heavens wailing

the heavens its mind not made
could not but cry
after a scuttle of tear drops
from forebearing clouded eyes
a shower of pebbled rain
tip-topped
off the rooftop glide
at my window side
to drizzle down the asphalt road

a scurry from tempest tries
totters
as my fx ride headed
to race against

the heavens wail
tempered laments clean
dregs
off
lives
roads
as i
sped
away

crac (8-25-05; 12-03-05)

i'll be gone

i'll be gone and away
as if it really matters
really... truly...
as though someone cares
i'll disappear for a while
it is no wonder
honestly
and be back
before september ends

i'll be sleeping
if tis something new
away from usual schools
there they treat 'em same
as if same equates fairly
there minds
discriminate
and be snoring
before clouds bend

in my dreaming
in my dreaming
i'll be gone
in my dreaming
so someone "wake me up
before september ends"

...eighty

more or less nine hundred pages of jurado to browse through
and thousands of civil code provisions to know by heart before i can move on to the next
thirty-five days from today
four subjects to cram
and on the thirty-sixth, two subject will meet face to face
from eigth a.m. to noon and two p.m to five

then the week after that and the week


after that
up to the fourth



i have less than twenty-four hours of cellphone battery life despite having, in my belief, fully charged iti am twenty-five turning a year
older come march the first of next year
one hundred fourteen first degree contacts in friendster
three brothers and two sisters
three dogs and three cats

a parrot fish




one hundred pesos less each month as i
fall
below
the accepted two thousand minimum

golda's roughly ten minutes online status in y.m.

and my seven pictures
taken in a span of seven days back
luring
myself away and to



my review.


eighty


hyphens
fifteen circles

one tivoli scenic view

five vases


three.



-----o-----o-----o-----o-----o-----o-----o-----o-----o-----o-----o-----o-----o-----o-----o-----

truly

writing letters with gibran at 1.05

Writing letters with Gibran at 1:05am

Tis the hardship of learning to speak the right words
When the feeling beckons you to follow.
And the ways it breaks the mind to bellow
The sheaves of worry
To thresh you to make you naked
And sift you free from your hardened cover,
To grind you
And knead you to your pliancy.

To yield when its wings surround you
Though hidden among its pinions is a test to wound you,
To believe when it speaks
Of laughter and of tears
Though its voice may shatter your dreams
Like the strong wind withering the bloom.
It tenders you to its sacred fire
That you may be cleansed worthy of its feast.

Tis this privation that you may know the secrets of your heart
And in that knowledge you may partake
As a fragment of love.

That to choose to bare in the vulnerability of nakedness
And to pass out of it’s threshing floor,
That into the wearisome world you may laugh
And laugh all of your laughter,
And you may weep
And weep all of your tears.
To think not to direct its course
For with your worth, it directs yours.

That to desire to fulfill itself in you
And melt like the pouring rain that sings its tireless melody
To the starless night,
And know the pain of too much tenderness
To bleed willingly and joyfully
Of your own understanding however wounding,
And blend with the dawning in the sky
To accept what may freedom to fall.

That in waking, like a bird that learns to fly
When the sky beckons, to follow however high,
That in resting a running brook to flow
In endless fervor to meditate its ecstasy of flowing,
That in returning home with gratitude like the sun
Taking its retirement with a prayer in its heart
And a closing song of praise in its lips,
That it knows.
It is
The fondness in this heart
This pen would release
Its faculty on this manuscript.
The paper piece with its clasping face,
Built to soak up the curving shades
Of the masterpiece
Through unsettled glimpses
Of a troubled mind.
Of regrets, apologies,
Of confirmations
And
Affirmations.
As it
Combines profusely with the ink
Across the vastness of time and space,
Generously giving
And accepting
Of a profundity
Of banality

That word after word debilitate
The prudence of the mind
To decide
What this feeling is
After all.

pamamaalam iii

III.
Ewan ko ba
Kung bakit nagkaganyan
Di malaman ang syang dahilan
Bakit gan’to
Ang pakiwari sa mundo
Di mahintay ang pagsilang mo
Sa mukha ng tadhana
Sa halik ng mga tala
Sa pag-ihip ng minsang hangin
Sa mukha mo’y haplos ang ‘sang paghimbing

Hanggang sa’n ba
Maaabot ang saya
Di mabuhat ang inangking dala
Bakit gan’to
Tila di mabuo
Ang pagluha ng sang ‘bigong paglayo
Sa bati ng umaga
Sa yakap ng mga ulap
Sa pagpaalam ng isang gabi
Hinihintay ang minsang paghikbi

Sa mukha ng tadhana
Sa halik ng mga tala
Sa pag-ihip ng minsang hangin
Sa labi mo’y taglay ang isang himig
Sa paglayag ng buhay ko
Inaalaala ang mga taong
Lumipas na sa kapit ng hawak ko
Daladala ang huling pamamaalam ng luha mo
Sa paglisan ng buhay ko
Sa pagbukas ng buhay sa mundo
Ewan ko ba kung bakit ganito

baclayon

pamamaalam ii

Pamamaalam

II.
Sa mga sandaling ito…
Luha ba’y iwawaksi sa init ng umaga
Ang lukot ng mukha’y itatago sa banaag ng araw
Ang lungkot ipapawi ng dala ng bukas
Upang ang pinagsamaha’y ilimot sa mumunting ala-ala
At iyan nga’y nariyan…
Naisantabi para muling pausbungin
Naitago para muling halungkatin
Naalaga’t naaruga nang muling mahikayat
Sa muling pagkikita’y maihanda’t maipakita
At sa mga sandaling iyon…
Tanging hinihintay na lang ang paalam
Mismong luha’y iwaksi upang ipalit ang ngiti
At lukot ng mukha’y itago’t ihandog ang pag-asa ng saya
Lungkot mapawi nang ang hiwalay ay ligaya
Na tunay na may bukas upang ang pagtagpo’y masilayan
Sa mga sandali…
Inaala-ala’t hinihintay na lang…

pamamaalam

Pamamaalam

I.
Minsan sa isang iglap iyo nang matuklasan
Sa ngayo’y narito at sa bukas ay wala na
Di kaya naisip ang mga mumunting bagay
Na tila higanteng bumibigat ng iyong himlay

At sa nayon ng nakaraan tatanawin
Baga ang mga ibong minsa’y sumipol
At ang gabing taglay ang hinain ng buwan
Sa mga damdaming di nilimot ang dinaanan

Iyon nga’y palipas na ang kandila
Unting sinisisi ang panahon na sana’y
Ang kahapon – kailan ay di na lumipas pa
Dahil sa bukas ang apoy ay puksa na
At hihintay ng araw upang muling bumangon

losing the natural balance of dreams

Losing the natural balance of dreams

On the very old decrepit wooden bench,
Situated beside where two tables and intimates
Commence their day after day academic existence,
You are sitting with that certain angelic poise,
Gliding through the yellowed chapters of a natural balance
In illumination.
Akin to the concealing clouds, underneath
Your immeasurable propensity to be esteemed,
You waft them clear,
Unbelievably with ease.
This intense intimacy overcasts
The man you frequently confer
With words,
Words that can settle any ecstasy of the heart,
As I am peeled to gradually confess
An intention of reimbursing
My unreciprocated fondness.
The truth that life denies some love to be realized,
The flurrying immensity of this
Tambayan uproar
Drowns me to keep my sadness
From overflowing;
Watching you,
Day after day across two-table measures,
Breeze through the yellowed chapters of some college book,
And with your eyes
Focused on the semblance I assume to be –
But the possibility of it all is adrift,
As this man’s existence steals away
My thoughtless, clouded dreams.

bucolic bliss

Molds’ Consummation

Mold buds
Flourish along some
Unintended surfaces
Of a loaf of bread –
Left
From the time they
Were intentionally rejected
To that moment when
The dampness of the air
Drowned them with nourishment.
Flourishing,
Mold buds
Consume along
The intended surfaces
With a slow chafing satisfaction,
With a rhythmic stabbing pleasure,With not even a concept of population control.

... Remembering the afternoons of a forgotten past

Walk along the dark corners of the past
A glimpse of answers smeared with the agony of the rain
A too long fixation with the perfect and the damned
To leave with an open door
The pieces of the afternoon... link to bring the evening

The sky brings no room for the moon and the stars tonight
Only a serenade of tears from the purple clouds
The forever frozen percepts within the attic-mind
To flick an eye, to twitch a smile
These pieces would live on to see the dawning
And reminisce the days to an eternal...