In a white book, writing was done with tears,
And so we cannot figure out a single line;
Memorized and though about since early youth,
It eludes one’s wit even as one has aged and greyed.

When mind seeks it out, love turns up in the heart,
When heart pursues it, love is in the mind, escaping wit.
Regarded at close range, love dissipates,
Leave it aside and love turns sad and grieves.

When loving is intense, love resists the long wait,
Like a lightning bolt, it streaks across the dark.
The kiss that sears is a kiss given only once,
And when the river swell, only once will flooding rise.

Love that is timid is a river still and currentless,
No falls nor torrents, no tears nor unbearable loss!
But when love has dared, the heart is swept away,
Honor, wealth and wisdom, love will drown them out!

When love is yet a bud, it heeds an elder’s counsel,
Such is not yet love, for it still sees the light.
But when it bursts aflame, what matter the universe —
That’s real love, so lose yourself in it with all your heart.

When you balk at the threat of ill fortune and hazard,
Truly your wit is lit and your mind at dull alert;
Your love is cautious yet, you have not
learned to really love,
For once in love, the grave itself is heaven’s gate.

Love has eyes, love is never blind,
having learned to love, one’s wounds turn into blossoms,
Love is selfish and cannot bear to share,
It’s either you get it all, or get nothing at all.

“Mother has been watching me, so I cannot write..”
Friend, that’s a sign you have yet to win her love.
But when she dares write even at her very grave site,
She has come to love you more than her very life.

All you, young people. who are in quest of love,
Moths who are fluttering around the lamplight,
Once in the grip of love, danger you will seek out,
Ready to love your wings to the very flames of love.

You will never know what it means
to be a father, until you have a son.

The overflowing joy, and the love
that echoes in the ***** of my being
when I looked upon you;
the sense of honor when I’m able to pass
on something good into your hands;
the heartbreak brought by my demons
that keep me from being the man
I want you to see.

The man that stands in front of you
or has left your life, who
has the power over you — for good
and for bad — that will never let go,
is the man you’ll only see.
A privilege, a great burden it is to be that man.

Sense of manhood, self-worth, responsibility
to the world around you — there’s something
that must be passed from me to you.

Yet, to put this in words is hard.
A time when it’s hard to speak from the heart —
that’s where we live. My life is tainted
by thousands negligibility, and the poetry
of my spirit in silenced by the thoughts
and cares of daily affairs.
The song of being a man is silent.
I find myself full of advice but devoid of belief.

I don’t have all the answers to your questions
but I do understand. I see you struggling
and discovering, striving upward
and I see myself reflected in your soul.
So I can say, I have been there.

To walk, run and fall, I’ve learned.
I have had my first love, my first heartbreak.
Sadness and fear, all of them I’ve known.
I have wept tears of sorrows and joy
but knew that God’s hands were on my shoulders.
On moments of darkness, I thought I’d
never see light, but He’s the light.
I want you to be near Him, the Light.
I have felt myself emptied into the
secret of the universe, moments when the
smallest slight threw me into rage.
When I barely had the strength to walk myself,
I have carried others, yet some other times
I left them standing by the side of the road
with their eyes begging.
There are times I feel I’ve done enough
and better as what others expect; yet other times
I feel I am a charlatan, a failure.

I am a man, as you are.

And albeit you’ll walk your own earth
and move through your own clock,
the same sun that rose on me, will rise on you.
The same seasons, the same paths.
We will always be different,
but will always be the same.

These aren’t meant to make you into me,
rather, I’d like you to use them in yours.
To watch you become your own self
is my joy. To be your father is no more like being
the Summa *** Laude in my class, it’s much more.
You allowed me to touch mystery for a moment
You are my love made flesh,
and I want you to pass that love along.

If God were a naughty child,
He would suddenly appear
and say, “Tadah! I’m just here.
Are you alright?”

Or if He were like one of us,
He would say, “Hey dude!
Do you remember me?”

Or, He would perhaps pop out
and mutter, “Yahoo! Is everything okay?

Or say, “Hello! Anybody home?”

Just looking at you
barefoot in my tiled kitchen
floor, makes me so weak.

And when you step out
of the shower after bath
oh, makes me secrete.

You, pointing your toes
when you put on your stockings
makes me lick my lips.

Oh, I love your feet.
And I love your legs too and
Oh, I love your feet.

My choice as a young lass
is very essential; it will bring
permanent changes in my life.

And that’s the thought I didn’t
come to think of when I was 16.
My choices haunted me
for the rest of my existence.

I just hope to consign to oblivion
your tiled floors and iron hands
the leather belts and broken glasses
so as my bruised skin and scarred wrists.

All that’s become black and blue.

Because that’s what I want,
to tell my daughter to be careful
and not to be that girl in my own story.

Young people,
sit restless and anxious,
wandering nervously,
sweats all over,
armpits, foreheads, shoulders
people late for this, for that,
to there, for them, who or her or him,
tapping desks, thumping feet
staring on their cell phones
burning their behind against the chair’s friction
making money with their hands on their chin
Hot tea turned cold
vacant chairs awaiting
empty stares and swell sighs
at the unwavering Exit sign.
Sometimes feeling the grief of waiting
and hearing dripping anticipation.
Never gives up.
Ten years of waiting
in the same little tea house
serving the same drinks to
different people; for ten year
finding — and on a Sunday evening
a boy asks for my name.

At night I pretend
my pillow is your chest, it
helps me fall asleep.

I saw old friend Bogart awhile ago
in pieces and fragments
of old, preserved bones
I’ve tried to put him back together
by assembling him, and I did
but there’s so many pieces missing.
His skull is gone, his hyoid and clavicle
his humerus and ulna on the right side of his arms
and even his phalanges.
He has no coccyx on his pelvis and
on his right leg, no tibia and fibula,
on his knee, there’s no patella
yet there’s some pieces of tarsals on his feet.
Incomplete and useless,eh?
Though old, he’s still beautiful,
a perfect masterpiece of the Heavens,
the strength of his bones measure eons
and will you believe me if I say
that because of him, my mom graduated?
He’s been responsible for the success
of students who became doctors and biologists
as old as his bones are,
were the knowledge imparted to the children
of many generations.
Bogart is amazing, a (non)living teacher
that tells me, that there’s beauty
and essence  in fragments of something that
once was complete and that one who
will always remain alive in the lives of many
and now, in mine too.

When I was little I said to myself that I wanted to be a teacher when I grow up. I remember how I used to play the teacher role and the pupil at the same time. Funny wasn’t it? Crazy. It’s just because I have no playmates then. I’m not an only child but my siblings were away from me. I never wanted to go out and play with other kids like me. I just wanted to be at home with my grandmother. I knew then that being there with her was the safest place. But I wasn’t a lonely kid. I always laugh, I sing, I dance, I wasn’t shy at all. I’m a very bright kid. Well, I know for sure, it’s because I am raised by a very bright woman too - my grandmother.

But there were those times when we’re always at the hospital. I saw her lying on the hospital bed and there were things attached to her. I was so clueless. And then there I saw some men and women dressed in white holding records, medicines with stethoscopes around their neck and some tiaras on their head (well, that’s what I thought then). I’ve always watched them every time they go to our room and check on my lola. They always smile at her. They’re like angels. I thought that they loved her very much because they have really taken care of her.

And so, in that moment I had a change of path. I thought, I don’t want to be a teacher anymore and that what I really want is to become a doctor. And yes! Without a doubt, it’s because of her. I know someday, I will be and I will take good care of her too like the angels in the hospital.

i. I’d tell them of the moment you spoke about your favorite cartoon characters, and the way your face flashed when you described them to me. How innocent that brilliance was and how guileless your mannerisms were. And I’d wish they understand why I fell in love with the feeling of your innocent enthusiasm about some nonsense cartoons no one else cared about.

ii. I’d show them all your worries and troubles stacked on top of one another in a carelessly balanced house made of playing cards. And while they were appraising these I’d point out how selfless you are. How your troubles were never centered around your own joy. And I’d wish they see that the house of cards I showed them is a reflection of the person you are. The kind of person who’d knock those cards down if they had your name on them instead.

iii. I’d paint them a picture of your mind as I see it. Full of intricate ambitions, contradictory emotions, unreasonable doubts and absent-minded memories. I’d use black and blue pen to dot your journey here. And bright red to show them the great places you are destined to go. And I’d wish they stand back and appreciate the amalgam of colors instead of questioning why. There isn’t a single spot on the canvas I seem to fully understand despite being the artist.

iv. I’d take them on a walk to the place we first met. I’d make sure it was a sunny day first, just like that one. I’d tell them I didn’t think much of you at all when I first met you. I’d make them sit in that same spot, and feel the same way we felt as indifferent strangers. And I’d wish they understand that despite the seeming insignificance of that moment, I look back and am convinced I see a halo of light above that place and the beguiling simplicity of that day.  

v. I’d tell them how tightly you hugged me when I was sad. How softly you touched my arm when you assured me that nothing was wrong. How quietly you showed me an overflowing friendship that’s waiting to combust  And I’d wish they understand that it’s not just how wonderful it was breathing in the smell of your old jacket. It’s how wonderful it felt, feeling the weighty presence of a thousand words unspoken.

vi. I’d warn them before they meet you, this is what I’d say: “It’s easy to make that boy laugh, but it’s hard to win him over. His love is not on display, his mind has been sent to the dry cleaners. His laugh has been blocked with by caution and logic. But don’t ever say you don’t understand that he’s a wonderful human being”, I’d hope they understand your appearance is all pretense.

vii. And if someone asked me why I love you, this is what I’d say: It is hard for me to imagine going through the rest of this life and meeting another singular human being like you.

He is there to spill tears of happiness when his eyes fall upon his infant daughter. He is there with arms to catch her when she takes her first steps or stumbles. He is there to teach her at the youngest age, even though she might not understand half of it. He is there to help her color inside the lines, make her grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup, and tie her shoes. He is there to hug her and kiss her on her first days of school, and to walk her in if need be. He is there to teach her and tease her and laugh with her. He is always there to embarrass her, but that’s part of life. He is there to tell her to go ask her mother, when her mother told her to ask him. He is there to lecture her, prepare her for the monster called high school. He is there to put up with her teenage moods and her co-ed relationships. He is there to approve, disapprove, accept and forgive. He is there to give her a big bundle of flowers when she graduates, to smile when her name is called and feel proud. He is there to embrace her and kiss her before she goes to live and learn a thousand miles away. He is there to see her become a workingwoman, to walk her down the aisle (or not, if her independence and stubbornness prevail after all). He is there to watch her grow as the lines on his face grow. He is there to welcome her home, always, and let her hug him and smell the smell she remembers from childhood, the warm, protecting, comforting smell of dad. But most of all, he is always there to love her. And she is always there to love him back.

Maybe instead of planes
we could exist in a world
with submarines in the sky.
Maybe black could be white,
maybe everything could be topsy turvy,
maybe we’d fall in love.

Let’s go to the beach and
make sandcastles,
bury each other and
leave our footsteps on
the wet sand
pick up pebbles and shells
by the seashore
like we did when we we’re young
let’s swim in the vast waters
carry me like a newly wed bride,
lift me into the air
and swing me to the sea
join me into the deep
and together fathom what we have in bliss

let’s go treasure hunting
at the bottom of the deep blue
together let’s find Titanic’s debris
and reminisce Rose and Jack’s
tragic love story

let’s swim deeper, s
                                 w
                                      i
                                         m,
                                              s
                                                 w
                                                     i
                                                       m, deeper
                                              
                                                        let’s get lost and find ours.

I wish you’re a robot,
I would open you up,
cross some wires, blue to red
flip some switches,
push some buttons,
tighten some screws,
until you didn’t act so automated
until you loved me.

Your laughter is my
money and I’m buying the
best days of my life.

1** special bond, 2 in love
2 souls entwined, 2 blazing hearts
2 poles,6 months to attract
3 sweet words, 2 lips waiting
slightly opened, patiently waiting
3 powerful arguments, 6 minutes to say
took him long to tell them straight
4 strong arms, 2 bodies embracing
never want to lose grip
3 daughters, 10 years, a decade —
proves it right; it takes only two to fill
one orbital — both opposite,
one home.

i. My mother and father always had a fight. They threw words and plates and vases and cups at each other. They shouted and screamed at the top of their lungs. I was there hiding at the corner under the dining table. I covered by ears with my hands but the noise managed to penetrate. It was like a hundred guns being fired all at once, a bazooka or a bomb. It felt like World War. Their World War. Our World War.
ii. After fights I go lock myself into my room. Put my headphones on and listen to ******* songs at full volume. The music pounded and filled my ears overwhelming me. And sometimes I play vinyl records and CDs so loud my mom would knock so hard at my door and tell me to stop. But I didn’t. It was my only friend. It made me happy. It made me run away to some places I didn’t know even existed - my hiding place.
iii. I grew up with the war. It’s my middle name. In my vocabulary N stands for Normal. It is to me. I woke up every day in the same cycle. Very tiring and numbing. Growing old with the same situation. I got used to it.
iv. Then one day, I met Silence. He made life a whole lot easier for me. He made me oblivious of the war, of the world. And sometimes I just stare and I don’t mind at all. I was just numb and calm and unbelievably happy even if it meant not hearing anything anymore.
v. Silence became my best friend.

You are so afraid of getting old
having wrinkles, having flaws,
weakening muscles, fading eyesight,
clouding memory, so like the
lady witches on fairy tales
you wish to be forever young.

But never did you realised
the beauty of old age.

You were far too busy for simply
being present and savouring the moment.
You were young and life rushed by you.
Your mind was so busy, constantly racing
and striving for success, where
every moment seemed filled with goals,
of places to go and people to see.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Now you’re old, having all the things
you’re so afraid of, but is more present
and ever mindful, finding pleasure
in the smallest things:

Such a rewarding experience
is putting on your pajamas at night
and the ease and relaxation that accompanied
this simple act of changing clothes.

You wake up with complete awareness
of the aches and pains, yet happy
that you are alive and have lived
a full life that your physical body now
reminds you of.

You start your day by the simple task
of brushing your teeth, and you realize,
how lucky you are to have those teeth and
you’re excited to take care of them,
they have value to you that you neglected
when you were young.

You see now how your work is
of so much benefit to so many.
To support the ones you love, and
to help others who are in need, is a
tremendous blessing.
You realise how wonderful
that you’re able to work.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

So, do your feet hurt? Yes,
but you’re grateful you can walk.
Do your neck and shoulders ache?
Sure, but you’re thankful
you can sit upright and feed yourself.
Do you often feel back pain?
Certainly, but it’s still very strong
and can carry a great deal.

And for all of these things,
all of these aches and pains,
all the wrinkles, all the imperfections
you see all the joy and happiness.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Tomorrow,
you will be older still,
and this body will further decay.
But rather than struggle against this,
welcome your own impermanence.
It’s a wonderful life we all share,
and it’s a blessing to grow old!


© Diana (2:43 am, May 7, 2014)

I love your eyes, your nose, your mouth
the stubble on your face
and that you’re too lazy to shave

I like the way you call my name,
how big your hands are
that mine was dwarfed by yours.

I love your scent, the way you hug,
how it feels so cozy and
how it isn’t awkward.
I love how you walk me to our house,
the way our eyes meet in a crowd
and you smile and I know that smile is just for me.

I love the way you text me when I’m sick
to make sure I’m okay, the way
I can tell you almost anything.

I love the way you asked me if I was okay
after you saw me crying and I love
how you let me vent to you.
But I hate how we’re both shy.
Please, give me a sign
or tell me at least, be brave
because I know we both feel the same.

Baby, no cancer’s
getting the best of you. We’ll
beat it together.

We are all kids at heart,
always waiting
for the truck of sweetness
and loving it even when it's cold.

This silence -
deafening.
I can hear
the beating
of my own heart;
it pounds loud
heavy and clear,
ripping my eardrums.
I can almost
taste scarlet juices
running down my ears
to my cheeks
to my mouth
to my being.

Now,
I am deaf.

I have always felt compassion and empathy for the kids I see at school walking alone, eating alone, for the ones that sit in the back of the room while everyone bullies them. I did not take the time to really think about the extent of their pain. Then, one day I thought, what if I did take a moment out of my time to simply say hello to someone without a friend or stop and chat with someone sitting by herself? And I did. It felt good to brighten up someone else’s day, someone else’s life. How did I know I did? Because I remembered the day a simple kind hello changed my life forever.

It is about you up in the woods
And me by the river.
It is however I imagine it
And dream it to be.
The raspy voiced man
And the mouse-girl.
two artists, one in love—
Solely imagined.
Brazen-grey eyes, wide
Deep hazel ones, one slow;
Long killing perfect smile,
One falling and snagging.
Ashen, both.
Laughing, both.
Still: in love, one.

Darling, never mind
how long, the hours, or days
even months, to take
nor count the kilometers
the miles — figures and numbers.

Darling, they don’t matter
I’d fly or sail, walk and even run
just to be where you are.

Your absence
I can taste
whenever I wake
up;
my lips chapped
and bleeding.

Dear world, I like the
idea that somewhere, you
are hiding my love.

I imagine that
we’re doing the same mundane
things at the same time,

waiting as the time
counts down until the day that
we finally meet.

When I see your smile,
and I know it’s not for me,
that’s when I’ll miss you.

Sometimes, just knowing
that he exists in the world is enough.
Other times, it just reminds me
of how close he is yet so far.
Most of the time, it doesn’t matter
because I love him all the same.

Not here, in voice
or sight — not present.
Away, distant
your words are foreign.

Apart from this,
the time we’ve spent
facing opposite directions —
you’re still here.

In my eyes, when I wake up
and when I sleep,
the taste in my mouth
and the music in my ears,
the sun on my face
and the breeze I walk through.

You’re in my movements
and my thoughts, my strongest emotions.
You are satisfaction and longing.
You are what I love,
and what I can’t have.

Funny how Wendy’s
feels like a five-star resto
when I am with you.

It came to some point
where I no longer wait
even for a simple hi or hello

i don't want to break my own heart
from all the disappointments
so I stopped all the expectations
thinking maybe you'll eventually notice
i'm starting not to care

But I don't know why I'm stuck
don't know why I don't want to move on
I want to tell myself it's okay
every **** time you choose to ignore
and every time you (unknowingly) made me feel
that in your world, I never exist.