Batid ko man ang kasaysayan mo sa mga prayle, kano't hapon, labis ko pa ngang inidolo si Luna't Bonifacio noon

Hindi ba't namatay rin sila sa kasibulan nang dahil sa'yo?
Natatakot ako, na balang araw iyon rin ang sapitin ko sa piling mo
Mainit ang puso ko, pero malamig ang paa't kamay
Hindi ko kayang palayain ka
Tipid ang boses ko upang ipagsigawan ka
Nagtagpo tayo sa panahong akala ko malaya ka na

Hindi ka pa pwedeng umiyak
Hangga't hindi pa tapos ang lahat
Ano bang alam mo upang magalit, maghimagsik?

Ngunit hindi ko kayang lumingon pabalik
Hindi ko kayang matulog muli nang wala ang 'yong halik
Hindi ko kayang mahimbing nang wala ang mga gunita

Dekada Sitenta.
Bungkos ng namumuong nana
Nilalapnos ng kumukulong tubig
Dumaranak ang dugo sa sarili **** balat
Tumatalilis at tinatanggalan ng bayag

Paiikutin ang roleta't ipuputok sa sintido
Ihihiga ang katawan sa bloke ng yelo
Papasuin ng upos ng sigarilyo
Ibabalanse ang katawan hangga't may lakas pa ang kabayo
Hindi ito mga metaporang naririnig ko lang sa mga kwento

Hindi na ako magtataka kung may diyos pa ba
A kung kahit isang beses nilingon ka man lang niya



Kung ang nakikita ng mata ay dumudurog ng puso
At ang mga salita ay pumapainlalang

Silang 'di nakaririnig ay dapat kalampagin
Hampasin ang higanteng pintuan at sipain
Ang pader na marmol na walang bintana
Galit na sumusunog ng patay na tala
Hindi kumakalma, pilit nagbabaga, nagtatangka

Ano bang alam ko upang magalit, maghimagsik?
Maaari ko bang palitan ng paglilingkod ang iyong biyaya?
Mas madali naman siguro magsalita
Kung 'di mo batid ang paghangos ng maralita


Mainit ang puso ko, pero malamig ang paa't kamay
Hindi ko kayang palayain ka
Tipid ang boses ko upang ipagsigawan ka
Nagtagpo tayo sa panahong akala ko malaya ka na

Nang masulyapan ka nang unang mabuksan ang aking paningin
Gusto ka lang naman palaging kita ng mata
Wala pa man natatakot na akong makitang umiiyak ka
Mas mapalad ba ang mga bulag o tulad kong piring ang mata?
Hinayaan mo akong maging alipin
Itinatatwa ko ang araw na namulat ako
Ang hirap naman kasing maka-usad mula sa'yo
Matapos mabura ang mga kasinungalingang sa'yo'y ibinabato
Kumbaga, ikaw 'yung maraming sakit na pinagdaanan, dadagdag pa ba 'ko?
Patawad
Oh, Felipe, kay hirap **** mahalin

Habang binabasa ko ang kasaysayan ****
Nagaganap pa rin hangang sa ngayon
Parang itinutulak ang aking sikmura
At ang balat ko'y nagsisiklabo
Hindi tumitigil ang mga luha

Ilang taon matapos maghalal ng bagong pangulo
Pinaulanan ng bala ang mga humihingi ng reporma


Dalawang-libo't apat
Matapos ang tatlong dekada
Mga batas na pabor lang sa mayama't may kaya

Gusto lang naman namin mabuhay
Nang hindi inaagaw ang aming kabuhayan
Nagtatanim ng bala't hindi binhi
Umaani ng bangkay hindi punla

Lupa mo'y hinulma ng dugo
Parang imbes na pataba ay pulbura ang inaabono
Para bang ang buhay ko sa'yo'y Walang katapusang pakikibaka
Para bang ang inaani ko'y dusa sa Buong buhay na pagsasaka


Dalawanlibo't-siyam
Matapos ang apat na taon

Kinikitil nila isa-isa ang mamamahayag
Nilibing ng traktora't patong-patong ang buto't balat
Pinagkanulo mo at hayagang pumayag
Mga berdugong hinayaan mo lang lumayag

Dalawang libo't labing-lima
Nangingisay sa walang habas na pangraratrat
Hanggang huling hininga'y maubos, mawala sa ulirat
Apatnapu't-apat **** mandirigma
Lumusong sa mapanganib na kagubatan na walang dalang sandata o pananggalang man lang
Malupit ka, hanggang saan ipagtatanggol ang laya mo?
Hindi pa ba sapat ang lahat ng luha?
Nagsasakripisyo para sa hindi siguradong pagkakakilanlan bilang Pilipino


Ikalawang Milenya.
Ngayon naririnig ko na ang pagpapatahimik laban sa karapatan **** magpahayag
Nagsasakripisyo ng dugo ng mga tupa
Para sa huwad na pag-unlad
Pinapatay ng bala ang uhay
Habang matapos tapakan ang upos ng sigarilyo,
Pagtatalunan ang dilaw at pula
Kung sino ba ang mas dakila
Aastang **** na tagapagligtas
Na siyang hawak ang lahat ng lunas
Napakarami nang diyos sa kasaysayan
Pawang dinikta, ibinigkis ang kalayaan

Ninais kong mahiga na lamang at hintayin ang bukang liwayway
Na pinangarap din noon ng mga ilustrado't rebolusyunaryong mararangal
Wala nang lunas ang sumpa ng edukasyon
Magpalaya ng isipang noo'y nakakahon

Wala sa akin noon ang lakas ng bagyo
Hanggang sa nabatid kong malulunod na rin ako
Wala akong nagawa kundi tumangis

Felipe, lumuluha ka rin ba? nasasaktan ka pa ba o manhid ka na?

Gayunpaman, tahan na, Felipe, tahan na.
112718

PoemsForE
Incipit Prohemium Secundi Libri.

Out of these blake wawes for to sayle,
O wind, O wind, the weder ginneth clere;
For in this see the boot hath swich travayle,
Of my conning, that unnethe I it stere:
This see clepe I the tempestous matere  
Of desespeyr that Troilus was inne:
But now of hope the calendes biginne.
O lady myn, that called art Cleo,
Thou be my speed fro this forth, and my muse,
To ryme wel this book, til I have do;  
Me nedeth here noon other art to use.
For-why to every lovere I me excuse,
That of no sentement I this endyte,
But out of Latin in my tonge it wryte.

Wherfore I nil have neither thank ne blame  
Of al this werk, but prey yow mekely,
Disblameth me if any word be lame,
For as myn auctor seyde, so seye I.
Eek though I speke of love unfelingly,
No wondre is, for it no-thing of newe is;  
A blind man can nat Iuggen wel in hewis.

Ye knowe eek, that in forme of speche is chaunge
With-inne a thousand yeer, and wordes tho
That hadden prys, now wonder nyce and straunge
Us thinketh hem; and yet they spake hem so,  
And spedde as wel in love as men now do;
Eek for to winne love in sondry ages,
In sondry londes, sondry ben usages.

And for-thy if it happe in any wyse,
That here be any lovere in this place  
That herkneth, as the storie wol devyse,
How Troilus com to his lady grace,
And thenketh, so nolde I nat love purchace,
Or wondreth on his speche or his doinge,
I noot; but it is me no wonderinge;  

For every wight which that to Rome went,
Halt nat o path, or alwey o manere;
Eek in som lond were al the gamen shent,
If that they ferde in love as men don here,
As thus, in open doing or in chere,  
In visitinge, in forme, or seyde hire sawes;
For-thy men seyn, ech contree hath his lawes.

Eek scarsly been ther in this place three
That han in love seid lyk and doon in al;
For to thy purpos this may lyken thee,  
And thee right nought, yet al is seyd or shal;
Eek som men grave in tree, som in stoon wal,
As it bitit; but sin I have begonne,
Myn auctor shal I folwen, if I conne.

Exclipit prohemium Secundi Libri.

Incipit Liber Secundus.

In May, that moder is of monthes glade,  
That fresshe floures, blewe, and whyte, and rede,
Ben quike agayn, that winter dede made,
And ful of bawme is fleting every mede;
Whan Phebus doth his brighte bemes sprede
Right in the whyte Bole, it so bitidde  
As I shal singe, on Mayes day the thridde,

That Pandarus, for al his wyse speche,
Felt eek his part of loves shottes kene,
That, coude he never so wel of loving preche,
It made his hewe a-day ful ofte grene;  
So shoop it, that hym fil that day a tene
In love, for which in wo to bedde he wente,
And made, er it was day, ful many a wente.

The swalwe Proigne, with a sorwful lay,
Whan morwe com, gan make hir waymentinge,  
Why she forshapen was; and ever lay
Pandare a-bedde, half in a slomeringe,
Til she so neigh him made hir chiteringe
How Tereus gan forth hir suster take,
That with the noyse of hir he gan a-wake;  

And gan to calle, and dresse him up to ryse,
Remembringe him his erand was to done
From Troilus, and eek his greet empryse;
And caste and knew in good plyt was the mone
To doon viage, and took his wey ful sone  
Un-to his neces paleys ther bi-syde;
Now Ianus, god of entree, thou him gyde!

Whan he was come un-to his neces place,
'Wher is my lady?' to hir folk seyde he;
And they him tolde; and he forth in gan pace,  
And fond, two othere ladyes sete and she,
With-inne a paved parlour; and they three
Herden a mayden reden hem the geste
Of the Sege of Thebes, whyl hem leste.

Quod Pandarus, 'Ma dame, god yow see,  
With al your book and al the companye!'
'Ey, uncle myn, welcome y-wis,' quod she,
And up she roos, and by the hond in hye
She took him faste, and seyde, 'This night thrye,
To goode mote it turne, of yow I mette!'  
And with that word she doun on bench him sette.

'Ye, nece, ye shal fare wel the bet,
If god wole, al this yeer,' quod Pandarus;
'But I am sory that I have yow let
To herknen of your book ye preysen thus;  
For goddes love, what seith it? tel it us.
Is it of love? O, som good ye me lere!'
'Uncle,' quod she, 'your maistresse is not here!'

With that they gonnen laughe, and tho she seyde,
'This romaunce is of Thebes, that we rede;  
And we han herd how that king Laius deyde
Thurgh Edippus his sone, and al that dede;
And here we stenten at these lettres rede,
How the bisshop, as the book can telle,
Amphiorax, fil thurgh the ground to helle.'  

Quod Pandarus, 'Al this knowe I my-selve,
And al the assege of Thebes and the care;
For her-of been ther maked bokes twelve: --
But lat be this, and tel me how ye fare;
Do wey your barbe, and shew your face bare;  
Do wey your book, rys up, and lat us daunce,
And lat us don to May som observaunce.'

'A! God forbede!' quod she. 'Be ye mad?
Is that a widewes lyf, so god you save?
By god, ye maken me right sore a-drad,  
Ye ben so wilde, it semeth as ye rave!
It sete me wel bet ay in a cave
To bidde, and rede on holy seyntes lyves;
Lat maydens gon to daunce, and yonge wyves.'

'As ever thryve I,' quod this Pandarus,  
'Yet coude I telle a thing to doon you pleye.'
'Now, uncle dere,' quod she, 'tel it us
For goddes love; is than the assege aweye?
I am of Grekes so ferd that I deye.'
'Nay, nay,' quod he, 'as ever mote I thryve!  
It is a thing wel bet than swiche fyve.'

'Ye, holy god,' quod she, 'what thing is that?
What! Bet than swiche fyve? Ey, nay, y-wis!
For al this world ne can I reden what
It sholde been; som Iape, I trowe, is this;  
And but your-selven telle us what it is,
My wit is for to arede it al to lene;
As help me god, I noot nat what ye meene.'

'And I your borow, ne never shal, for me,
This thing be told to yow, as mote I thryve!'  
'And why so, uncle myn? Why so?' quod she.
'By god,' quod he, 'that wole I telle as blyve;
For prouder womman were ther noon on-lyve,
And ye it wiste, in al the toun of Troye;
I iape nought, as ever have I Ioye!'  

Tho gan she wondren more than biforn
A thousand fold, and doun hir eyen caste;
For never, sith the tyme that she was born,
To knowe thing desired she so faste;
And with a syk she seyde him at the laste,  
'Now, uncle myn, I nil yow nought displese,
Nor axen more, that may do yow disese.'

So after this, with many wordes glade,
And freendly tales, and with mery chere,
Of this and that they pleyde, and gunnen wade  
In many an unkouth glad and deep matere,
As freendes doon, whan they ben met y-fere;
Til she gan axen him how Ector ferde,
That was the tounes wal and Grekes yerde.

'Ful wel, I thanke it god,' quod Pandarus,  
'Save in his arm he hath a litel wounde;
And eek his fresshe brother Troilus,
The wyse worthy Ector the secounde,
In whom that ever vertu list abounde,
As alle trouthe and alle gentillesse,  
Wysdom, honour, fredom, and worthinesse.'

'In good feith, eem,' quod she, 'that lyketh me;
They faren wel, god save hem bothe two!
For trewely I holde it greet deyntee
A kinges sone in armes wel to do,  
And been of good condiciouns ther-to;
For greet power and moral vertu here
Is selde y-seye in o persone y-fere.'

'In good feith, that is sooth,' quod Pandarus;
'But, by my trouthe, the king hath sones tweye,  
That is to mene, Ector and Troilus,
That certainly, though that I sholde deye,
They been as voyde of vyces, dar I seye,
As any men that liveth under the sonne,
Hir might is wyde y-knowe, and what they conne.  

'Of Ector nedeth it nought for to telle:
In al this world ther nis a bettre knight
Than he, that is of worthinesse welle;
And he wel more vertu hath than might.
This knoweth many a wys and worthy wight.  
The same prys of Troilus I seye,
God help me so, I knowe not swiche tweye.'

'By god,' quod she, 'of Ector that is sooth;
Of Troilus the same thing trowe I;
For, dredelees, men tellen that he dooth  
In armes day by day so worthily,
And bereth him here at hoom so gentilly
To every wight, that al the prys hath he
Of hem that me were levest preysed be.'

'Ye sey right sooth, y-wis,' quod Pandarus;  
'For yesterday, who-so hadde with him been,
He might have wondred up-on Troilus;
For never yet so thikke a swarm of been
Ne fleigh, as Grekes fro him gonne fleen;
And thorugh the feld, in everi wightes ere,  
Ther nas no cry but "Troilus is there!"

'Now here, now there, he hunted hem so faste,
Ther nas but Grekes blood; and Troilus,
Now hem he hurte, and hem alle doun he caste;
Ay where he wente, it was arayed thus:  
He was hir deeth, and sheld and lyf for us;
That as that day ther dorste noon with-stonde,
Whyl that he held his blody swerd in honde.

'Therto he is the freendlieste man
Of grete estat, that ever I saw my lyve;  
And wher him list, best felawshipe can
To suche as him thinketh able for to thryve.'
And with that word tho Pandarus, as blyve,
He took his leve, and seyde, 'I wol go henne.'
'Nay, blame have I, myn uncle,' quod she thenne.  

'What eyleth yow to be thus wery sone,
And namelich of wommen? Wol ye so?
Nay, sitteth down; by god, I have to done
With yow, to speke of wisdom er ye go.'
And every wight that was a-boute hem tho,  
That herde that, gan fer a-wey to stonde,
Whyl they two hadde al that hem liste in honde.

Whan that hir tale al brought was to an ende,
Of hire estat and of hir governaunce,
Quod Pandarus, 'Now is it tyme I wende;  
But yet, I seye, aryseth, lat us daunce,
And cast your widwes habit to mischaunce:
What list yow thus your-self to disfigure,
Sith yow is tid thus fair an aventure?'

'A! Wel bithought! For love of god,' quod she,  
'Shal I not witen what ye mene of this?'
'No, this thing axeth layser,' tho quod he,
'And eek me wolde muche greve, y-wis,
If I it tolde, and ye it **** amis.
Yet were it bet my tonge for to stille  
Than seye a sooth that were ayeins your wille.

'For, nece, by the goddesse Minerve,
And Iuppiter, that maketh the thonder ringe,
And by the blisful Venus that I serve,
Ye been the womman in this world livinge,  
With-oute paramours, to my wittinge,
That I best love, and lothest am to greve,
And that ye witen wel your-self, I leve.'

'Y-wis, myn uncle,' quod she, 'grant mercy;
Your freendship have I founden ever yit;  
I am to no man holden trewely,
So muche as yow, and have so litel quit;
And, with the grace of god, emforth my wit,
As in my gilt I shal you never offende;
And if I have er this, I wol amende.  

'But, for the love of god, I yow beseche,
As ye ben he that I love most and triste,
Lat be to me your fremde manere speche,
And sey to me, your nece, what yow liste:'
And with that word hir uncle anoon hir kiste,  
And seyde, 'Gladly, leve nece dere,
Tak it for good that I shal seye yow here.'

With that she gan hir eiyen doun to caste,
And Pandarus to coghe gan a lyte,
And seyde, 'Nece, alwey, lo! To the laste,  
How-so it be that som men hem delyte
With subtil art hir tales for to endyte,
Yet for al that, in hir entencioun
Hir tale is al for som conclusioun.

'And sithen thende is every tales strengthe,  
And this matere is so bihovely,
What sholde I peynte or drawen it on lengthe
To yow, that been my freend so feithfully?'
And with that word he gan right inwardly
Biholden hir, and loken on hir face,  
And seyde, 'On suche a mirour goode grace!'

Than thoughte he thus: 'If I my tale endyte
Ought hard, or make a proces any whyle,
She shal no savour han ther-in but lyte,
And trowe I wolde hir in my wil bigyle.  
For tendre wittes wenen al be wyle
Ther-as they can nat pleynly understonde;
For-thy hir wit to serven wol I fonde --'

And loked on hir in a besy wyse,
And she was war that he byheld hir so,  
And seyde, 'Lord! So faste ye me avyse!
Sey ye me never er now? What sey ye, no?'
'Yes, yes,' quod he, 'and bet wole er I go;
But, by my trouthe, I thoughte now if ye
Be fortunat, for now men shal it see.  

'For to every wight som goodly aventure
Som tyme is shape, if he it can receyven;
And if that he wol take of it no cure,
Whan that it commeth, but wilfully it weyven,
Lo, neither cas nor fortune him deceyven,  
But right his verray slouthe and wrecchednesse;
And swich a wight is for to blame, I gesse.

'Good aventure, O bele nece, have ye
Ful lightly founden, and ye conne it take;
And, for the love of god, and eek of me,  
Cacche it anoon, lest aventure slake.
What sholde I lenger proces of it make?
Yif me your hond, for in this world is noon,
If that yow list, a wight so wel begoon.

'And sith I speke of good entencioun,  
As I to yow have told wel here-biforn,
And love as wel your honour and renoun
As creature in al this world y-born;
By alle the othes that I have yow sworn,
And ye be wrooth therfore, or wene I lye,  
Ne shal I never seen yow eft with ye.

'Beth nought agast, ne quaketh nat; wher-to?
Ne chaungeth nat for fere so your hewe;
For hardely the werste of this is do;
And though my tale as now be to yow newe,  
Yet trist alwey, ye shal me finde trewe;
And were it thing that me thoughte unsittinge,
To yow nolde I no swiche tales bringe.'

'Now, my good eem, for goddes love, I preye,'
Quod she, 'com of, and tel me what it is;  
For bothe I am agast what ye wol seye,
And eek me longeth it to wite, y-wis.
For whether it be wel or be amis,
Say on, lat me not in this fere dwelle:'
'So wol I doon; now herkneth, I shal telle:  

'Now, nece myn, the kinges dere sone,
The goode, wyse, worthy, fresshe, and free,
Which alwey for to do wel is his wone,
The noble Troilus, so loveth thee,
That, bot ye helpe, it wol his bane be.  
Lo, here is al, what sholde I more seye?
Doth what yow list, to make him live or deye.

'But if ye lete him deye, I wol sterve;
Have her my trouthe, nece, I nil not lyen;
Al sholde I with this knyf my throte kerve --'  
With that the teres braste out of his yen,
And seyde, 'If that ye doon us bothe dyen,
Thus giltelees, than have ye fisshed faire;
What mende ye, though that we bothe apeyre?

'Allas! He which that is my lord so dere,  
That trewe man, that noble gentil knight,
That nought desireth but your freendly chere,
I see him deye, ther he goth up-right,
And hasteth him, with al his fulle might,
For to be slayn, if fortune wol assente;  
Allas! That god yow swich a beautee sente!

'If it be so that ye so cruel be,
That of his deeth yow liste nought to recche,
That is so trewe and worthy, as ye see,
No more than of a Iapere or a wrecche,  
If ye be swich, your beautee may not strecche
To make amendes of so cruel a dede;
Avysement is good bifore the nede.

'Wo worth the faire gemme vertulees!
Wo worth that herbe also that dooth no bote!  
Wo worth that beautee that is routhelees!
Wo worth that wight that tret ech under fote!
And ye, that been of beautee crop and rote,
If therwith-al in you ther be no routhe,
Than is it harm ye liven, by my trouthe!  

'And also thenk wel that this is no gaude;
For me were lever, thou and I and he
Were hanged, than I sholde been his baude,
As heyghe, as men mighte on us alle y-see:
I am thyn eem, the shame were to me,  
As wel as thee, if that I sholde assente,
Thorugh myn abet, that he thyn honour shente.

'Now understond, for I yow nought requere,
To binde yow to him thorugh no beheste,
But only that ye make him bettre chere  
Than ye han doon er this, and more feste,
So that his lyf be saved, at the leste;
This al and som, and playnly our entente;
God help me so, I never other mente.

'Lo, this request is not but skile, y-wis,  
Ne doute of reson, pardee, is ther noon.
I sette the worste that ye dredden this,
Men wolden wondren seen him come or goon:
Ther-ayeins answere I thus a-noon,
That every wight, but he be fool of kinde,  
Wol deme it love of freendship in his minde.

'What? Who wol deme, though he see a man
To temple go, that he the images eteth?
Thenk eek how wel and wy
wizmorrison Jul 2019
Sa paglipas ng panahon
Mundo ay tuluyan nang nabago,
Kabataa’y apektado
Sa bagong lipunang minulatan.

Kabataan noon ay respetado
Hindi matitigas ang mga ulo,
Laging magalang sa ama’t ina
At sa mga nakakatanda sa kanila.

Kabataan ngayon ay babad sa social media
Naaapektuhan na ng teknolohiya,
Sa gawaing bahay ay tamad na
Kung utusan mo ay sisigawan ka pa.

Kabataan noon ay naglalaro pa
Ng patentiro, tumbang preso at iba pa,
Kabataan ngayon ay puro gadgets na
Nilalaro at kanilang libangan.

Nalulungkot akong isipin
Pero ‘yan ay ating yayakapin,
Nakikita ko rin na hindi lahat
Pero karamiha’y nailamon na ng makamundong gawa.

Kahit sa paglipas ng panahon
Mundo ay nabago,
Malaki man ang agwat ng pagbabago
Natutuwa akong may ibang kabataan pa rin na may mithiin sa bayan.
Eugene Aug 2017
"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?
Folah Liz May 2015
Pangako yan at totoo. Hindi ko alam kung magiging gaano kahaba o kung kasya ba sa isang piyesa,
ilang pahina, ilang minuto ang ihahaba, itatagal nito at posibleng hindi ko agad makabisado pero pangako yan,
ito na ang huling tula na isusulat ko para sayo.

Itaga mo to sa bato, abutin man ako ng umaga dito hindi ko ipipikit ang mga matang ito..
uubusin ko ang lahat ng salita na posibleng tugma ng pangalan mo o anumang tawag ko sayo,
mahal, sinta, irog, pangga, babe, bbq, bae, beb, asawa ko, mhine, kulet, kapal, kupal, hayop, pa, p*ng ina ka ano pa ba..wala akong pakialam kung abutin man ako ng ilang talata dito,
pero hindi ko na pwedeng patirahin lang dito sa loob ko ang mga salitang ito kaya pangako,
ito na ang huling tula na isusulat ko para sayo.

Magsisimula ako sa umpisa, sa kung paanong nginitian mo ako at tinanong kung san ako nakatira.
hindi mo nga pinansin ang mga agiw sa dingding, hindi ka nga natinag sa ipis na biglang dumating sa iyong pagbisita..
pero hindi mo rin man lang din tinignan ang mga libro na nasa tabi ng kama kong natutulog din, at tangi ko noong kapiling.

Magsisimula ako sa umpisa, sa kung paanong niyakap mo ako nung sabihin ko sayong "mahal kita.."
sa kung paanong hinalikan mo ako sa noo sabay sabi na "mahalaga ka.."
at ako naman tong si tanga, tuwang tuwa na hindi pa nalinaw nga na
ayaw ko na maging mahalaga, ayaw ko na maging halaga..

Hindi ako antigong salamin na matagal mo nang pag aari
na tinitignan mo lang para ipaalala sa sarili mo na maganda ka, ayaw ko na maging mahalaga..
hindi ako telepono **** dudukutin lang sa bulsa kapag kelangan mo ng solusyon sa kawalan mo ng koneksyon sa mundo **** masyado ng malawak para bigyang atensyon ka pa, ayaw ko na maging mahalaga..
hindi ako kuwintas na isusuot mo lang sa piling-piling mga okasyon
kapag meroong mga sitwasyon na pakiramdam mo ay kulang ka pa
Hindi ako para ibalik sa loob ng isang kahon kapag matutulog ka na sa gabi sa takot na masakal ka sa yakap ko kapag mahimbing ka na,
o ibalik sa loob ng isang kahon at itabi sa sulok ng isang aparador
sa takot na manakaw ako ng iba, ayaw ko na maging mahalaga..

Ang gusto ko ay mahalin, ang kelangan ko ay mahalin..
kelangan ko na mahalin mo ako gaya ng kape mo sa umaga
tanggap ang tamis at pait, kelangan para sa init
pero hindi isinasantabi dahil lang nanlamig na..
kelangan ko na mahalin mo ako gaya ng sarili **** opisina
kabisado kung para saan ang ano, kabisado kung saan nakatago ang alin
kabisado ang mga tinatago kong patalim, silbi, dumi, lihim..patalim, silbi, dumi lihim...
kelangan ko na mahalin mo ako gaya ng unan mo sa gabi, niyayakap sa ginaw, sinasandalan kahit na mainit, binubulungan ng mga pinakatatago **** panaginip
ayaw ko na maging mahalaga, ang gusto ko ay mahalin, ang kelangan ko ay mahalin..

at nagsulat ako noon para lang mahalin mo ako, kaya patawad pero magsusulat ako
hanggang sa maubos ko ang lahat ng salita na posibleng tugma ng pangalan mo
patawad pero magsusulat ako para patawarin mo ako..
dahil minsan may nakapagsabi saken na ang taong hindi raw marunong magpatawad ay hindi makapagsusulat
kaya mahal sa pagkakataong ito
sa huling pagkakataon na magsusulat ako ng tula para sayo
gumawa tayo ng kasunduan, patatawarin kita pero patatawarin mo rin ako.

Patawarin mo ako sa hindi ko pagtahan at patatawarin kita sa hindi mo pagluha
Patawarin mo ako sa hindi ko pananahimik at patatawarin kita sa hindi mo pagsasalita
Patawarin mo ako sa hindi ko pag alis at patatawarin kita sa hindi mo pananatili
Patawarin mo ako sa hindi ko sayo paglimot at patatawarin kita sa hindi mo saken pagpili mahal
gumawa tayo ng kasunduan patatawarin kita pero patatawarin mo rin ako.

Patawarin mo ako sa hindi ko pagbitiw at patatawarin kita sa hindi mo pagkapit
Patawarin mo ako sa hindi ko paglayo at patatawarin kita sa hindi mo paglapit
Patawarin mo ako sa hindi ko pagsuko at patatawarin kita sa hindi mo pagsugal
Patawarin mo ako sa hindi ko pagkamuhi sayo at patatawarin kita sa hindi mo saken pagmamahal, mahal
gumawa tayo ng kasunduan patatawarin kita pero patatawarin mo rin ako
para sa wakas ay matapos ko na itong tula na masyado ng matagal na nakatira dito
at patawad kung magiging masyadong mahaba at marami masyadong bulanas
pero pangako huli na to, huli na to, huli na to...

Magsisimula ako uli sa umpisa, sa kung paanong nginitian mo ako at tinanong kung san ako nakatira.
Magsisimula ako uli sa umpisa, sa kung paanong nginitian mo ako
Magsisimula ako uli sa umpisa,
Magsisimula ako uli...
Magsisimula ako....

Ito na ang huling tula na isusulat ko para sayo, mali...
Ito na ang huling tula na isinulat ko tungkol sayo

Iniibig kita, at ubos na ubos na ako...."
Thanks for the inspiration to this poem, isa kang makata Sir Juan Miguel Severo.
'Tis noon. At noon the Hebrew bowed the knee
And worshipped, while the husbandmen withdrew
From the scorched field, and the wayfaring man
Grew faint, and turned aside by bubbling fount,
Or rested in the shadow of the palm.

  I, too, amid the overflow of day,
Behold the power which wields and cherishes
The frame of Nature. From this brow of rock
That overlooks the Hudson's western marge,
I gaze upon the long array of groves,
The piles and gulfs of verdure drinking in
The grateful heats. They love the fiery sun;
Their broadening leaves grow glossier, and their sprays
Climb as he looks upon them. In the midst,
The swelling river, into his green gulfs,
Unshadowed save by passing sails above,
Takes the redundant glory, and enjoys
The summer in his chilly bed. Coy flowers,
That would not open in the early light,
Push back their plaited sheaths. The rivulet's pool,
That darkly quivered all the morning long
In the cool shade, now glimmers in the sun;
And o'er its surface shoots, and shoots again,
The glittering dragon-fly, and deep within
Run the brown water-beetles to and fro.

  A silence, the brief sabbath of an hour,
Reigns o'er the fields; the laborer sits within
His dwelling; he has left his steers awhile,
Unyoked, to bite the herbage, and his dog
Sleeps stretched beside the door-stone in the shade.
Now the grey marmot, with uplifted paws,
No more sits listening by his den, but steals
Abroad, in safety, to the clover field,
And crops its juicy blossoms. All the while
A ceaseless murmur from the populous town
Swells o'er these solitudes: a mingled sound
Of jarring wheels, and iron hoofs that clash
Upon the stony ways, and hammer-clang,
And creak of engines lifting ponderous bulks,
And calls and cries, and tread of eager feet,
Innumerable, hurrying to and fro.
Noon, in that mighty mart of nations, brings
No pause to toil and care. With early day
Began the tumult, and shall only cease
When midnight, hushing one by one the sounds
Of bustle, gathers the tired brood to rest.

  Thus, in this feverish time, when love of gain
And luxury possess the hearts of men,
Thus is it with the noon of human life.
We, in our fervid manhood, in our strength
Of reason, we, with hurry, noise, and care,
Plan, toil, and strife, and pause not to refresh
Our spirits with the calm and beautiful
Of God's harmonious universe, that won
Our youthful wonder; pause not to inquire
Why we are here; and what the reverence
Man owes to man, and what the mystery
That links us to the greater world, beside
Whose borders we but hover for a space.
Sy Lilang Jun 2014
Tumibok ang puso ko
Hindi dahil sa may hinihinga pa
Ngunit bunsod sa kaba.

Tumayo ako't humakbang
Narating ko ang entablado;
Hindi ko lubos maisip
Na ito na ang pangalawang beses
Na tutuntong ako't haharap sa madla.

Isang pribilehiyo
Salamat sa grasya ng Panginoon.

Panimula ko'y winaksi na sa isipan
Bagkus ang bibig ay kusang niluluwalhati Siya
Maging ang pangwakas ay nakatuon lamang sa Kanya.

Ang buhay ko'y minsang naging sakal
Akala ko noon, kaya kong walang sinasandalan
Ngunit ako'y minsang naupo sa silya-elektrika
At tinawag na nasasakdal.

Isarado natin sa siyam na taon
Ako'y nasa rehas pa ng kadiliman
Na tanging sariling latay ang nasasaksihan
Kilala ko Siya na may lalang sa akin
Ang tingin nga lang ay ambulansya Siya:
Na 'pag kailanga'y, panay hikbi't nanlilimos ng grasya
Ngunit 'pag ayos ang lahat,
Iniiwan ang sarili't umiindayog sa dilim.

Sa siyam na taon
Ako'y binahiran ng itim na blusa
Akala ko'y hindi ko na matatakasan ang rehas;
Ang sekswal na kasalanang bumalot sa pagkatao
At naging mitsa nang paghinto ng nararapat na pagpapala.

Ngunit ang lahat pala'y kayang limutin ng Ama
At ang maling relasyo'y kinitil sa tamang panahon
Na ang pag-ibig ay magkaroon ng katuturan
At doon nalaman na 'pag para sa kapwa'y
Sunod lamang sa mas rurok
Ng saktong timpla ng pagmamahal.

Umaagos ang luha ko nang walang nakakakita
Ang puso'y hinihele ng Kanyang mga anghel
At ang Kanyang sakripisyo'y tagos sa kamoogan.

Hindi ko lubos na maintindihan noon ang pag-ibig Niya
Na kayang akayin ang buo kong pagkatao
At buburahin ang kamalian ng nakaraan
At maging ng ngayon at ng bukas.

Hindi ko alam kung saan paparoon
Kaya't pilit kong sinuot ang maling maskara noon
Ang puso'y mali rin ang naging direksyon
Maling galaw at mali ang naging layon.

Ibinaling ko ang lahat sa sariling persona
Nag-aral nang mabuti't hindi nalulong sa anumang droga
Maraming organisasyon ang kinabilangan
Sa pag-aakalang matatakpan ang bawat butas
At masisilayan lamang ang magandang antas ng sarili.

Sa madaling salita, binuo ko ang sarili kong pagkatao
At nalimot at nakaligtaan na may nag-iisa lamang na Manghuhulma
Ngunit salamat at naarok ko ang tamang landas
Na ang minsang batong sinantabi't itinapon
Ang siyang tutuwid sa baku-bako kong daan.

Hindi pala ako magiging masaya
Kung ang sentro ko'y ang aking sarili
At nang ako'y palayain Niya,
Masasabi kong ganap na ang aking pagkatao
Na nakilala ko ang sarili --
Kung sino ako't kung para kanino.

Wala na akong mahihiling pa
Mahirap man sa sansinukob na ito'y
Patuloy pa ring maghihitay sa Kanyang pagbabalik.

Hindi ko kinalilimutan ang mundo
Ang labindalawang disipolo na Kanyang regalo sa akin
Ang kanilang mga buhay na tangan ko hanggang sa huli
At hindi sapat na sumuko lamang
Hindi ko kaya, ngunit kaya Niya.

Ang pag-ibig ko sa pamilya ko'y hindi maaawat
May mga tanong sa isipan ngunit hindi ko ito ginising
Hindi ko abot ang Kanyang kaalaman
Kaya't inilapag at inihain na lamang sa Kanyang paanan.

Muli, hindi ko kayang mag-isa --
Mag-isang nag-aarok ng pansamantalang tagumpay
Ngunit ang paniniwalang may pag-asa pa
Ay patuloy ang pag-usbong gaya ng mga malalagong dahon;
Ang bawat kaluskos ay maririnig ng Ama
At ang pugad na kinatitirikan ko ngayo'y
Haplos ng Kanyang banal na mga kamay.

(6/28/14 @xirlleelang)
Allan Pangilinan Dec 2015
Disoras na naman ng gabi,
At ‘di ko alam kung saan ako aabutin ng kahangalang ito.
Andaming sabi-sabi sa mga tabi-tabi,
At naisipan kong isulat ang ilan sa mga ‘to.

Kung mabasa ito ng iba kong kakilala,
Siguradong pagti-tripan ako ng mga tangina.
Pero ayos lang, ano pa bang mawawala?
Sanay na ako’t sobrang kapal na ng aking mukha.

Nais ko lamang ibahagi ang isang kwento,
At marining kung ito’y naranasan na din ba ng iba.
Pagkat sa ikot ng ating mundo,
Ang kwentong magkapareho’y anong ginhawa.

Hayskul ako noon nang una kong masabi na, “Shet, gusto kita.”
Ano pang mga ka-kornihan ang ginawa ko’t sumulat ng tula.
Napainom pa ako ng energy drink para lang masabi,
Na sa tuwing nakikita kita’y abot langit naang aking ngiti.

Ngunit ayun lamang at ako’y ‘di pinalad.
Sa mga rasong tila dapat ay batid ko naman.
Paano nga ba ang sarili’y mailalakad,
Kung sa mga simpleng salop ako’y walang mailaman.

Naging mabuti naman pagkat ika’y minahal ng isang tunay na kaibigan,
‘Wag niyo na lamang akong imbitahan sa inyong kasal.
Sa ngayo’y ang alaala na ito’y dumaraan na lamang,
Tuwing napag-iisa’t ubod ng pagal.

Limang taon ang nalipas at muli kong sinubukan,
Sa ibang babae naman binuksan ang kalooban.
Akala ko ay pwede na,
Ngunit, puta, ‘di rin pala.

Ang hirap mo maging kaibigan,
Lahat ng tao sa paligid mo’y ako’y sinisiraan.
Batid kong may pagkakaiba ang ikot ng ating kaisipan,
Ngunit inakala kong posible ang pagkakasunduan.

‘Di ako ng tipo ng madalas magkagusto,
Lalo na din siguro sa mga pangyayaring nasulat rito.
Tingin man ng iba’y dapat maataas ang aking tiwala sa sarili,
Mga taong ‘may kaya niyan’ ay sadiyang pili.

Sa totoo lang, marami akong ayaw sa sarili ko,
Kaya’t malalim na takot ang nararamdaman ko.
Kahit na sabihin ng iba noon na gusto nila ako,
Dagli kong iisiping, “Sino niloloko mo?”

Nanay ko lang tumawag sa aking gwapo,
At sa mga manininda at drayber ko lang narinig ang, “Uy, pogi!”
Ngunit sa katotohanan pala’y iba-iba talaga ang pagtingin ng tao,
At minsa’y may mga tunay sa magkakagusto sa’yong mga ngiti.

May mga lumapit na rin,
Babae at lalaki, nagparamdam ng pagtingin.
Ngunit ayaw ko ring lokohin sila at ang aking sarili,
Kung ‘di naman tunay ang magiging pagpili.

Kaya siguro ako tumatandang ganito,
Malakas ang loob at mukhang masungit,
Dahil sa loob ng 20 taon ay kinaya ko ang sarili ko,
Mag-isa akong bumabangon at pumipikit.

Kinaya kong mamuhay ng mag-isa,
Kaya mahirap hanapan ng lugar ang para pa sa iba.
Ngunit ‘di tayo nawawalan ng pag-asa,
Na merong ‘siya’ na darating nga.

Andami nating hinarap na mga problema,
Iniyakan ‘to, uminom dahil dun at kung anu-ano pa.
Ngunit kung iisipin, masa madali **** malalampasan yan,
Kung may isang taong tunay kang pakikinggan.

Sa lahat ng ‘di buong nabiktima ni kupido,
Na sa’yo lamang lumipad ang palaso,
‘Wag kang bibitiw kapatid ko,
Ang araw ng iyong kasiyahan at ligaya’y pinapangako ko.

Patuloy na managarap at managinip,
Tadhana’y nariyan at unti-unting sisilip.
Malay mo bukas paggising mo,
Kayakap mo na ang taong pinapangarap mo.
Nasa banyo ako nang maisip ko ang ilang mga taludtod para sa likhang 'to.
Siya? Crush na crush ko dati.
Ako? Hindi ako marunong lumandi.
Kaya lagi lang ako nasa isang tabi pinagmamasdan siya,
Na tumitingin habang nakangiti siya sa crush niya.
Parang boto nga pamilya niya sakin, pero di pwede maging kami kasi siya nga mismo sa iba nakatingin.
Hindi ako crush ng crush ko dati.
Hindi rin ako malungkot kasi hindi rin siya crush ng crush niya.
Patas lang diba?
Pero ngayon....
Iba na kasi ang sitwasyon.
Malungkot na ako.
Crush ko siya noon,
Mahal ko na ngayon....
Bunny ko! Isa ka sa mga inspirasyon ko kaya ako nagdidiet. Mahal kita kahit di mo ako mahal. Darating ang araw na makakalimutan rin kita.
GulRukh Aug 2018
Do you ever feel the noon breeze?
hot yet relaxing brings you to an ease
it unfold the memories inside my brain's deepest crease
mesmerizing breeze i am standing under a tree
Moringa Oleifra the mighty
on which sits a sparrow chirping in mystique
and another strange little bird with long black beak
chirping tooo-weeee-t
on the other branches two squerrals playing hide and seek
and there sits a crow alone on one peak
i am in whirl of memories of past year 2016
didn't i mention it's about a boy in his thirties
he talked ocean deep
but treated me like i am a feast
like he is a ringmaster and i am his beast
i can still feel the pain of that time when all the good is out of my reach
Why do i think of him now when i am in peace?
would he think of me like i did?
nah or may be
nostalgic or i might weep
my orange colored dress doesn't irritate me in this scorching noon
but thoughts of you did
i have to head back from this muzz
i am going back to my people who loves me
where i am allowed to refuse
where there is no abuse
i am returning to peace
goodbye noon breeze
When brain unfolds some harsh memories of the past
ConnectHook Feb 2016
by John Greenleaf Whittier  (1807 – 1892)

“As the Spirits of Darkness be stronger in the dark, so Good Spirits which be Angels of Light are augmented not only by the Divine Light of the Sun, but also by our common Wood fire: and as the celestial Fire drives away dark spirits, so also this our Fire of Wood doth the same.”

        COR. AGRIPPA,
           Occult Philosophy, Book I. chap. v.


Announced by all the trumpets of the sky,
Arrives the snow; and, driving o’er the fields,
Seems nowhere to alight; the whited air
Hides hills and woods, the river and the heaven,
And veils the farm-house at the garden’s end.
The sled and traveller stopped, the courier’s feet
Delayed, all friends shut out, the housemates sit
Around the radiant fireplace, enclosed
In a tumultuous privacy of storm.


                                       EMERSON

The sun that brief December day
Rose cheerless over hills of gray,
And, darkly circled, gave at noon
A sadder light than waning moon.
Slow tracing down the thickening sky
Its mute and ominous prophecy,
A portent seeming less than threat,
It sank from sight before it set.
A chill no coat, however stout,
Of homespun stuff could quite shut out,
A hard, dull bitterness of cold,
That checked, mid-vein, the circling race
Of life-blood in the sharpened face,
The coming of the snow-storm told.
The wind blew east; we heard the roar
Of Ocean on his wintry shore,
And felt the strong pulse throbbing there
Beat with low rhythm our inland air.

Meanwhile we did our nightly chores, —
Brought in the wood from out of doors,
Littered the stalls, and from the mows
Raked down the herd’s-grass for the cows;
Heard the horse whinnying for his corn;
And, sharply clashing horn on horn,
Impatient down the stanchion rows
The cattle shake their walnut bows;
While, peering from his early perch
Upon the scaffold’s pole of birch,
The **** his crested helmet bent
And down his querulous challenge sent.

Unwarmed by any sunset light
The gray day darkened into night,
A night made hoary with the swarm
And whirl-dance of the blinding storm,
As zigzag, wavering to and fro,
Crossed and recrossed the wingàd snow:
And ere the early bedtime came
The white drift piled the window-frame,
And through the glass the clothes-line posts
Looked in like tall and sheeted ghosts.

So all night long the storm roared on:
The morning broke without a sun;
In tiny spherule traced with lines
Of Nature’s geometric signs,
And, when the second morning shone,
We looked upon a world unknown,
On nothing we could call our own.
Around the glistening wonder bent
The blue walls of the firmament,
No cloud above, no earth below, —
A universe of sky and snow!
The old familiar sights of ours
Took marvellous shapes; strange domes and towers
Rose up where sty or corn-crib stood,
Or garden-wall, or belt of wood;
A smooth white mound the brush-pile showed,
A fenceless drift what once was road;
The bridle-post an old man sat
With loose-flung coat and high cocked hat;
The well-curb had a Chinese roof;
And even the long sweep, high aloof,
In its slant spendor, seemed to tell
Of Pisa’s leaning miracle.

A prompt, decisive man, no breath
Our father wasted: “Boys, a path!”
Well pleased, (for when did farmer boy
Count such a summons less than joy?)
Our buskins on our feet we drew;
With mittened hands, and caps drawn low,
To guard our necks and ears from snow,
We cut the solid whiteness through.
And, where the drift was deepest, made
A tunnel walled and overlaid
With dazzling crystal: we had read
Of rare Aladdin’s wondrous cave,
And to our own his name we gave,
With many a wish the luck were ours
To test his lamp’s supernal powers.
We reached the barn with merry din,
And roused the prisoned brutes within.
The old horse ****** his long head out,
And grave with wonder gazed about;
The **** his ***** greeting said,
And forth his speckled harem led;
The oxen lashed their tails, and hooked,
And mild reproach of hunger looked;
The hornëd patriarch of the sheep,
Like Egypt’s Amun roused from sleep,
Shook his sage head with gesture mute,
And emphasized with stamp of foot.

All day the gusty north-wind bore
The loosening drift its breath before;
Low circling round its southern zone,
The sun through dazzling snow-mist shone.
No church-bell lent its Christian tone
To the savage air, no social smoke
Curled over woods of snow-hung oak.
A solitude made more intense
By dreary-voicëd elements,
The shrieking of the mindless wind,
The moaning tree-boughs swaying blind,
And on the glass the unmeaning beat
Of ghostly finger-tips of sleet.
Beyond the circle of our hearth
No welcome sound of toil or mirth
Unbound the spell, and testified
Of human life and thought outside.
We minded that the sharpest ear
The buried brooklet could not hear,
The music of whose liquid lip
Had been to us companionship,
And, in our lonely life, had grown
To have an almost human tone.

As night drew on, and, from the crest
Of wooded knolls that ridged the west,
The sun, a snow-blown traveller, sank
From sight beneath the smothering bank,
We piled, with care, our nightly stack
Of wood against the chimney-back, —
The oaken log, green, huge, and thick,
And on its top the stout back-stick;
The knotty forestick laid apart,
And filled between with curious art

The ragged brush; then, hovering near,
We watched the first red blaze appear,
Heard the sharp crackle, caught the gleam
On whitewashed wall and sagging beam,
Until the old, rude-furnished room
Burst, flower-like, into rosy bloom;
While radiant with a mimic flame
Outside the sparkling drift became,
And through the bare-boughed lilac-tree
Our own warm hearth seemed blazing free.
The crane and pendent trammels showed,
The Turks’ heads on the andirons glowed;
While childish fancy, prompt to tell
The meaning of the miracle,
Whispered the old rhyme: “Under the tree,
When fire outdoors burns merrily,
There the witches are making tea.”

The moon above the eastern wood
Shone at its full; the hill-range stood
Transfigured in the silver flood,
Its blown snows flashing cold and keen,
Dead white, save where some sharp ravine
Took shadow, or the sombre green
Of hemlocks turned to pitchy black
Against the whiteness at their back.
For such a world and such a night
Most fitting that unwarming light,
Which only seemed where’er it fell
To make the coldness visible.

Shut in from all the world without,
We sat the clean-winged hearth about,
Content to let the north-wind roar
In baffled rage at pane and door,
While the red logs before us beat
The frost-line back with tropic heat;
And ever, when a louder blast
Shook beam and rafter as it passed,
The merrier up its roaring draught
The great throat of the chimney laughed;
The house-dog on his paws outspread
Laid to the fire his drowsy head,
The cat’s dark silhouette on the wall
A couchant tiger’s seemed to fall;
And, for the winter fireside meet,
Between the andirons’ straddling feet,
The mug of cider simmered slow,
The apples sputtered in a row,
And, close at hand, the basket stood
With nuts from brown October’s wood.

What matter how the night behaved?
What matter how the north-wind raved?
Blow high, blow low, not all its snow
Could quench our hearth-fire’s ruddy glow.
O Time and Change! — with hair as gray
As was my sire’s that winter day,
How strange it seems, with so much gone
Of life and love, to still live on!
Ah, brother! only I and thou
Are left of all that circle now, —
The dear home faces whereupon
That fitful firelight paled and shone.
Henceforward, listen as we will,
The voices of that hearth are still;
Look where we may, the wide earth o’er,
Those lighted faces smile no more.

We tread the paths their feet have worn,
We sit beneath their orchard trees,
We hear, like them, the hum of bees
And rustle of the bladed corn;
We turn the pages that they read,
Their written words we linger o’er,
But in the sun they cast no shade,
No voice is heard, no sign is made,
No step is on the conscious floor!
Yet Love will dream, and Faith will trust,
(Since He who knows our need is just,)
That somehow, somewhere, meet we must.
Alas for him who never sees
The stars shine through his cypress-trees!
Who, hopeless, lays his dead away,
Nor looks to see the breaking day
Across the mournful marbles play!
Who hath not learned, in hours of faith,
The truth to flesh and sense unknown,
That Life is ever lord of Death,
And Love can never lose its own!

We sped the time with stories old,
Wrought puzzles out, and riddles told,
Or stammered from our school-book lore
“The Chief of Gambia’s golden shore.”
How often since, when all the land
Was clay in Slavery’s shaping hand,
As if a far-blown trumpet stirred
Dame Mercy Warren’s rousing word:
“Does not the voice of reason cry,
Claim the first right which Nature gave,
From the red scourge of ******* to fly,
Nor deign to live a burdened slave!”
Our father rode again his ride
On Memphremagog’s wooded side;
Sat down again to moose and samp
In trapper’s hut and Indian camp;
Lived o’er the old idyllic ease
Beneath St. François’ hemlock-trees;
Again for him the moonlight shone
On Norman cap and bodiced zone;
Again he heard the violin play
Which led the village dance away.
And mingled in its merry whirl
The grandam and the laughing girl.
Or, nearer home, our steps he led
Where Salisbury’s level marshes spread
Mile-wide as flies the laden bee;
Where merry mowers, hale and strong,
Swept, scythe on scythe, their swaths along
The low green prairies of the sea.
We shared the fishing off Boar’s Head,
And round the rocky Isles of Shoals
The hake-broil on the drift-wood coals;
The chowder on the sand-beach made,
Dipped by the hungry, steaming hot,
With spoons of clam-shell from the ***.
We heard the tales of witchcraft old,
And dream and sign and marvel told
To sleepy listeners as they lay
Stretched idly on the salted hay,
Adrift along the winding shores,
When favoring breezes deigned to blow
The square sail of the gundelow
And idle lay the useless oars.

Our mother, while she turned her wheel
Or run the new-knit stocking-heel,
Told how the Indian hordes came down
At midnight on Concheco town,
And how her own great-uncle bore
His cruel scalp-mark to fourscore.
Recalling, in her fitting phrase,
So rich and picturesque and free
(The common unrhymed poetry
Of simple life and country ways,)
The story of her early days, —
She made us welcome to her home;
Old hearths grew wide to give us room;
We stole with her a frightened look
At the gray wizard’s conjuring-book,
The fame whereof went far and wide
Through all the simple country side;
We heard the hawks at twilight play,
The boat-horn on Piscataqua,
The loon’s weird laughter far away;
We fished her little trout-brook, knew
What flowers in wood and meadow grew,
What sunny hillsides autumn-brown
She climbed to shake the ripe nuts down,
Saw where in sheltered cove and bay,
The ducks’ black squadron anchored lay,
And heard the wild-geese calling loud
Beneath the gray November cloud.
Then, haply, with a look more grave,
And soberer tone, some tale she gave
From painful Sewel’s ancient tome,
Beloved in every Quaker home,
Of faith fire-winged by martyrdom,
Or Chalkley’s Journal, old and quaint, —
Gentlest of skippers, rare sea-saint! —
Who, when the dreary calms prevailed,
And water-**** and bread-cask failed,
And cruel, hungry eyes pursued
His portly presence mad for food,
With dark hints muttered under breath
Of casting lots for life or death,

Offered, if Heaven withheld supplies,
To be himself the sacrifice.
Then, suddenly, as if to save
The good man from his living grave,
A ripple on the water grew,
A school of porpoise flashed in view.
“Take, eat,” he said, “and be content;
These fishes in my stead are sent
By Him who gave the tangled ram
To spare the child of Abraham.”
Our uncle, innocent of books,
Was rich in lore of fields and brooks,
The ancient teachers never dumb
Of Nature’s unhoused lyceum.
In moons and tides and weather wise,
He read the clouds as prophecies,
And foul or fair could well divine,
By many an occult hint and sign,
Holding the cunning-warded keys
To all the woodcraft mysteries;
Himself to Nature’s heart so near
v That all her voices in his ear
Of beast or bird had meanings clear,
Like Apollonius of old,
Who knew the tales the sparrows told,
Or Hermes, who interpreted
What the sage cranes of Nilus said;
A simple, guileless, childlike man,
Content to live where life began;
Strong only on his native grounds,
The little world of sights and sounds
Whose girdle was the parish bounds,
Whereof his fondly partial pride
The common features magnified,
As Surrey hills to mountains grew
In White of Selborne’s loving view, —
He told how teal and loon he shot,
And how the eagle’s eggs he got,
The feats on pond and river done,
The prodigies of rod and gun;
Till, warming with the tales he told,
Forgotten was the outside cold,
The bitter wind unheeded blew,
From ripening corn the pigeons flew,
The partridge drummed i’ the wood, the mink
Went fishing down the river-brink.
In fields with bean or clover gay,
The woodchuck, like a hermit gray,
Peered from the doorway of his cell;
The muskrat plied the mason’s trade,
And tier by tier his mud-walls laid;
And from the shagbark overhead
The grizzled squirrel dropped his shell.

Next, the dear aunt, whose smile of cheer
And voice in dreams I see and hear, —
The sweetest woman ever Fate
Perverse denied a household mate,
Who, lonely, homeless, not the less
Found peace in love’s unselfishness,
And welcome wheresoe’er she went,
A calm and gracious element,
Whose presence seemed the sweet income
And womanly atmosphere of home, —
Called up her girlhood memories,
The huskings and the apple-bees,
The sleigh-rides and the summer sails,
Weaving through all the poor details
And homespun warp of circumstance
A golden woof-thread of romance.
For well she kept her genial mood
And simple faith of maidenhood;
Before her still a cloud-land lay,
The mirage loomed across her way;
The morning dew, that dries so soon
With others, glistened at her noon;
Through years of toil and soil and care,
From glossy tress to thin gray hair,
All unprofaned she held apart
The ****** fancies of the heart.
Be shame to him of woman born
Who hath for such but thought of scorn.
There, too, our elder sister plied
Her evening task the stand beside;
A full, rich nature, free to trust,
Truthful and almost sternly just,
Impulsive, earnest, prompt to act,
And make her generous thought a fact,
Keeping with many a light disguise
The secret of self-sacrifice.

O heart sore-tried! thou hast the best
That Heaven itself could give thee, — rest,
Rest from all bitter thoughts and things!
How many a poor one’s blessing went
With thee beneath the low green tent
Whose curtain never outward swings!

As one who held herself a part
Of all she saw, and let her heart
Against the household ***** lean,
Upon the motley-braided mat
Our youngest and our dearest sat,
Lifting her large, sweet, asking eyes,
Now bathed in the unfading green
And holy peace of Paradise.
Oh, looking from some heavenly hill,
Or from the shade of saintly palms,
Or silver reach of river calms,
Do those large eyes behold me still?
With me one little year ago: —
The chill weight of the winter snow
For months upon her grave has lain;
And now, when summer south-winds blow
And brier and harebell bloom again,
I tread the pleasant paths we trod,
I see the violet-sprinkled sod
Whereon she leaned, too frail and weak
The hillside flowers she loved to seek,
Yet following me where’er I went
With dark eyes full of love’s content.
The birds are glad; the brier-rose fills
The air with sweetness; all the hills
Stretch green to June’s unclouded sky;
But still I wait with ear and eye
For something gone which should be nigh,
A loss in all familiar things,
In flower that blooms, and bird that sings.
And yet, dear heart! remembering thee,
Am I not richer than of old?
Safe in thy immortality,
What change can reach the wealth I hold?
What chance can mar the pearl and gold
Thy love hath left in trust with me?
And while in life’s late afternoon,
Where cool and long the shadows grow,
I walk to meet the night that soon
Shall shape and shadow overflow,
I cannot feel that thou art far,
Since near at need the angels are;
And when the sunset gates unbar,
Shall I not see thee waiting stand,
And, white against the evening star,
The welcome of thy beckoning hand?

Brisk wielder of the birch and rule,
The master of the district school
Held at the fire his favored place,
Its warm glow lit a laughing face
Fresh-hued and fair, where scarce appeared
The uncertain prophecy of beard.
He teased the mitten-blinded cat,
Played cross-pins on my uncle’s hat,
Sang songs, and told us what befalls
In classic Dartmouth’s college halls.
Born the wild Northern hills among,
From whence his yeoman father wrung
By patient toil subsistence scant,
Not competence and yet not want,
He early gained the power to pay
His cheerful, self-reliant way;
Could doff at ease his scholar’s gown
To peddle wares from town to town;
Or through the long vacation’s reach
In lonely lowland districts teach,
Where all the droll experience found
At stranger hearths in boarding round,
The moonlit skater’s keen delight,
The sleigh-drive through the frosty night,
The rustic party, with its rough
Accompaniment of blind-man’s-buff,
And whirling-plate, and forfeits paid,
His winter task a pastime made.
Happy the snow-locked homes wherein
He tuned his merry violin,

Or played the athlete in the barn,
Or held the good dame’s winding-yarn,
Or mirth-provoking versions told
Of classic legends rare and old,
Wherein the scenes of Greece and Rome
Had all the commonplace of home,
And little seemed at best the odds
‘Twixt Yankee pedlers and old gods;
Where Pindus-born Arachthus took
The guise of any grist-mill brook,
And dread Olympus at his will
Became a huckleberry hill.

A careless boy that night he seemed;
But at his desk he had the look
And air of one who wisely schemed,
And hostage from the future took
In trainëd thought and lore of book.
Large-brained, clear-eyed, of such as he
Shall Freedom’s young apostles be,
Who, following in War’s ****** trail,
Shall every lingering wrong assail;
All chains from limb and spirit strike,
Uplift the black and white alike;
Scatter before their swift advance
The darkness and the ignorance,
The pride, the lust, the squalid sloth,
Which nurtured Treason’s monstrous growth,
Made ****** pastime, and the hell
Of prison-torture possible;
The cruel lie of caste refute,
Old forms remould, and substitute
For Slavery’s lash the freeman’s will,
For blind routine, wise-handed skill;
A school-house plant on every hill,
Stretching in radiate nerve-lines thence
The quick wires of intelligence;
Till North and South together brought
Shall own the same electric thought,
In peace a common flag salute,
And, side by side in labor’s free
And unresentful rivalry,
Harvest the fields wherein they fought.

Another guest that winter night
Flashed back from lustrous eyes the light.
Unmarked by time, and yet not young,
The honeyed music of her tongue
And words of meekness scarcely told
A nature passionate and bold,

Strong, self-concentred, spurning guide,
Its milder features dwarfed beside
Her unbent will’s majestic pride.
She sat among us, at the best,
A not unfeared, half-welcome guest,
Rebuking with her cultured phrase
Our homeliness of words and ways.
A certain pard-like, treacherous grace
Swayed the lithe limbs and drooped the lash,
Lent the white teeth their dazzling flash;
And under low brows, black with night,
Rayed out at times a dangerous light;
The sharp heat-lightnings of her face
Presaging ill to him whom Fate
Condemned to share her love or hate.
A woman tropical, intense
In thought and act, in soul and sense,
She blended in a like degree
The ***** and the devotee,
Revealing with each freak or feint
The temper of Petruchio’s Kate,
The raptures of Siena’s saint.
Her tapering hand and rounded wrist
Had facile power to form a fist;
The warm, dark languish of her eyes
Was never safe from wrath’s surprise.
Brows saintly calm and lips devout
Knew every change of scowl and pout;
And the sweet voice had notes more high
And shrill for social battle-cry.

Since then what old cathedral town
Has missed her pilgrim staff and gown,
What convent-gate has held its lock
Against the challenge of her knock!
Through Smyrna’s plague-hushed thoroughfares,
Up sea-set Malta’s rocky stairs,
Gray olive slopes of hills that hem
Thy tombs and shrines, Jerusalem,
Or startling on her desert throne
The crazy Queen of Lebanon
With claims fantastic as her own,
Her tireless feet have held their way;
And still, unrestful, bowed, and gray,
She watches under Eastern skies,
With hope each day renewed and fresh,
The Lord’s quick coming in the flesh,
Whereof she dreams and prophesies!
Where’er her troubled path may be,
The Lord’s sweet pity with her go!
The outward wayward life we see,
The hidden springs we may not know.
Nor is it given us to discern
What threads the fatal sisters spun,
Through what ancestral years has run
The sorrow with the woman born,
What forged her cruel chain of moods,
What set her feet in solitudes,
And held the love within her mute,
What mingled madness in the blood,
A life-long discord and annoy,
Water of tears with oil of joy,
And hid within the folded bud
Perversities of flower and fruit.
It is not ours to separate
The tangled skein of will and fate,
To show what metes and bounds should stand
Upon the soul’s debatable land,
And between choice and Providence
Divide the circle of events;
But He who knows our frame is just,
Merciful and compassionate,
And full of sweet assurances
And hope for all the language is,
That He remembereth we are dust!

At last the great logs, crumbling low,
Sent out a dull and duller glow,
The bull’s-eye watch that hung in view,
Ticking its weary circuit through,
Pointed with mutely warning sign
Its black hand to the hour of nine.
That sign the pleasant circle broke:
My uncle ceased his pipe to smoke,
Knocked from its bowl the refuse gray,
And laid it tenderly away;
Then roused himself to safely cover
The dull red brands with ashes over.
And while, with care, our mother laid
The work aside, her steps she stayed
One moment, seeking to express
Her grateful sense of happiness
For food and shelter, warmth and health,
And love’s contentment more than wealth,
With simple wishes (not the weak,
Vain prayers which no fulfilment seek,
But such as warm the generous heart,
O’er-prompt to do with Heaven its part)
That none might lack, that bitter night,
For bread and clothing, warmth and light.

Within our beds awhile we heard
The wind that round the gables roared,
With now and then a ruder shock,
Which made our very bedsteads rock.
We heard the loosened clapboards tost,
The board-nails snapping in the frost;
And on us, through the unplastered wall,
Felt the light sifted snow-flakes fall.
But sleep stole on, as sleep will do
When hearts are light and life is new;
Faint and more faint the murmurs grew,
Till in the summer-land of dreams
They softened to the sound of streams,
Low stir of leaves, and dip of oars,
And lapsing waves on quiet shores.
Of merry voices high and clear;
And saw the teamsters drawing near
To break the drifted highways out.
Down the long hillside treading slow
We saw the half-buried oxen go,
Shaking the snow from heads uptost,
Their straining nostrils white with frost.
Before our door the straggling train
Drew up, an added team to gain.
The elders threshed their hands a-cold,
Passed, with the cider-mug, their jokes
From lip to lip; the younger folks
Down the loose snow-banks, wrestling, rolled,
Then toiled again the cavalcade
O’er windy hill, through clogged ravine,
And woodland paths that wound between
Low drooping pine-boughs winter-weighed.
From every barn a team afoot,
At every house a new recruit,
Where, drawn by Nature’s subtlest law,
Haply the watchful young men saw
Sweet doorway pictures of the curls
And curious eyes of merry girls,
Lifting their hands in mock defence
Against the snow-ball’s compliments,
And reading in each missive tost
The charm with Eden never lost.
We heard once more the sleigh-bells’ sound;
And, following where the teamsters led,
The wise old Doctor went his round,
Just pausing at our door to say,
In the brief autocratic way
Of one who, prompt at Duty’s call,
Was free to urge her claim on all,
That some poor neighbor sick abed
At night our mother’s aid would need.
For, one in generous thought and deed,
What mattered in the sufferer’s sight
The Quaker matron’s inward light,
The Doctor’s mail of Calvin’s creed?
All hearts confess the saints elect
Who, twain in faith, in love agree,
And melt not in an acid sect
The Christian pearl of charity!

So days went on: a week had passed
Since the great world was heard from last.
The Almanac we studied o’er,
Read and reread our little store
Of books and pamphlets, scarce a score;
One harmless novel, mostly hid
From younger eyes, a book forbid,
And poetry, (or good or bad,
A single book was all we had,)
Where Ellwood’s meek, drab-skirted Muse,
A stranger to the heathen Nine,
Sang, with a somewhat nasal whine,
The wars of David and the Jews.
At last the floundering carrier bore
The village paper to our door.
Lo! broadening outward as we read,
To warmer zones the horizon spread
In panoramic length unrolled
We saw the marvels that it told.
Before us passed the painted Creeks,
A   nd daft McGregor on his raids
In Costa Rica’s everglades.
And up Taygetos winding slow
Rode Ypsilanti’s Mainote Greeks,
A Turk’s head at each saddle-bow!
Welcome to us its week-old news,
Its corner for the rustic Muse,
Its monthly gauge of snow and rain,
Its record, mingling in a breath
The wedding bell and dirge of death:
Jest, anecdote, and love-lorn tale,
The latest culprit sent to jail;
Its hue and cry of stolen and lost,
Its vendue sales and goods at cost,
And traffic calling loud for gain.
We felt the stir of hall and street,
The pulse of life that round us beat;
The chill embargo of the snow
Was melted in the genial glow;
Wide swung again our ice-locked door,
And all the world was ours once more!

Clasp, Angel of the backword look
And folded wings of ashen gray
And voice of echoes far away,
The brazen covers of thy book;
The weird palimpsest old and vast,
Wherein thou hid’st the spectral past;
Where, closely mingling, pale and glow
The characters of joy and woe;
The monographs of outlived years,
Or smile-illumed or dim with tears,
Green hills of life that ***** to death,
And haunts of home, whose vistaed trees
Shade off to mournful cypresses
With the white amaranths underneath.
Even while I look, I can but heed
The restless sands’ incessant fall,
Importunate hours that hours succeed,
Each clamorous with its own sharp need,
And duty keeping pace with all.
Shut down and clasp with heavy lids;
I hear again the voice that bids
The dreamer leave his dream midway
For larger hopes and graver fears:
Life greatens in these later years,
The century’s aloe flowers to-day!

Yet, haply, in some lull of life,
Some Truce of God which breaks its strife,
The worldling’s eyes shall gather dew,
Dreaming in throngful city ways
Of winter joys his boyhood knew;
And dear and early friends — the few
Who yet remain — shall pause to view
These Flemish pictures of old days;
Sit with me by the homestead hearth,
And stretch the hands of memory forth
To warm them at the wood-fire’s blaze!
And thanks untraced to lips unknown
Shall greet me like the odors blown
From unseen meadows newly mown,
Wood-fringed, the wayside gaze beyond;
The traveller owns the grateful sense
Of sweetness near, he knows not whence,
And, pausing, takes with forehead bare
The benediction of the air.

Written in  1865
In its day, 'twas a best-seller and earned significant income for Whittier

https://youtu.be/vVOQ54YQ73A
HYA Dec 2017
Tayo'y pinagtagpo lang pala
At hindi itinadhana para sa isa't-isa
Tayong dalawa ay patuloy na umaasa
Ngunit ngayon, kailangan ko ng lumayo. Pasensya.

Sabi mo, gusto mo ako
Aking puso't isip ay nagtatalo
Kung maniniwala ba sa sinabi mo
Dahil baka ikaw lamang ay nalilito

Nalilito sapagkat ako lang naman ang kasama mo sa lungkot
Nagbabalewala sa utot **** kay bantot
Nagpapasaya sayo kapag hindi mo kayang tumawa
Sumasagip sayo kapag ika'y naaaberya

Yung totoo, gusto mo ba talaga ako?
Tandaan, ang gusto at kailangan ay hindi magkapareho
Huwag **** pilitin kung hindi naman kaya
Tanggap ko na noon pa,  huwag kang mag-alala

Kaya mahal, ako na ang lalayo
Subalit bago iyan, iiwanan kita ng isang payo
Minsan,  kailangan mo ring sundin ang iyong puso
Dahil kapag utak lang lahat, ito'y maglalaho

Sana maging masaya ka sa kanya
Alam mo kung sino tinutukoy ko,  bwesit ka
Simula't sapul, diba siya naman talaga?
Brad,  matalino ako, hindi tanga

Sige na. Pinapalaya na kita
Kahit anuman ang mangyari, may tagasalba ka
Huwag ka ngang duwag,  ano ba?
Huwag kasing ipagpilitan sakin ang sarili kung gusto mo pa siya.

Lalayo na ako ha?
Lalayo na ako bago kita malayo sa kanya
Paalam, aking sinisinta
Heeey awis
Ashlie Forth Dec 2014
I see more art in my sights at midnight, than at noon.
I feel more emotions running through my veins at midnight, than at noon.
I hear more music in your voice and more music outside at midnight, than at noon.
I taste more stale air and silent breaths at midnight, than noon.
I don't smell anything more at midnight, than noon.
I am more alive at midnight, than noon because I'm accepting of the fact that I'm alone in a cold cruel world that will never do me justice. I can control the feelings I have when I'm most delirious, I know who's awake and ignoring me, than who's awake and avoiding me. I am more at midnight, than noon because I'm in control of everything crazy once it rests for the night, I don't ever rest. There is no rest for the wicked.
mikhachuuu Apr 2017
Minsan naiisip ko
Pano mo nga ba nabihag ang puso ko
Oo ako nga iyon
Ang nilalaman ng puso mo ngayon

Ewan ko kung bakit
Ewan ko kung bakit tayo'y pilit na pinaglalapit
Tas eto ako ngayon nahulog na
Nahulog na sa taong halos lahat ng ay humahanga

Oo ikaw nga yon,Minsan naiisip ko
Pano mo nga ba nabihag ang puso ko
Oo ako nga iyon
Ang nilalaman ng puso mo ngayon

Ewan ko kung bakit
Ewan ko kung bakit tayo'y pilit na pinaglalapit
Tas eto ako ngayon nahulog na
Nahulog na sa taong halos lahat ng ay humahanga

Oo ikaw nga yon,
Ikaw na ikaw, heartthrob ngayon
Mga babae sayo ay nagaabang
Pero kahit wala akong gusto sayo, ako parin ang lumamang

Noon, nirereto kita sa iba
Sa kanya, para kayo ay magkakilala
Naalala ko ang fc ko non
Pero angyare ngayon?

Oo unexpected talaga
Bat nga ba tayo ang itinadhana
Sana eto na nga ang huli,
ayoko na ng susunod pa muli

Noon, pagkakakilala ko sayo ay pafall, paasa
Pero nung lubusan kitang nakilala, hindi pala
Sadyang mapaglaro talaga ang tadhana
Di natin inaasahan tayo din pala

Bago palang, dami ng nangyari
Nakagawa ng mga pangyayaring tama at mali
Ayoko na maulit ang mga nangyari noon
Mga nangyari noon na gusto ko ng itapon

Ang swerte ko kasi ako napili mo
Kahit nung simula, wala akong gusto sayo
Pero ngayon nahulog na ko
Hays, nahulog sa taong madaming nagkakagusto

Ikaw, ikaw na kaya?
Ikaw na kaya ang "Right One" ko?
Ako, ako na kaya?
Ako na kaya ang "Lucky Girl" sa buong mundo?
Swerte ko sayooo huhu <3
Mia Barrat May 2015
Noon.* We are closest at Noon, when
the sun is cruel and when I teach you
how to tell when a girl wants a kiss. I've
built a wall between us; now be a dear

and lean against it. As the sun hammers
onto our heads, I reflect upon how difficult
the word Noon must be to pronounce in
your precious French mouth. You feel self-

conscious about your accent well guess what
so do I and I've been encumbering this
freedom-infested continent since 2001. You

try to dig out a groove in the wall - but you
see, when I built it I made sure it was so
sturdy we'd die against it. This is *Noon.
This is Sonnet at Noon, the sequel to Sonnet at Dawn. Next up is Sonnet at... I don't know yet haha
AKIKO Apr 2017
Ako'y mailap
Pag si Ina'y kapiling
Kung ako'y umasta parang
Hindi sya nakikita
Parabang sa isip ko'y ako lang
Mag-isa

Anong mali?
Tanong ko sa  sarili
Anong mali at ganito ako
Umasta,
Sa harap ni Inay na nagbigay
Buhay sa kagaya kong walang
Kwenta

Pero bakit ba?
Gusto ko ba na isilang nya ang
Kagaya kong basura na ay wala pang kwenta?

Sukdulan na siguro
Ang hinanakit ni Ina sa akin
Kayat luha nya'y hindi na napigil
Ako'y sinumbatan
Lahat ng kamalian ko'y
Sinambit
Sa unang pagkakataon
Si Ina ay nagalit

Ako'y nagtaka
Sa aking nadarama
Ang puso ko'y bakit tila sasabog na
Sa nakitang luha
Na umagus pababa

Isang gaya ko
Ang nagpaluha sa Kanya
O, anung hirap at
Sakit pala
Ang makitang lumuha
Ang Ginang na nagpalaki't umaruga
Sa gaya kong walang kwenta

Ngayu'y alam kuna
Ang damdamin ni Ina
Ako ay nangakong
Magbabago na, upang damdami'y ni Ina hindi na masaktan pa
At brilyante  nyang mata'y hindi na tumangis pa

Ang mahal kong Ina nasa malayo na
Paano na ang pramis ko
Tila naging abo na

Masakit isiping
Pagmamahal ay di naipadama
Sa nag-iisa kong Reyna
Na nagpahalaga sa kagayakong basura na'y wala pang kwenta

Sumilip ang Araw
Sa mata kong nakapikit
Kahit natakluban na ng luha ang mata
Batid kong si Ina'y nasa tagiliran ko pala
Nakatayo at nakangiti,may alay na pagmamahal ang brilyante nyang mga mata

Hinagkan ko si Nanay
Tudo bigay ang dabest kong yakap
Sabay dampi ng matamis kong halik sakanyang pisngi
Batid ko si Nanay ay nagtaka
Tila nagulat pa nga sa bago kung pag-asta

Labis akong nasaktan
Sa panaginip na handa ng may kapal
Tiyak ako'y kanyang sinubok
Upang malaman ko na ang halaga ni  Nanay ay di lamang sintaas ng bundok
Kundi sinlawak din pala dagat

Ang mahagkan pala si Nanay
Ay Walang kasing sarap
Sa haba nang panahon sanay
Noon kupa nadanas
Ang mayakap si Nanay kahit gaano pa katagal
Ay hindi ako magsasawa
Ohh,kay saya maranasan ang ganito
Ang makapiling si Nanay
Buo na ang araw ko

Ang pramis ko Nay ay isa lang
Mamahalin kita higit pa sa buhay kong taglay
basta ba dito kalang at hindi lilisan
Hindi lahat ng sandali'y kapiling
Ka Nanay
poetnamasakit Oct 2015
Simula sa unang pagupo ng puwet ko sa tagayan
Nakita ko sa mga mata mo ang saya ng isang misteryosong lalaki
Mga mata **** nakatitig sakin
Habang sinasabi mo sakin na “baka may magalit na iba?”
Ang sabi ko’y “wala”
Tinuloy mo ang usapan sa salitang “okay ka lang ba?”
Ang sabi ko’y “oo, basta kasama kita.”

Natataranta ako tuwing ika’y mananahimik pagkatapos **** magsalita
Nangangamba ako na baka may nasabi akong kakaiba na hindi ko natantsa
Nagpaliwanag kang “hindi ganto lang talaga ko”
Naisip ko na baka kasi lasing ka na
Ang sabi mo nama’y “hindi, kaya ko pa.”

Ako din.. Kaya ko pa.
Kaya ko pa….
Alam mo ang hindi ko kaya?
Yang mga mata **** nakatitig sa mga mata ko
Na parang ayaw mo kong mawala sa tabi mo
Yung mga kamay mo na naglalaro sa balikat ko
Yung mga haplos mo na tila sinasabing “ikaw ang gusto ko”

Hanggang sa ikinagulat ko na nagmula mismo sa bibig  mo
“Gusto kita.”
Hindi ko alam ang magiging reaksyon ko
Napatingin nalang ako sa malayo habang sinasabi sa isip kong
“Tangina! Tangina! Tangina!”
Napamura nalang ako kasi ngayon ko nalang ulit naramdaman 'to
Natutuwa ako pero natatakot ako na baka kasi ngayon lang 'to
Na baka lasing ka lang kaya yan ang nasasabi mo
Natatakot akong masaktan muli kaya kasunod non ay pagpigil nalang sa hininga ko at sinabi ko sayong “okay ka lang ba?”
Ang sabi mo’y “oo, kaya ko pa.”

Ayoko nang ituloy ang kuwento ko tungkol sayo
Wala din nga akong balak sanang sabihin to sa mga kaibigan ko
Kaya nga eto, sinusulat ko nalang ang mga pangyayari gamit ang mga piling letra para lang sayo
Sa dulo ng kuwentong ito, ipapahayag ko na iniwan mo nalang ako
Hindi sa paraang ikakasama mo..
Kundi sa paraang ikinalulungkot ko kasi hindi na nasundan ang pagkikita nating dal'wa
Ayoko  ng umasa..
Pagod na kong umasa..
Napagod nalang akong umasa..

Nasaktan na ko noon kaya inaalalayan ko lang ang sarili ko
Ayokong magpadalos dalos kasi alam kong nasasaktan padin ang nobya mo noon sa paghihiwalay niyo
At ako eto ngayon.. Sa sarili kong bersyon, ako yung nobya, na tila parehas ang nararamdaman namin ng nobya mo
Parehas kaming nanghihingi ng atensyon sa mga mahal namin

Ayokong agawin ka sakanya, kasi sabi mo nga sakin mahal ka pa niya
Hindi kita kukunin sakanya
Dahil alam ko ang pakiramdam ng kinukuha nalang basta-basta

Para matapos lang tong salaysay ko
Magiiwan ako ng mga salita na para sayo
Mga salitang sana maintindihan mo at wag **** tignan bilang mababaw
Gusto ko lang malaman mo 'to
Dahil pagod na kong itago lahat ng to dito sa puso ko

“Siguro masyadong mabilis ang mga pangyayari
Dumating ka nalang bigla na tila binagyo mo ang isip ko
Mga salitang binitawan mo na hindi maalis sa isipan ko
Para kong tanga na mabilis masawi
Nakakahiya..
Pero totoo to
“Gusto rin kita”
Hindi dahil sa alak o lakas lang ng loob
Hindi dahil malungkot ka at gusto kitang pasayahin

Yung mga titig mo
Yung mga titig mo

Yung mga mata **** nakatitig sa mata ko
Yung mga haplos **** namimiss ko
Yung mga salitang lumabas sa bibig mo

Yung ikaw

Yung ako

Pero…
Yung akala kong may “tayo”

Bigla ka nalang naglaho..
Bakit?
Anong problema?

Kulang pa ba yung alak na laman ng tiyan mo para sabihin mo saking…… “ikaw talaga ang gusto ko.””
ESP May 2015
Hindi ako marunong tumula

Hindi ako marunong tumula
Kahit tinuruan ako ng **** ko sa wika
Ng tamang pagsulat
Ng may tamang sukat
Ng may tamang sukat ng salita
Ng may tamang salita

Hindi ako marunong tumula
Dahil iniwasan kong gumawa ng isa
Dahil ayoko ng konbensyunal
Dahil ayoko ng sukat-sukat
Dahil ayoko ng bilang-bilang
Dahil ayokong nahihirapan
Kung paano ko ipapahayag ang sarili ko

Hindi ako marunong tumula
Dahil alam kong ang mga makata lamang
Ang may kakayanang makapagsulat
Silang mga nakapag-aral ng wika
Silang mga matagal nang nagsusulat
Silang walang sawang nagsusulat ng mga salitang
Kasing bango ng mga bulaklak
Kasing tingkad ng langit
Kasing linaw ng mga tubig sa dagat
Kasing sarap ng paglanghap ng sariwang hangin

Hindi ako marunong tumula
Kahit naririnig ko sa radyo
Ang mga kantang binibigkas
Ng mabibilis na mga bibig
Ng mga magagaling na mang-aawit ng tula

Hindi ko inibig ang tumula
Dahil alam ko sa aking sarili
Na marunong lang akong magsulat ng kung anu-anong kwento sa buhay
Mga kwentong binibigyan ko ng buhay
Na akala ko sa isip ko lang maninirahan

Ngunit dumating ang araw
Natulala sa isang bagong kwaderno
Blangkong kwaderno
Ni hindi ko alam
Kung ano ang isusulat
Walang maisip ni isa
Maliban sa isa
Ikaw
Ikaw lang ang laman ng isip ko

Nakapaglakbay patungo sa unang pahina
Ang salitang aking hinahanap
Hanggang sa nagtawag siya ng mga kasama
Ng ka-tropa
Ng ka-barangay
Sunod-sunod silang nagsisidatingan

Ikaw lang ang laman ng isip ko
Ikaw na lagi kong kasa-kasama
Ikaw na lagi kong gustong kasama
Ikaw lang
Pero sunod-sunod ang salitang naisulat ko
At nagulat ang nanlalabong mata ko
Tula na pala ang naisulat ko

At nagsulat ako
Nang nagsulat tungkol sa mga ngiti mo
Tungkol sa kung paano kita nagustuhan
Tungkol sa kung kelan lahat nagsimula lahat ng nararamdaman ko
Tungkol sa kung paano ko nilalabanan 'to
Tungkol sa pagkagusto na akala ko hindi dapat
Dahil magkaiba tayo ng gusto
Nagsulat ako nang nagsulat
Hanggang naisulat ko na pala
Na mahal kita

Hindi ako marunong tumula
Ayaw kong gumawa noon ng tula
Pero dahil sa'yo
Marunong na akong gumawa ng tula

Gumawa ako ng maraming tula
May maikli
May mahaba
May hindi tapos
May walang kwenta lang
Halos lahat ay patungkol sa iyo
Minsan sa buhay ko
Pero sa'yo lang umiikot ang buhay ko
Totoo

Ang sarap palang gumawa ng tula
Akala ko mahirap
Akala ko laging may batayan
Akala ko laging may sukat
Tulad ng itinuro sa akin ng **** ko sa wika
Pero hindi pala
May iba palang paraan
Basta't may emosyon kang nararamdaman
Mahalaga na may emosyon tulad ng
Malungkot kasi hindi kita nakasama
Mahalaga na may emosyon tulad ng
Masaya kahit na tinititigan lang kita nakikita ko na mangiyak-ngiyak ka na sa tawa
Mahalaga na may emosyon tulad ng
Pagkasawi kasi alam kong walang patutunguhan 'tong lahat

Katulad mo ako
Isinusulat mo kung anong nararamdaman mo
Ang nararamdaman **** hindi katulad ng nararamdaman ko
Ikaw na siyang nagmamahal ng taong
Hindi ka gusto
Katulad mo ako na
Nagsusulat ng laman ng puso mo

Kung pwedeng ako na lang na ang tinutukoy mo

Marunong akong gumawa ng tula
Ikaw ang may dahilan ng lahat
Nasabi ko na sa'yo lahat
Hindi pa pala lahat

Marunong akong gumawa ng tula
Pero hirap na hirap ako ngayon
Dahil wala na akong maramdaman
Wala na ang pinanghuhugutan
Wala na yatang dapat paglaanan
Wala na

Habang isinisulat ko ito
Wala akong emosyon
Walang emosyong nararamdaman
Sa'yo
Tapos na ata ako sa'yo
Wala na rin akong masulat para sa'yo
Pero marunong akong magsulat ng tula
Kaya
Maghahanap na lang ulit ako
Ng taong paglalaan ng mga salitang
Hindi makatotohanan sa pangdinig kapag isinambit
Hindi makatototohan habang binabasa ng mga mata
At hindi makatotohanang isinulat ng isang hamak na katulad ko
Maghahanap ako
Ng isang tulad mo

Mahaba-haba na ang aking naisulat
Napatunayan ko na atang marunong akong magsulat


Pero hindi ako marunong tumula.
Bryan Lunsford Aug 2018
It is within an unusually warm and early spring night,
Here, where I begin to feel something ever so unusual while looking deeply into this goddess' eyes,

With her eyes like a pair of diamonds sparkling in the sky,
It's at this moment–in this part of the night–
Love simply didn't need a reply,

With candles lit,
As it's surely to her delight,
And with rose petals all over the bed–
That, surely, was to her surprise,

Though, right now,
Can you really blame me for having this nervous butterfly-feeling whirling around inside?

For this will be the first-ever night that I'll get to hold this beauty tight,

And for such a divine beauty,
Surely I'd make any sacrifice to make sure her every whim and need is perfectly sufficed,

Yes, with our feelings for each other that couldn't be more pure or refined,
I already know, without hesitance, our love would satisfy any god's most delicate appetite inside,

And although, this world may never know how I truly feel inside,
I, myself, know with certainty that I love this woman more than anything I've ever loved in my whole life,

Yet, with nothing more than the sound of crickets chirping within the night,
I proceed to lay this beauty down–
Here, pulling her close to my side (where I tell her)
"I love you, angel, good night",

And even though our love never did need a reply,
She said
"I love you too, sweet dreams baby, don't forget to hold me ever so tight",

And thus with this crazy, whirling, butterfly-feeling, again, that I begin to feel take over inside,
She rolls over unexpectedly and surprises me with a kiss to seal any other reply–
To only roll back over and close her eyes,

Oh, and in the midst of her every action–every move leaving me mesmerized,
She decides to move an inch closer to me,
(Where I wrap my arm around her thighs)
As it's also nearly simultaneously that I hear the clock's stride finally hit midnight,

With a chime that struck once–
Then struck twice,
I begin to hear a set of chimes strike–and strike until they chime twelve times,  
(As these chimes come from this evilly wicked, horrid and heinous clock of mine)

Yes!–with this clock being a clock that through time I have come to slowly hate and despise!

Though, this tower of a clock reminds me of its presence with not the tics nor the tocs–
No, only when the minute hand climbs and the hour's hand meets another notch,

As only then, within that second of the minute, does my mind's thoughts get crossed and rocked–
With my thoughts that become locked within a box
(As it'll be for the next sixty minutes)
I'll just lie there and remain distraught,

Oh, and you ask why?–
Simply because of this chiming noise that won't stop!

With these reoccurring chimes that take my sleep and make most nights a loss–
I can assure you that if I don't go to bed by one or two o'clock,
Any sleep for me will become more and more implausible by every tic of the clock,

Yes, nearly impossible–
For it'll be with the next four or five hours, I'll just lie there, roll, and toss,

Though this is a different night!–
As I'm reminded with our legs crossed and with our fingers interlocked,

Yet, here as I begin to feel the warmth of her body block and fend off any kind or sorts of lingering winter's frost,
I also sense that numerous candles are still glowing bright,
(With the sight of their ambient light flickering off of the bedside's wall from abroad)

And, within this room filled with sentiment as I hear not a sound at all,
I smell the candle's aromatic scents,
With the atmosphere within the air being ever so calm,

Until that is, I hear another chime of a ****–
With it sounding like a melody that's gone ever so wrong–
It's with this tower of a clock, right here, that has just let me know it's now the hour of one o'clock–
And one o'clock, right on the dot,

With only one lone chime that I heard–as everything then simply paused and stopped,

Though, within my mind and with these thoughts that refuse to stop,
I reassure myself–
Knowing that the time is only one o'clock,

For I know I still have an aplenty of time to close my eyes and make these endless lines of thoughts stop,

So to this brilliant mind of mine,
You know that it's clearly time to let these thoughts wander off,

Just close your eyes and let your mind stop–

Though, didn't I just say enough with your thoughts?

Oh, and I can see you might think a lot,
But clearly and obviously you're not thinking about squat!

So just stop or I swear to god,
If you don't stop with these god awful thoughts,
I'll have no other option than to smash and squash your head against these bricks outside of this wall and then leave you there to rot–

For if you don't stop this exact instant then I am almost certain your beautiful woman will become a loss,

And I'm sure you don't want that to happen again, now do you?

So just stop with these thoughts–
Quit fooling around and whatever you do–
Oh, and whatever you do,
Don't let this beauty see that crazed loony side inside of you,

Just fall asleep now and you both can wake up tomorrow around noon,

Yes, just close your eyes and count these sheep jumping over the moon,
And count them jumping one by one–then two by two,

Yet, between one and two,
Surely I knew I was bound to come unglued,
(With the loony that came right out of me as I hear a tune)

With a chime that struck once and then twice,
It left my mind to know not what to do,

Though, that doesn't mean I am confused,
With the duo of chimes that struck–
Only letting me know it's now into the minutes of the night that come directly after two,

And though,
As I begin feeling as if a disaster was nearing in soon,
Still, I knew not what to do–

Because I know nothing as I'm thinking of nothing and just fading away within the scents of her perfume,

(Where I begin fading away within this serenity and hearing not a tune)
I feel the weight of my eyelids begin to feel like a caving-in roof weighing at least a ton or two,

And with just one of a few wondrous thoughts still wandering on through,
I wonder
"Could this be sleep that is nearing in soon?”,

With this feeling of a wonderful tranquil sensation subduing and leaving my whole body consumed,
(As I'm weary and with clearly not a thought left in this room)
I take one last deep breath
(With my lungs swelling like a balloon)

And within a dream is where I have just entered into–:
UNTIL ABRUPTLY I HEAR A SNOOZING OF A TUNE!

Yes!–As I'm awakened and with the insanity within in me being let loose to roam throughout this room,
My mind, then, begins to shift back and forth (like something caught drifting between a typhoon and a monsoon)

Where realizing as I view that I've opened my eyes too soon–
With it being this beauty here of mine that is the one who is creating this horrendous little tune,

And feeling, as I hear–
With every single breath that she breathes rattling the room–the walls–and even the shingles upon the roof,
I feel my mind, here, completely coming all the way unglued–
For all I want to do is make everything within this room mute!

Yes, that's all I want to do!–

For I’m sure I wouldn't even be in such a foul mood if I wasn’t sleep deprived,
And if this beauty here of mine and her snoring roar weren’t the main culprits of keeping me, my mind, and this night alive,

Though, hearing with her roaring of a snore that is beginning to drive me crazy inside–
Yes, as she snores, there!–just an inch or two away from my side–
I hear with her snore only growing more and more–

As I, then, within this second, try to ignore a chord of chimes striking once, and then striking twice,
(With this clock striking three times to remind me once again of the time)

–With this night now being at least 3:03, 3:04, and could possibly even be 3:05,
I know this night is at the most three or four hours away from seeing the sun shine bright through my window blinds,

Oh, and surely I already know I probably would just close my eyes–
Yes, that's probably what I would do!
But this little beauty here of mine is worse than any set of chimes,

And surely indecisive,
(As I move the pillow over my ears while I'm consumed by an irritating form of fright)
I move my body a little to the left and then a few inches to the right,
Where I hear her demon's rumbling from inside,
And screaming as if they're trying to come out and fight–

(Which is where I begin thinking)
“Is waking her up really that much of a crime?”

For if she knew she was snoring at such a high decibel level,
Then I'm sure she wouldn't even mind,

And thus with my decisions that couldn't agree more with my mind,
I decide to slightly lift her head and wiggle her,
(As I nearly tickle her left side)

Whispering to her as I say,
"Baby, wake up, I just had the worst dream of my life!
Oh, baby, wake up, I just need to see those sweet little angel eyes!",

Though motionless–
There, as I try to keep my insane and crazy side inside,
My whisper begins to intensify to a scream
(As she refuses to open her eyes or give me a reply)

I continued to scream–SCREAMED!

"Oh, why, oh, why won't you open your eyes!",

And with her snore being the only reply that she could give me,
It literally drove me crazy inside–
Thus driving me as it drove me to climb on top of her body,
(Where I grab her nose and squeeze)

As it's within the silence and in this exact instant,
Instantly and unbelievably, I see I've hit a stride that I couldn't believe,

Yes, mesmerized!
And content beyond belief–
With her snoring, here, that has finally ceased–

–Casually, I proceed to climb off of her body
(Wherein realization I finally can go back to sleep)

And in the silence, again, as I hear not a peep,
I roll over, close my eyes, and before I could even count one jumping sheep,
I hear a roar once more coming from this treacherous little beast,

And surely with not a second more could I go without sleep,
(As this pillow, right here, has just become my best friend, and the most plausible way to get any sleep)
I decide to move this pillow over her face–with my exertion at first lacking any tenacity,

But what I'd end up hearing would be like a growl or a roar of a wicked beast,

With this sinister snore of hers only increasing more and more with every tic of my heart's beat,
I begin to feel my thoughts shift toward the sentiment of either insane or crazy,

(As my hands push with more and more of an intensity)
I begin sweating–feeling the smothering warmth of her body's heat,

Though, simultaneously as I hear her heart throb and knock an unstoppable and irregular beat,
I begin putting even more weight upon this pillowcase
(With a galore of my sweat dripping upon these sheets)

And surely I have to know,
(For it should be as obvious as could be)
That if I put any more weight upon this pillowcase,
I'd likely break through the toughest of the most unbreakable concretes,

And thus coming to the realization–
With this crazy side of me that has taken over and been unleashed surely not being me,

It's here, against the greatest of restraints
(As I'm barely able to climb off of her body)
I climb off and begin waiting within the silence–

Waiting and hearing not a peep,
Where seemingly prompting myself to say,
Here, as I speak!
"Good night baby–sweet dreams",

Though, I'd hear not a reply–
As a reply was something our love never did need,

Yet, as I roll over to climb under these sheets and close my eyes
(Where simultaneously it all has seemed)
I have fallen fast asleep within a dream while holding my sleeping beauty tight–

Holding her as I squeeze–
Holding her!–
With her heart that holds not a beat–.
Ron Peter Jan 2019
sa gabi ito nararamdaman ko
ang lamig kung saan ang katawan ko ay nanginginig
ang gabi na bilang lang
ang natatamaan ng liwanag
ng buwan sa daan


nag lakad ako sa dilim para
magpahangin at mag isip isip ng mga bagay na gumugulo at sumasagi sa utak ko
ito ba mga bituin tinitingala ko
ay totoo bang tinutupad
ang hiling ng mga tao?

o isa lang silang bagay na
palamuti sa itaas ng kalawakan
para maging matingkad
ang mga gabi at mag bigay ng
kislap sa itaas ng kalangitan
para matawag itong maganda

minsan naniwala ako sa kasabihan kapag nakita mo ito
sa kalangitan kung saan
ang pakiramdam mo ay hindi
mo maintindihan.
subukan mo ibulong sa bituin

at pagkatapos sabihin mo
dito ang mga gusto ****
mag bago sa sitwasyon na
naaayon sa kagustuhan mo
at ibibigay at magkakatotoo

sinubukan ko gawin ito ng
mataimtim. sinabi ko na lahat
ng aking hinanakit at sakit
ibinulong ko ito sa mga bituin
na may kasama pang luha
baka sakali sakin ay maawa

hiniling ko na sana ay bumalik ka.
yakapin ako muli at hindi kana aalis pa
hahawakan ang aking kamay
at sasabihin sakin hindi mo
kaya
hiniling ko rin na sana sabihin
**** mayroon tayo pa

ilang gabi pa ang mga dumaan
sinubukan ko mag lakad lakad
sa madilim na daan
at mag isip kung saan na ba
napunta ang mga hiniling

kung ito ba'y pagpapalain sakin
o ito ba ay mababaliwala
at mag lalaho lang din ng bula
kasama ng mga hiling ko
kung babalik ka pa ba

napag tanto ko kaya hindi
sinang ayunan ang aking
mga hiling ay parehas tayong
humiling sa bagay na
ginusto na mangyari para satin

ikaw na gusto **** bumalik sya
at mahalin ka ulit
ikaw na pinapangarap sya
ikaw na sana hindi na ulit kayo
maghihiwalay pa

at ako na umaasa babalik kapa
ako na nag hihintay at umaasa
ako na humihiling pa ng
pangalawang pagkatataon
para mahalin.
ako na sana ay piliin mo rin.

nabaliwala ang lahat ng hiniling para sa ating dalawa.
naisip ko na hindi naman
natin kailangan ang mga bituin
na to para hilingin ng mga bagay
na gusto natin

dahil tayo ang mga bituin
sumabog sa kalangitan pagkatapos ng ating mga hiling
para sa atin ay magpapasaya

tayo ang mga bituin tutupad
sa gusto natin mabago ang lahat
tayo ang mga bituin noon ay
nag ningning at nag sama
pero mali ang tinalikdang daan

tayo ang mga nawalang
bituin sa kalangitan at pinag
tagpo ng kapalaran at
pagkakataon para hilingin
sa bawat isa pero iba ang gustong makasama.

tayo ang mga bituin na yon
tayo ang mga bituin nag ningning noon
tayo yon
tayo ang bituin na yon.
Bo Burnham Apr 2015
I want to kiss you all day.
I want to start at dawn.
I want our mouths to dry out by breakfast.
I want our jaws to start cramping by noon.
I want us to question our decision to kiss all day by hour five.
I want to have *** really quickly then seriously stop all this kissing ******* because you need your personal space, apparently.
Shofi Ahmed Oct 2017
A fine mole down
the blue mountain sky
cannot be weighed out!
It's the cosmos's gold dust
the earthy depth triumphs.
Oh earth, our close clay-star
is far ahead of the day at noon.
Ahead of the moon
ahead of the Neptune!

With a million dash of curiosity
every new sunrise paints
upon her black box with the roaring fire.
Yet the ****** is a veiled wonder!

It has the plethora a room for everyone
and time for timeless times.
Guess, with her longhand
what an inside scoop did it pick out?

You too can be in the know
It's the feminine beauty all in all.
You may have by now
seen women million and one.
The earth is eyeing on only one!

Her closest admirer is the star
of the very luminary bunch
with open eyes in the hearts.
Her dead man is waking up
sniffing the daylight by her.
Yet to make the discovery
both are still wondering outside!
Alyssa Underwood Mar 2016
I

He did not wear his scarlet coat,
  For blood and wine are red,
And blood and wine were on his hands
  When they found him with the dead,
The poor dead woman whom he loved,
  And murdered in her bed.

He walked amongst the Trial Men
  In a suit of shabby grey;
A cricket cap was on his head,
  And his step seemed light and gay;
But I never saw a man who looked
  So wistfully at the day.

I never saw a man who looked
  With such a wistful eye
Upon that little tent of blue
  Which prisoners call the sky,
And at every drifting cloud that went
  With sails of silver by.

I walked, with other souls in pain,
  Within another ring,
And was wondering if the man had done
  A great or little thing,
When a voice behind me whispered low,
  “That fellows got to swing.”

Dear Christ! the very prison walls
  Suddenly seemed to reel,
And the sky above my head became
  Like a casque of scorching steel;
And, though I was a soul in pain,
  My pain I could not feel.

I only knew what hunted thought
  Quickened his step, and why
He looked upon the garish day
  With such a wistful eye;
The man had killed the thing he loved
  And so he had to die.

Yet each man kills the thing he loves
  By each let this be heard,
Some do it with a bitter look,
  Some with a flattering word,
The coward does it with a kiss,
  The brave man with a sword!

Some **** their love when they are young,
  And some when they are old;
Some strangle with the hands of Lust,
  Some with the hands of Gold:
The kindest use a knife, because
  The dead so soon grow cold.

Some love too little, some too long,
  Some sell, and others buy;
Some do the deed with many tears,
  And some without a sigh:
For each man kills the thing he loves,
  Yet each man does not die.

He does not die a death of shame
  On a day of dark disgrace,
Nor have a noose about his neck,
  Nor a cloth upon his face,
Nor drop feet foremost through the floor
  Into an empty place

He does not sit with silent men
  Who watch him night and day;
Who watch him when he tries to weep,
  And when he tries to pray;
Who watch him lest himself should rob
  The prison of its prey.

He does not wake at dawn to see
  Dread figures throng his room,
The shivering Chaplain robed in white,
  The Sheriff stern with gloom,
And the Governor all in shiny black,
  With the yellow face of Doom.

He does not rise in piteous haste
  To put on convict-clothes,
While some coarse-mouthed Doctor gloats, and notes
  Each new and nerve-twitched pose,
******* a watch whose little ticks
  Are like horrible hammer-blows.

He does not know that sickening thirst
  That sands one’s throat, before
The hangman with his gardener’s gloves
  Slips through the padded door,
And binds one with three leathern thongs,
  That the throat may thirst no more.

He does not bend his head to hear
  The Burial Office read,
Nor, while the terror of his soul
  Tells him he is not dead,
Cross his own coffin, as he moves
  Into the hideous shed.

He does not stare upon the air
  Through a little roof of glass;
He does not pray with lips of clay
  For his agony to pass;
Nor feel upon his shuddering cheek
  The kiss of Caiaphas.


II

Six weeks our guardsman walked the yard,
  In a suit of shabby grey:
His cricket cap was on his head,
  And his step seemed light and gay,
But I never saw a man who looked
  So wistfully at the day.

I never saw a man who looked
  With such a wistful eye
Upon that little tent of blue
  Which prisoners call the sky,
And at every wandering cloud that trailed
  Its raveled fleeces by.

He did not wring his hands, as do
  Those witless men who dare
To try to rear the changeling Hope
  In the cave of black Despair:
He only looked upon the sun,
  And drank the morning air.

He did not wring his hands nor weep,
  Nor did he peek or pine,
But he drank the air as though it held
  Some healthful anodyne;
With open mouth he drank the sun
  As though it had been wine!

And I and all the souls in pain,
  Who tramped the other ring,
Forgot if we ourselves had done
  A great or little thing,
And watched with gaze of dull amaze
  The man who had to swing.

And strange it was to see him pass
  With a step so light and gay,
And strange it was to see him look
  So wistfully at the day,
And strange it was to think that he
  Had such a debt to pay.

For oak and elm have pleasant leaves
  That in the spring-time shoot:
But grim to see is the gallows-tree,
  With its adder-bitten root,
And, green or dry, a man must die
  Before it bears its fruit!

The loftiest place is that seat of grace
  For which all worldlings try:
But who would stand in hempen band
  Upon a scaffold high,
And through a murderer’s collar take
  His last look at the sky?

It is sweet to dance to violins
  When Love and Life are fair:
To dance to flutes, to dance to lutes
  Is delicate and rare:
But it is not sweet with nimble feet
  To dance upon the air!

So with curious eyes and sick surmise
  We watched him day by day,
And wondered if each one of us
  Would end the self-same way,
For none can tell to what red Hell
  His sightless soul may stray.

At last the dead man walked no more
  Amongst the Trial Men,
And I knew that he was standing up
  In the black dock’s dreadful pen,
And that never would I see his face
  In God’s sweet world again.

Like two doomed ships that pass in storm
  We had crossed each other’s way:
But we made no sign, we said no word,
  We had no word to say;
For we did not meet in the holy night,
  But in the shameful day.

A prison wall was round us both,
  Two outcast men were we:
The world had ****** us from its heart,
  And God from out His care:
And the iron gin that waits for Sin
  Had caught us in its snare.


III

In Debtors’ Yard the stones are hard,
  And the dripping wall is high,
So it was there he took the air
  Beneath the leaden sky,
And by each side a Warder walked,
  For fear the man might die.

Or else he sat with those who watched
  His anguish night and day;
Who watched him when he rose to weep,
  And when he crouched to pray;
Who watched him lest himself should rob
  Their scaffold of its prey.

The Governor was strong upon
  The Regulations Act:
The Doctor said that Death was but
  A scientific fact:
And twice a day the Chaplain called
  And left a little tract.

And twice a day he smoked his pipe,
  And drank his quart of beer:
His soul was resolute, and held
  No hiding-place for fear;
He often said that he was glad
  The hangman’s hands were near.

But why he said so strange a thing
  No Warder dared to ask:
For he to whom a watcher’s doom
  Is given as his task,
Must set a lock upon his lips,
  And make his face a mask.

Or else he might be moved, and try
  To comfort or console:
And what should Human Pity do
  Pent up in Murderers’ Hole?
What word of grace in such a place
  Could help a brother’s soul?

With slouch and swing around the ring
  We trod the Fool’s Parade!
We did not care: we knew we were
  The Devil’s Own Brigade:
And shaven head and feet of lead
  Make a merry masquerade.

We tore the tarry rope to shreds
  With blunt and bleeding nails;
We rubbed the doors, and scrubbed the floors,
  And cleaned the shining rails:
And, rank by rank, we soaped the plank,
  And clattered with the pails.

We sewed the sacks, we broke the stones,
  We turned the dusty drill:
We banged the tins, and bawled the hymns,
  And sweated on the mill:
But in the heart of every man
  Terror was lying still.

So still it lay that every day
  Crawled like a ****-clogged wave:
And we forgot the bitter lot
  That waits for fool and knave,
Till once, as we tramped in from work,
  We passed an open grave.

With yawning mouth the yellow hole
  Gaped for a living thing;
The very mud cried out for blood
  To the thirsty asphalte ring:
And we knew that ere one dawn grew fair
  Some prisoner had to swing.

Right in we went, with soul intent
  On Death and Dread and Doom:
The hangman, with his little bag,
  Went shuffling through the gloom
And each man trembled as he crept
  Into his numbered tomb.

That night the empty corridors
  Were full of forms of Fear,
And up and down the iron town
  Stole feet we could not hear,
And through the bars that hide the stars
  White faces seemed to peer.

He lay as one who lies and dreams
  In a pleasant meadow-land,
The watcher watched him as he slept,
  And could not understand
How one could sleep so sweet a sleep
  With a hangman close at hand?

But there is no sleep when men must weep
  Who never yet have wept:
So we—the fool, the fraud, the knave—
  That endless vigil kept,
And through each brain on hands of pain
  Another’s terror crept.

Alas! it is a fearful thing
  To feel another’s guilt!
For, right within, the sword of Sin
  Pierced to its poisoned hilt,
And as molten lead were the tears we shed
  For the blood we had not spilt.

The Warders with their shoes of felt
  Crept by each padlocked door,
And peeped and saw, with eyes of awe,
  Grey figures on the floor,
And wondered why men knelt to pray
  Who never prayed before.

All through the night we knelt and prayed,
  Mad mourners of a corpse!
The troubled plumes of midnight were
  The plumes upon a hearse:
And bitter wine upon a sponge
  Was the savior of Remorse.

The **** crew, the red **** crew,
  But never came the day:
And crooked shape of Terror crouched,
  In the corners where we lay:
And each evil sprite that walks by night
  Before us seemed to play.

They glided past, they glided fast,
  Like travelers through a mist:
They mocked the moon in a rigadoon
  Of delicate turn and twist,
And with formal pace and loathsome grace
  The phantoms kept their tryst.

With mop and mow, we saw them go,
  Slim shadows hand in hand:
About, about, in ghostly rout
  They trod a saraband:
And the ****** grotesques made arabesques,
  Like the wind upon the sand!

With the pirouettes of marionettes,
  They tripped on pointed tread:
But with flutes of Fear they filled the ear,
  As their grisly masque they led,
And loud they sang, and long they sang,
  For they sang to wake the dead.

“Oho!” they cried, “The world is wide,
  But fettered limbs go lame!
And once, or twice, to throw the dice
  Is a gentlemanly game,
But he does not win who plays with Sin
  In the secret House of Shame.”

No things of air these antics were
  That frolicked with such glee:
To men whose lives were held in gyves,
  And whose feet might not go free,
Ah! wounds of Christ! they were living things,
  Most terrible to see.

Around, around, they waltzed and wound;
  Some wheeled in smirking pairs:
With the mincing step of demirep
  Some sidled up the stairs:
And with subtle sneer, and fawning leer,
  Each helped us at our prayers.

The morning wind began to moan,
  But still the night went on:
Through its giant loom the web of gloom
  Crept till each thread was spun:
And, as we prayed, we grew afraid
  Of the Justice of the Sun.

The moaning wind went wandering round
  The weeping prison-wall:
Till like a wheel of turning-steel
  We felt the minutes crawl:
O moaning wind! what had we done
  To have such a seneschal?

At last I saw the shadowed bars
  Like a lattice wrought in lead,
Move right across the whitewashed wall
  That faced my three-plank bed,
And I knew that somewhere in the world
  God’s dreadful dawn was red.

At six o’clock we cleaned our cells,
  At seven all was still,
But the sough and swing of a mighty wing
  The prison seemed to fill,
For the Lord of Death with icy breath
  Had entered in to ****.

He did not pass in purple pomp,
  Nor ride a moon-white steed.
Three yards of cord and a sliding board
  Are all the gallows’ need:
So with rope of shame the Herald came
  To do the secret deed.

We were as men who through a fen
  Of filthy darkness *****:
We did not dare to breathe a prayer,
  Or give our anguish scope:
Something was dead in each of us,
  And what was dead was Hope.

For Man’s grim Justice goes its way,
  And will not swerve aside:
It slays the weak, it slays the strong,
  It has a deadly stride:
With iron heel it slays the strong,
  The monstrous parricide!

We waited for the stroke of eight:
  Each tongue was thick with thirst:
For the stroke of eight is the stroke of Fate
  That makes a man accursed,
And Fate will use a running noose
  For the best man and the worst.

We had no other thing to do,
  Save to wait for the sign to come:
So, like things of stone in a valley lone,
  Quiet we sat and dumb:
But each man’s heart beat thick and quick
  Like a madman on a drum!

With sudden shock the prison-clock
  Smote on the shivering air,
And from all the gaol rose up a wail
  Of impotent despair,
Like the sound that frightened marshes hear
  From a ***** in his lair.

And as one sees most fearful things
  In the crystal of a dream,
We saw the greasy hempen rope
  Hooked to the blackened beam,
And heard the prayer the hangman’s snare
  Strangled into a scream.

And all the woe that moved him so
  That he gave that bitter cry,
And the wild regrets, and the ****** sweats,
  None knew so well as I:
For he who lives more lives than one
  More deaths than one must die.


IV

There is no chapel on the day
  On which they hang a man:
The Chaplain’s heart is far too sick,
  Or his face is far too wan,
Or there is that written in his eyes
  Which none should look upon.

So they kept us close till nigh on noon,
  And then they rang the bell,
And the Warders with their jingling keys
  Opened each listening cell,
And down the iron stair we tramped,
  Each from his separate Hell.

Out into God’s sweet air we went,
  But not in wonted way,
For this man’s face was white with fear,
  And that man’s face was grey,
And I never saw sad men who looked
  So wistfully at the day.

I never saw sad men who looked
  With such a wistful eye
Upon that little tent of blue
  We prisoners called the sky,
And at every careless cloud that passed
  In happy freedom by.

But there were those amongst us all
  Who walked with downcast head,
And knew that, had each got his due,
  They should have died instead:
He had but killed a thing that lived
  Whilst they had killed the dead.

For he who sins a second time
  Wakes a dead soul to pain,
And draws it from its spotted shroud,
  And makes it bleed again,
And makes it bleed great gouts of blood
  And makes it bleed in vain!

Like ape or clown, in monstrous garb
  With crooked arrows starred,
Silently we went round and round
  The slippery asphalte yard;
Silently we went round and round,
  And no man spoke a word.

Silently we went round and round,
  And through each hollow mind
The memory of dreadful things
  Rushed like a dreadful wind,
And Horror stalked before each man,
  And terror crept behind.

The Warders strutted up and down,
  And kept their herd of brutes,
Their uniforms were ***** and span,
  And they wore their Sunday suits,
But we knew the work they had been at
  By the quicklime on their boots.

For where a grave had opened wide,
  There was no grave at all:
Only a stretch of mud and sand
  By the hideous prison-wall,
And a little heap of burning lime,
  That the man should have his pall.

For he has a pall, this wretched man,
  Such as few men can claim:
Deep down below a prison-yard,
  Naked for greater shame,
He lies, with fetters on each foot,
  Wrapt in a sheet of flame!

And all the while the burning lime
  Eats flesh and bone away,
It eats the brittle bone by night,
  And the soft flesh by the day,
It eats the flesh and bones by turns,
  But it eats the heart alway.

For three long years they will not sow
  Or root or seedling there:
For three long years the unblessed spot
  Will sterile be and bare,
And look upon the wondering sky
  With unreproachful stare.

They think a murderer’s heart would taint
  Each simple seed they sow.
It is not true! God’s kindly earth
  Is kindlier than men know,
And the red rose would but blow more red,
  The white rose whiter blow.

Out of his mouth a red, red rose!
  Out of his heart a white!
For who can say by what strange way,
  Christ brings his will to light,
Since the barren staff the pilgrim bore
  Bloomed in the great Pope’s sight?

But neither milk-white rose nor red
  May bloom in prison air;
The shard, the pebble, and the flint,
  Are what they give us there:
For flowers have been known to heal
  A common man’s despair.

So never will wine-red rose or white,
  Petal by petal, fall
On that stretch of mud and sand that lies
  By the hideous prison-wall,
To tell the men who ***** the yard
  That God’s Son died for all.

Yet though the hideous prison-wall
  Still hems him round and round,
And a spirit man not walk by night
  That is with fetters bound,
And a spirit may not weep that lies
  In such unholy ground,

He is at peace—this wretched man—
  At peace, or will be soon:
There is no thing to make him mad,
  Nor does Terror walk at noon,
For the lampless Earth in which he lies
  Has neither Sun nor Moon.

They hanged him as a beast is hanged:
  They did not even toll
A reguiem that might have brought
  Rest to his startled soul,
But hurriedly they took him out,
  And hid him in a hole.

They stripped him of his canvas clothes,
  And gave him to the flies;
They mocked the swollen purple throat
  And the stark and staring eyes:
And with laughter loud they heaped the shroud
  In which their convict lies.

The Chaplain would not kneel to pray
  By his dishonored grave:
Nor mark it with that blessed Cross
  That Christ for sinners gave,
Because the man was one of those
  Whom Christ came down to save.

Yet all is well; he has but passed
  To Life’s appointed bourne:
And alien tears will fill for him
  Pity’s long-broken urn,
For his mourner will be outcast men,
  And outcasts always mourn.


V

I know not whether Laws be right,
  Or whether Laws be wrong;
All that we know who lie in gaol
  Is that the wall is strong;
And that each day is like a year,
  A year whose days are long.

But this I know, that every Law
  That men have made for Man,
Since first Man took his brother’s life,
  And the sad world began,
But straws the wheat and saves the chaff
  With a most evil fan.

This too I know—and wise it were
  If each could know the same—
That every prison that men build
  Is built with bricks of shame,
And bound with bars lest Christ should see
  How men their brothers maim.

With bars they blur the gracious moon,
  And blind the goodly sun:
And they do well to hide their Hell,
  For in it things are done
That Son of God nor son of Man
  Ever should look upon!

The vilest deeds like poison weeds
  Bloom well in prison-air:
It is only what is good in Man
  That wastes and withers there:
Pale Anguish keeps the heavy gate,
  And the Warder is Despair

For they starve the little frightened child
  Till it weeps both night and day:
And they scourge the weak, and flog the fool,
  And gibe the old and grey,
And some grow mad, and all grow bad,
And none a word may say.

Each narrow cell in which we dwell
  Is foul and dark latrine,
And the fetid breath of living Death
  Chokes up each grated screen,
And all, but Lust, is turned to dust
  In Humanity’s machine.

The brackish water that we drink
  Creeps with a loathsome slime,
And the bitter bread they weigh in scales
  Is full of chalk and lime,
And Sleep will not lie down, but walks
  Wild-eyed and cries to Time.

But though lean Hunger and green Thirst
  Like asp with adder fight,
We have little care of prison fare,
  For what chills and kills outright
Is that every stone one lifts by day
  Becomes one’s heart by night.

With midnight always in one’s heart,
  And twilight in one’s cell,
We turn the crank, or tear the rope,
  Each in his separate Hell,
And the silence is more awful far
  Than the sound of a brazen bell.

And never a human voice comes near
  To speak a gentle word:
And the eye that watches through the door
  Is pitiless and hard:
And by all forgot, we rot and rot,
  With soul and body marred.

And thus we rust Life’s iron chain
  Degraded and alone:
And some men curse, and some men weep,
  And some men make no moan:
But God’s eternal Laws are kind
  And break the heart of stone.

And every human heart that breaks,
  In prison-cell or yard,
Is as that broken box that gave
  Its treasure to the Lord,
And filled the unclean *****’s house
  With the scent of costliest nard.

Ah! happy day they whose hearts can break
  And peace of pardon win!
How else may man make straight his plan
  And cleanse his soul from Sin?
How else but through a broken heart
  May Lord Christ enter in?

And he of the swollen purple throat.
  And the stark and staring eyes,
Waits for the holy hands that took
  The Thief to Paradise;
And a broken and a contrite heart
  The Lord will not despise.

The man in red who reads the Law
  Gave him three weeks of life,
Three little weeks in which to heal
  His soul of his soul’s strife,
And cleanse from every blot of blood
  The hand that held the knife.

And with tears of blood he cleansed the hand,
  The hand that held the steel:
For only blood can wipe out blood,
  And only tears can heal:
And the crimson stain that was of Cain
  Became Christ’s snow-white seal.


VI

In Reading gaol by Reading town
  There is a pit of shame,
And in it lies a wretched man
  Eaten by teeth of flame,
In burning winding-sheet he lies,
  And his grave has got no name.

And there, till Christ call forth the dead,
  In silence let him lie:
No need to waste the foolish tear,
  Or heave the windy sigh:
The man had killed the thing he loved,
  And so he had to die.

And all men **** the thing they love,
  By all let this be heard,
Some do it with a bitter look,
  Some with a flattering word,
The coward does it with a kiss,
  The brave man with a sword!
Kae Dee May 2015
I
Isang araw, muntik na naman akong nagpakatanga
Isang araw, naisip na naman kita
Isang araw **** ginulo ang isipan ko
Isang araw, binalik-balikan ang masasakit na alaala mo
dahil
Isang araw, biglang iniwan mo ako

Iniwan mo ako... at mula noon
Ilang araw akong wala sa sarili
Ilang araw iniisip ang mga dahilan kung bakit ka lumisan
at kung bakit ako'y hindi mo pinili
Ilang araw na nagbabakasakali
na ako'y iyong babalikan
Ilang araw na patuloy na umaasa
sa mga pangako **** napako sa kawalan

Isang tanong na gumugulo sa aking isipan
Isang tanong na hindi masagot nino man
Isang tanong na hindi ko makalimutan
Isang tanong na wala naman talagang kasagutan
Isang tanong, "Mahal, bakit mo ako iniwan?"

Hindi lang iniwan kundi iyo naring kinalimutan
Kinalimutan agad na parang walang pinagsamahan
Hindi pinapansin kapag nasisilayan
Ang trato'y parang estranghero lang sa daan

Bakit parang ako lang ang nasasaktan?
Bakit parang ako lang ang nahihirapan?
Bakit parang ako lang nagmamahal?
Bakit ako lang? Bakit?

Nang iwan mo ako, nawala ang tayo
Nang iwan mo ako, ang natira na lang ay ako
Mali pala, kasi pati ako ay nawala noong nawala ka
Nawala ang dating ako  na kayang mabuhay noong mga panahong wala ka pa

Pagod na pagod na ako sa lahat ng sakit
Pucha, hindi mawala-wala kahit anong pilit
Ilang bote ng alak ang natumba at
Ilang stick ng yosi na ang naupos
Pero ang pagmamahal ko para sa'yo
Mahal
Hindi pa rin nauubos
Alam ko kaarawan mo nung abril labindalawang at ngayon
Humahabol pa ako sa regalo ko na tula para lang sayo.

Naaalala kita bilang aking best friend nung intermediate palang tayo
Ngayon pati sa facebook konektado pa rin ako sayo

Paminsan-minsan ikaw nagchachat sa kin at minsan ako rin naman
Nagsheshare ng problema at nagbibigayan ng tips kahit papano man

Ngayon dalagita na tayo, marami na rin mga problema sa school at iba kaso
Gusto pa rin kita makausap ng matagalan eh marami lang talagang inaasikaso

Nagkataon nagkita tayo sa mall at ang napansin ko bigla ka tumangkad
Syempre naingit agad, hindi ako pinagpala ng diyos ng tangkad eh.

Natutuwa ako nakilala kita noon at nagkakilalan tayo ng lubos
Kahit malayo tayo sa isa't isa, at saka nagpapasalamat rin ako 

Naging best friend kita at lagi tayo nagtutulungan 
Kung may problema tayong hinaharap.

Kung alam mo lang maeffort ako kung hindi lang natatamad
Lalo na sa pagibig kung pinageffortan dapat masuklian.

Pasensya na kung nahuli ako ibigay ang regalo ko para lang talaga sayo
Nagpapasalamat ako sa lahat ng alaala natin dalawa at sa susunod pa.

Mahal kita dahil naging parte ka na rin sa buong buhay ko!

Happy Birthday! To the 16th girl Vivien Hannah Isabel Estrada!
PS: Sana matuloy yung 18th birthday mo pupunta talaga ako.
Kylie Jenner!
It is full summer now, the heart of June;
Not yet the sunburnt reapers are astir
Upon the upland meadow where too soon
Rich autumn time, the season’s usurer,
Will lend his hoarded gold to all the trees,
And see his treasure scattered by the wild and spendthrift breeze.

Too soon indeed! yet here the daffodil,
That love-child of the Spring, has lingered on
To vex the rose with jealousy, and still
The harebell spreads her azure pavilion,
And like a strayed and wandering reveller
Abandoned of its brothers, whom long since June’s messenger

The missel-thrush has frighted from the glade,
One pale narcissus loiters fearfully
Close to a shadowy nook, where half afraid
Of their own loveliness some violets lie
That will not look the gold sun in the face
For fear of too much splendour,—ah! methinks it is a place

Which should be trodden by Persephone
When wearied of the flowerless fields of Dis!
Or danced on by the lads of Arcady!
The hidden secret of eternal bliss
Known to the Grecian here a man might find,
Ah! you and I may find it now if Love and Sleep be kind.

There are the flowers which mourning Herakles
Strewed on the tomb of Hylas, columbine,
Its white doves all a-flutter where the breeze
Kissed them too harshly, the small celandine,
That yellow-kirtled chorister of eve,
And lilac lady’s-smock,—but let them bloom alone, and leave

Yon spired hollyhock red-crocketed
To sway its silent chimes, else must the bee,
Its little bellringer, go seek instead
Some other pleasaunce; the anemone
That weeps at daybreak, like a silly girl
Before her love, and hardly lets the butterflies unfurl

Their painted wings beside it,—bid it pine
In pale virginity; the winter snow
Will suit it better than those lips of thine
Whose fires would but scorch it, rather go
And pluck that amorous flower which blooms alone,
Fed by the pander wind with dust of kisses not its own.

The trumpet-mouths of red convolvulus
So dear to maidens, creamy meadow-sweet
Whiter than Juno’s throat and odorous
As all Arabia, hyacinths the feet
Of Huntress Dian would be loth to mar
For any dappled fawn,—pluck these, and those fond flowers which
are

Fairer than what Queen Venus trod upon
Beneath the pines of Ida, eucharis,
That morning star which does not dread the sun,
And budding marjoram which but to kiss
Would sweeten Cytheraea’s lips and make
Adonis jealous,—these for thy head,—and for thy girdle take

Yon curving spray of purple clematis
Whose gorgeous dye outflames the Tyrian King,
And foxgloves with their nodding chalices,
But that one narciss which the startled Spring
Let from her kirtle fall when first she heard
In her own woods the wild tempestuous song of summer’s bird,

Ah! leave it for a subtle memory
Of those sweet tremulous days of rain and sun,
When April laughed between her tears to see
The early primrose with shy footsteps run
From the gnarled oak-tree roots till all the wold,
Spite of its brown and trampled leaves, grew bright with shimmering
gold.

Nay, pluck it too, it is not half so sweet
As thou thyself, my soul’s idolatry!
And when thou art a-wearied at thy feet
Shall oxlips weave their brightest tapestry,
For thee the woodbine shall forget its pride
And veil its tangled whorls, and thou shalt walk on daisies pied.

And I will cut a reed by yonder spring
And make the wood-gods jealous, and old Pan
Wonder what young intruder dares to sing
In these still haunts, where never foot of man
Should tread at evening, lest he chance to spy
The marble limbs of Artemis and all her company.

And I will tell thee why the jacinth wears
Such dread embroidery of dolorous moan,
And why the hapless nightingale forbears
To sing her song at noon, but weeps alone
When the fleet swallow sleeps, and rich men feast,
And why the laurel trembles when she sees the lightening east.

And I will sing how sad Proserpina
Unto a grave and gloomy Lord was wed,
And lure the silver-breasted Helena
Back from the lotus meadows of the dead,
So shalt thou see that awful loveliness
For which two mighty Hosts met fearfully in war’s abyss!

And then I’ll pipe to thee that Grecian tale
How Cynthia loves the lad Endymion,
And hidden in a grey and misty veil
Hies to the cliffs of Latmos once the Sun
Leaps from his ocean bed in fruitless chase
Of those pale flying feet which fade away in his embrace.

And if my flute can breathe sweet melody,
We may behold Her face who long ago
Dwelt among men by the AEgean sea,
And whose sad house with pillaged portico
And friezeless wall and columns toppled down
Looms o’er the ruins of that fair and violet cinctured town.

Spirit of Beauty! tarry still awhile,
They are not dead, thine ancient votaries;
Some few there are to whom thy radiant smile
Is better than a thousand victories,
Though all the nobly slain of Waterloo
Rise up in wrath against them! tarry still, there are a few

Who for thy sake would give their manlihood
And consecrate their being; I at least
Have done so, made thy lips my daily food,
And in thy temples found a goodlier feast
Than this starved age can give me, spite of all
Its new-found creeds so sceptical and so dogmatical.

Here not Cephissos, not Ilissos flows,
The woods of white Colonos are not here,
On our bleak hills the olive never blows,
No simple priest conducts his lowing steer
Up the steep marble way, nor through the town
Do laughing maidens bear to thee the crocus-flowered gown.

Yet tarry! for the boy who loved thee best,
Whose very name should be a memory
To make thee linger, sleeps in silent rest
Beneath the Roman walls, and melody
Still mourns her sweetest lyre; none can play
The lute of Adonais:  with his lips Song passed away.

Nay, when Keats died the Muses still had left
One silver voice to sing his threnody,
But ah! too soon of it we were bereft
When on that riven night and stormy sea
Panthea claimed her singer as her own,
And slew the mouth that praised her; since which time we walk
alone,

Save for that fiery heart, that morning star
Of re-arisen England, whose clear eye
Saw from our tottering throne and waste of war
The grand Greek limbs of young Democracy
Rise mightily like Hesperus and bring
The great Republic! him at least thy love hath taught to sing,

And he hath been with thee at Thessaly,
And seen white Atalanta fleet of foot
In passionless and fierce virginity
Hunting the tusked boar, his honied lute
Hath pierced the cavern of the hollow hill,
And Venus laughs to know one knee will bow before her still.

And he hath kissed the lips of Proserpine,
And sung the Galilaean’s requiem,
That wounded forehead dashed with blood and wine
He hath discrowned, the Ancient Gods in him
Have found their last, most ardent worshipper,
And the new Sign grows grey and dim before its conqueror.

Spirit of Beauty! tarry with us still,
It is not quenched the torch of poesy,
The star that shook above the Eastern hill
Holds unassailed its argent armoury
From all the gathering gloom and fretful fight—
O tarry with us still! for through the long and common night,

Morris, our sweet and simple Chaucer’s child,
Dear heritor of Spenser’s tuneful reed,
With soft and sylvan pipe has oft beguiled
The weary soul of man in troublous need,
And from the far and flowerless fields of ice
Has brought fair flowers to make an earthly paradise.

We know them all, Gudrun the strong men’s bride,
Aslaug and Olafson we know them all,
How giant Grettir fought and Sigurd died,
And what enchantment held the king in thrall
When lonely Brynhild wrestled with the powers
That war against all passion, ah! how oft through summer hours,

Long listless summer hours when the noon
Being enamoured of a damask rose
Forgets to journey westward, till the moon
The pale usurper of its tribute grows
From a thin sickle to a silver shield
And chides its loitering car—how oft, in some cool grassy field

Far from the cricket-ground and noisy eight,
At Bagley, where the rustling bluebells come
Almost before the blackbird finds a mate
And overstay the swallow, and the hum
Of many murmuring bees flits through the leaves,
Have I lain poring on the dreamy tales his fancy weaves,

And through their unreal woes and mimic pain
Wept for myself, and so was purified,
And in their simple mirth grew glad again;
For as I sailed upon that pictured tide
The strength and splendour of the storm was mine
Without the storm’s red ruin, for the singer is divine;

The little laugh of water falling down
Is not so musical, the clammy gold
Close hoarded in the tiny waxen town
Has less of sweetness in it, and the old
Half-withered reeds that waved in Arcady
Touched by his lips break forth again to fresher harmony.

Spirit of Beauty, tarry yet awhile!
Although the cheating merchants of the mart
With iron roads profane our lovely isle,
And break on whirling wheels the limbs of Art,
Ay! though the crowded factories beget
The blindworm Ignorance that slays the soul, O tarry yet!

For One at least there is,—He bears his name
From Dante and the seraph Gabriel,—
Whose double laurels burn with deathless flame
To light thine altar; He too loves thee well,
Who saw old Merlin lured in Vivien’s snare,
And the white feet of angels coming down the golden stair,

Loves thee so well, that all the World for him
A gorgeous-coloured vestiture must wear,
And Sorrow take a purple diadem,
Or else be no more Sorrow, and Despair
Gild its own thorns, and Pain, like Adon, be
Even in anguish beautiful;—such is the empery

Which Painters hold, and such the heritage
This gentle solemn Spirit doth possess,
Being a better mirror of his age
In all his pity, love, and weariness,
Than those who can but copy common things,
And leave the Soul unpainted with its mighty questionings.

But they are few, and all romance has flown,
And men can prophesy about the sun,
And lecture on his arrows—how, alone,
Through a waste void the soulless atoms run,
How from each tree its weeping nymph has fled,
And that no more ’mid English reeds a Naiad shows her head.

Methinks these new Actaeons boast too soon
That they have spied on beauty; what if we
Have analysed the rainbow, robbed the moon
Of her most ancient, chastest mystery,
Shall I, the last Endymion, lose all hope
Because rude eyes peer at my mistress through a telescope!

What profit if this scientific age
Burst through our gates with all its retinue
Of modern miracles!  Can it assuage
One lover’s breaking heart? what can it do
To make one life more beautiful, one day
More godlike in its period? but now the Age of Clay

Returns in horrid cycle, and the earth
Hath borne again a noisy progeny
Of ignorant Titans, whose ungodly birth
Hurls them against the august hierarchy
Which sat upon Olympus; to the Dust
They have appealed, and to that barren arbiter they must

Repair for judgment; let them, if they can,
From Natural Warfare and insensate Chance,
Create the new Ideal rule for man!
Methinks that was not my inheritance;
For I was nurtured otherwise, my soul
Passes from higher heights of life to a more supreme goal.

Lo! while we spake the earth did turn away
Her visage from the God, and Hecate’s boat
Rose silver-laden, till the jealous day
Blew all its torches out:  I did not note
The waning hours, to young Endymions
Time’s palsied fingers count in vain his rosary of suns!

Mark how the yellow iris wearily
Leans back its throat, as though it would be kissed
By its false chamberer, the dragon-fly,
Who, like a blue vein on a girl’s white wrist,
Sleeps on that snowy primrose of the night,
Which ‘gins to flush with crimson shame, and die beneath the light.

Come let us go, against the pallid shield
Of the wan sky the almond blossoms gleam,
The corncrake nested in the unmown field
Answers its mate, across the misty stream
On fitful wing the startled curlews fly,
And in his sedgy bed the lark, for joy that Day is nigh,

Scatters the pearled dew from off the grass,
In tremulous ecstasy to greet the sun,
Who soon in gilded panoply will pass
Forth from yon orange-curtained pavilion
Hung in the burning east:  see, the red rim
O’ertops the expectant hills! it is the God! for love of him

Already the shrill lark is out of sight,
Flooding with waves of song this silent dell,—
Ah! there is something more in that bird’s flight
Than could be tested in a crucible!—
But the air freshens, let us go, why soon
The woodmen will be here; how we have lived this night of June!
Charm Yap Oct 2011
Dapat ba akong maghinala?
Kung noon malambing ka pero ngayon matamlay na?
Madalas magselos kahit wala pang ginagawa?
Pero nag-iba ihip ng hangin, bakit biglang nag-iba?

Dapat ba akong maghinala?
Kung ang mga bagay at gawain na ayaw mo noon
Ang siyang nais mo at pinag-uukulan ngayon ng panahon?

Dapat ba akong maghinala?
Ang mga personal **** bagay noon ay nakakalat lang
Ngayon naman, pinipilit itago kahit sa anong parte ng katawan.

Dapat ba akong maghinala?
Noon nagpapaalam pa kung sasama umalis ang barkada
Ngayon, nagsabi nga pero kung kailan wala ka ng magawa kasi paalis na.

Dapat ba akong maghinala?
Na ni minsan di mo ako pinakilala bilang karelasyon
Basta sinabi ang pangalan, tapos yun na yun.

Dapat ba akong maghinala?
Na ayaw **** ipaalam sa iba  na mayroon ka na
Tinanggal ang mga litrato, para di makita ng iba.

Dapat ba akong maghinala?
Na sa lahat ng nangyari, ikaw ang tama
Sasabihin lang na Mahala kita ..
Maririnig mo lang .. pag nalaman niyang... aalis ka na.

— The End —