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