A Couple in the ICU

I'm serenaded by the twinkling of your eyes – they move with respect to a certain beat. No need for accompaniment as your eyes need only to profess their sadness. However, they sing with jubilation as our fingers get lost in a tangle. I wish it were for ever the case but the grip is lost and the song comes to an end.

Home at Last

An outburst—hurrah! Home at last!
Wayfarers they sup at the colonel's;
Believing their fates are entwined
To another's. What mischief is borne

By conceit!

Selective disdain – what profit or gain
Is reaped from false modesty's fruits.
Suppose that I fail, suppose on a Wednesday:
I trip to my death wearing my bowling shoes.

To hell with the rest! To hell
With the martyrs! They sing in tones
All broken and barren! An outburst–
Hallelujah, the time it is come
Where angels will sleep with devils
And leave them asleep in the morning.

Afloat at the stars; inhaling, exhaling,
Their chests rising up, rising down.
Upon their awakening, an outburst
Is due and hell will escape from their mouths.

In the Haze

Wrought in the haze—

a thought:

One wonders

the deceit of man,

the authenticity of man;

Usually, at noon,

the doves fly by

my apartment window

seeking refuge from the rain,

or are they?

One ought to know

what lies beneath the radar;

What, the murderer?

What, the frivolous?

What, Atlantis?

Or the giant atop the sky?

Amid the fantasy—

a hideous reality

hides in plain sight

usually at noon.

In Seizing the Day

Wrinkles all over
the back of your neck;
the mark of a soldier
of an underwater shipwreck.

Forgotten, forlorn;
your intricate eyes
morph into two stones
of great size.

To wander alone,
to wander without
the walls of the home—
the closed mouth.

An ebony gaze
submits you to where?
Amid the white haze
a very bright flare.

What is the matter
with not wanting to
wander alone
like I ought to?

When lightnings and thunders
lose their flair;
when vagabond monsters
settle somewhere.

The blossoms astounding
multiply sevenfold
and your understanding—
your mind will unfold

Into the fray
or rather without it;
in seizing the day
we wander without it.

Juan Niyebe

Oh how we dream of snow
Of rain that had just hardened scantly
Of colder winds than sunlight scorching—

Snowflakes fall on a plywood shanty
Nubs of ice melt tomorrow afternoon
On the metal sheets which are roofs
Why do we dream of winter ear muffs?

Is it that we are tired of the rain?
When snow that falls is precipitation
When hail is ten times less participative
When pounds of snow that melt will flood the streets?

Is it that we envy the Western joys of it?
Or is it that we are desperate?

Where To?

To madness you drive me
but I take the wheel.
I make a blunt U-turn,
suggest that I steer
us into separation;
finally alone—
just you and you only
and me and me alone.
You tell me to drop you
off at some stop.
I concur silently

Farewell

The Equation

What is the equation
to an inkling, a memory
of a love once burning?

Is it nostalgia and the
countenance of a
woodland sprite?

Is it typewriters
and the letters
that are now ash?

Is it the sun but
without
a single drop of rain?

Is it twice the number
of mosquitoes
to the number of deaths?

Is it sadness
without the tears
or madness
without the capability?

Is it all of this,
adding whatever
insult to injury?

Tell me, love.

What is the equation
to a life worth enduring—
or is it indefinite after all?

Amnesia

Often songbirds forget how to sing.
This is when the Clouds' patience wears thin.
Oh my—
Can you imagine a world without song?
A life of capricious vexation?
O see me
Stand on a rock in the middle of rainbows!

Lovers sorrow at difficulty.
Easy, easy.
O how hindered the waves of the sea!
Sometimes
Generals rule over mountains of corpses.
They deafen themselves with the hooves of their horses.
You'll come by.
Eventually everything will die, oh!

A Love More Than Love

What arises from the dust 
when two people collide 
purely unintentionally 
is a love so tangible, 
insomuch that methinks 
that it must have been more 
than that, yet what could that be? 
What moves to love similarly? 
What thing like love explores 
the dark depths, the strange things? 
What feeling unfathomable 
in unknown a degree 
overpowers, sets aside 
that strength which love has?

The Voyager

As the navigator of the seas—
who leadeth voyages 
into lands yet untouched—
I goeth yonder into the fray 
in search of the light of day, 
wherein the light is thee.

Stop

Stop 

Look at the      stars! 
Revel           at the stars!

Wonder not, doubt    not 
Believe that stars are 
Believe      what is is 
Wonder not, and      look 

Look at the 
stars! 

Look at what    is 
Believe what is is 

In time, all shall be shown 
unto the world—
everything will be known. 
If we only look at what is. 
If we only believe what is. 
If we only wonder not. 
If we only doubt not: 
all shall be shown 
all shall be known.

Sonnet 4: Ode to the Motherland

Coconut trees and dying children;
Lotto tickets, the Black Nazarene;
Carabaos, tarsiers, stolen car plates;
Governors and low employment rates;

Underground rivers, frogs for dinner;
Islamic states and discounted fares;
Illegal logging, drug syndicates;
Dengue and girls that are hard to get;

Budget strippers and democracy;
No smoking laws, workers overseas;
Cringeworthy songs, filmography gold;
Expired goods at low prices sold;

Beaches, corruption and false heroes;
The unsung truths of Filipinos.

Desire

A flower blooms too late
the year fears cold winters
blizzards running rampant
like wildfire eats dry forests
the flower blooms but very soon
the fearful winter winds
arriving without notice
halts the flower's further growth

100th Post: Free

Freer than before;
My breaths escaping 
A world adorned 
By pillars unseen.

Lightning striking 
The young earth;
My breaths escaping 
The cruelly absurd.

The puritan lovebird 
Flies freer than 
She once did—
She flies wanton.

Loving

What is the beauty in loving? In loving we are hurt though it is stressed that in loving we are healed. What is the beauty in loving?

To love is to risk one's inner self. Love for the sole purpose of loving and not to please another. Others love to make another happy; they forget to make themselves as so. Others love for the sake of others, then that love is in vain and forced.

Love for the sole purpose of loving; in it one discovers the true essence of loving. To love is not to create anything abstract or concrete. To love is to act and nothing comes out of this action. What then is the beauty of loving?

To love is not to care or say, to express genuine concern, nor  are they connected in any way to loving. To love is neither to express mutual feeling for this is responding and not loving. To love is to love, and nothing more or less. To love is to love, no need for more words.

What then is the beauty in loving?

SONNET 3: Night's Coming

Come eve, frustrated winds doth blow 
leaves glide upon her tree's sorrow 
painted with a stroke of starlight 
they swim in the dark of the night 

A creature or two must witness 
he the beauty of it digest 
or altogether with a might 
turn away from its budding light 

Come eve howls slashing pierce the wind 
racing about the hills confined 
lambs afraid run with a might 
stepping on leaves with hooves a light 

Come eve exists no tomorrow 
come eve, dang'rous paths are narrow

Antonio's Mess

Sifting thru furniture, 
to and fro 
behind the TV set 
under Dad's couch 
racing like a wanted 
criminal chased by police 
in the unfortunate form 
of a rubber slipper 
from the sofa under - 

Eject, landing on the nightstand 
scurried to its bottom 
sprinted to the kitchen sink 
sirens blaring/mother screaming 
flinching, headed toward 
the dining table's leg 
wheels a`rolling 

SPLAT! 

You have the right
 to remain silent, 

Forensics arrive 
to sweep away 
the cockroachy mess

Yesterday

Untouched, your lips by mine
you had been conservative
your eyes that sway divine
morals that comprised me

What comfort in your demise,
I cherish I hold I treasure
your hand, a touch of ice
your suave of no measure

Unscathed your elegance
your body is a pasture
and in the depths of days before
you'll find in them a dead romance

Silence

Just a walk, she told 

I followed, needless 

but needing her smile, most of all. 

A few steps into 

unwanted silence, 

we trod on wet stones 

and did not look back 

Silence lingered 

as if for ever it would 

until later we go home 

A few words she had 

muttered, but I preferred 

silence. She spoke but 

I didn't want to hear 

her silence. 

I followed only for

her smile, most of all.

The Other Crime

Long ago, in the Grecian farming isles of Paramythia, untouched by man, a crane by the name of Ptetorus who works as a forager was summoned by his master. His master claims that there had been a significant decrease in their hourly yield and that he intends to prolong the working hours of workers in his employ. Ptetorus, always industrious and optimistic, unlike most of the work-force, saw this as a challenge that would only make him better at what he does best. Ptetorus was quite popular among Paramythia because he was very outgoing. His consistent hard work had brought him great wealth, which he claims he keeps safe in a wooden basket. Because he needed to work longer hours, he needed someone to watch over his house during the first few hours of the night that he would be working. The residents of the farming isles of Paramythia feared the night because the pirates of the East who go sailing at these apparent months stop by their isles for refuge. No sooner than later, one of his friends came to his door. Apation, a snake, who had only an eye due to an accident, offered to vouch for him at no cost. Ptetorus thanked him and gave Apation the key to his home. He told him to help himself with food and drink whenever he was hungry or thirsty. Apation thanked him as well. Ptetorus would not worry about Apation deceiving him because he had never known him to be that crooked an animal. Apation would begin later in the night. 

Ptetorus walked north of his gate to work and passed by Apation who would watch over his home. The master was angrier than before. Though Ptetorus could see that the work-force was working harder than ever, his master claimed that the decrease had become worse. Thus Ptetorus had to work more hours for the reason that some animals had already quit. However, relief would come when he goes home to a well-lit house, finding Apation enjoying good literature. Three days had passed and Ptetorus had grown weary. Labouring in the gardens had never been this difficult before. His optimism almost left him if it were not for his kind friend Apation always guaranteeing the safety of his home. The next morning, the tax collector knocked at his door. Ptetorus being confident that he had his savings in his wooden basket, he took it out only to find to his surprise that it was empty. He then informs the tax collector that he cannot pay taxes that day. The tax collector then told Ptetorus that he has until tomorrow to pay for them or else he would be given hard labour. Later that evening he flies north of his gate to work, not passing by Apation. His suspicions only began arising then. Again, to his surprise, his workplace had closed without him knowing and his master walked out to meet him, telling him that to their misfortune, much of the fruit were gone and most likely stolen by pirates. Ptetorus was very distraught and had no choice but to face hard labour until he could find himself a steady job. He went to Apation's house but he had only been informed that he was absent. 

 One day, while working for his unpaid taxes, Ptetorus was asked by an enforcer to mentor a neophyte for his own load of hard labour. It was Apation, sent to work his hard labour to pay for the fruits he had allegedly cut down in the gardens where Ptetorus had laboured.

Funeraria

Nanghamon nang walang

espada sa kamay,

ikinamatay ko dili ang espada

ng kaaway,

sapagkat naunahan ng aking kamao

ang kamalayang dati'y 

pinagmamalaki ko.

Hagulgol nang hagulgol

sa open casket ang itinawag.

Mga anak ko.

Mga anak ng mga anak ko:

huwag na huwag

ninyong pag-iiyakan

ang namatay na para sa wala.

Finding Love

Deprived of love, one
must seek love with true intent,
and one would find love.

Chloe

A glimpse, not too long.
Longer than enough is for
naught.
A glimpse, not too short;
I want to bask in your light.

A name is a triumph, any
thing more after a second,
or three,
is naught but pure luck.
A smile—joie de vivre!
At least for today.

How We Came To Be

How we came to be—
such a wonder
such a mystery
I desire to unfold.

We were leaflets afloat
in a puddle over
earthen depression
soon to dry up,
soon to wither.

We were blown
away by the same wind,
meeting new
junctions far
from each other;
how I longed for
your clarion smile.

We wither in peace
but I rise a new tree,
and so have you
over the course
of days I loved true.

In constant hopes of getting to you...

How is it that you resent me? All my efforts of even only getting to you and yet you resent me. Well, there was one time where you hadn't. Maybe my timing is bad? Maybe I lack the wordplay? What should I have? What do I lack?

What shouldn't I lack?

I am well aware that you are an intelligent human being, having discovered recently that you have proven to have the capacity to think greatly. I am better aware that I do not know you well enough. I am sorry. I do not have the resources to get that physically close to you. I am a simple man—if I see that I can't, I know that I can't.

You might or you might not see it, but you are stellar. You are physically a grandeur. I can throw all these big words on the table but I will contain myself for the comfort of your pristine mind. I am nowhere near your rays but your shine casts a shadow on my frail soul. I am nowhere near being your friend, even. I envy those who are in the vicinity of your circle of padres. They get to be in the presence of a stellar woman such as you. I envy how they can feel your words, how they can respond to your wanting, how they can concoct words into something you might respond to. I envy them for they are worthy of your love.

I admit—my efforts are scant. I act sluggardly. I claim that these lags are done with purpose, that this is wisdom for me to postpone any effort I should make in getting to you. My peers see that I am wise in being laggard but in all honesty I had just been claiming what defeat I had already won since the day I first saw you.
 

Your countenance is stellar; I need not say more. My countenance, on the lesser hand, is unworthy of your love. My countenance is unworthy of your concern. When the day comes that this shall happen—that you love me, I swear that I will concoct words into something that you will respond to,

"Free me from this dream"

Tired Eyes

Your tired eyes
will be the death
of me

Your semblance
haunts every
cell in me

In light of days
that had come
and gone

Your tired eyes
will be the death
of me

Timbang ng Usok

Sa kabilang-buhay, nagtipun-tipon muli ang mga yumaong pangulo ng Pilipinas. Ito na ang pangatlong pulong nila na kasama si Marcos. Kikilalanin na nila si Corazon Cojuangco-Aquino sa kaniyang pagpasok sa Presidents’ Council—Philippines Faction. Sa isang dulo ng mahaba-habang talahanayan, nakaupo si Quezon sa isang malaking, mukhang-komportableng silya, habang sa kabila’y si Aguinaldo, nakatayo sa likod niya’y si Heneral Luna. Magkakatabi naman sina Quirino, Garcia, at Macapagal na nagtatawanan lagi bago magsimula ang pulong.

“Alam mo, Carlos, hindi ko talaga inakalang tatagal `yung Alto,” sabay halakhak ni Quirino.

“Ganyan na talaga—pero tama ka, nag-iiba na nga talaga ang mga Pilipino ngayon,” batid ni Macapagal. Ipinagpatuloy niyang umaalikik,

“Kanina lang may naraanan ako doon malapit sa bukana, tinatanong niya sa`kin kung bakit raw parang ang tagal mamatay ng anak ko,” sabay tawa ng dalawa.

Medyo malapit sa panig ni Aguinaldo sina Laurel at Osmeña. Si Roxas at Magsaysay naman ay kausap ni Marcos ukol sa kanilang naging mga relasyong pulitikal sa mga Amerikano noon. Umalingawngaw ang katok ng malyete ni Quezon. Bumukas ang pinto ng pulunga’t may pumasok na babaeng nakasalamin na may suot na pulang blazer at pulang palda.

“Mga kapatid, inaanyayahan ko na kayong maupo,” sa salita ni Quezon ay tumugon agad ang buong konseho. Nagpatuloy siya,

“Ang araw na ito ay mahalaga sa kawalanghangganan ng ating munting konseho, matapos ang mahabang panahong pagpupulong, napagdesisyunan na nating kilalanin si Maria Corazon Sumulong Cojuangco sa kapatirang ito. Manny, kung maaaring bigkasin mo ang layunin ng konseho, at ikaw na rin ang magbigay sa kaniya ng kaniyang palayaw panlupon.” naupo si Quezon, sabay tayo si Laurel.

“Sa utos ng Diyos na makapangyariha’t walanghanggan, ang konsehong ito ang mangangasiwa’t mangangalakad sa lahat ng pangangailangan ng lahat ng yumaong mamamayan ng dakilang Inang Pilipinas. Maria Corazon Sumulong Cojuangco, simula ngayo’y kikilalanin ka na bilang Nica Taal.”

At ganoon lamang ang nangyari’t may sumulpot na silya sa tabi ng kay Laurel, o Manny. Sa pagtango ni Quezon ay naupo si Laurel.

“Nica Taal, kung maari’y magbahagi ka ng sentimiento?” hiling ni Quezon.

“Of course, President Quezon—”
 

“Alfa, Nica Taal, patay na lahat tayo dito,”

“Sorry po, Alfa,” nautal ng kaunti si Cojuangco ngunit napatiwasay niya rin ang kompiyansa niyang magsalita,

“Isang malaking responsibilidad ang mabilang sa inyong mga naging magigiting na pangulong nauna sa akin—“

“Si Manny, magiting?” biro ni Osmeña. Napangiti na lamang si Laurel.

“Magpatuloy,” wika ni Quezon.

“Baguhan man ako, you can trust that I will strive to do a good job,” tumungo si Cojuangco bilang pagtatapos at naupo sa kaniyang silya.

“Maraming salamat, Nica Taal. Dahil sa inyong impluwnesiya sa tao noong dekada otsenta, maaako sa`yo ang tungkuling pamahalaan ang mga nakarehistro sa time frame ng dekada sesenta hanggang dekada nobenta,” tumango si Cojuangco bilang pagtanggap sa responsibilidad.

“Nica Taal, may tanong lang ako,”

“Ano ho iyon, Pangu—“

“Verde,” wika ni Roxas, 

“Mahilig ka ba talaga sa tocino?” maski si Quezon ay natawa.

“All I can say is that… wala akong pinagsisisihan,” lumakas ang tawanan.

“Alfa, tingin ko’y `di magandang ideya ang iako kay Nica Taal ang pamamahala sa dekada sitenta. Naroon ang mga ipinapatay ni Jose Cojuangco, sa katunaya’y tingin ko’y mas mabuti kung sa mga Yumaong Indio na lamang siya mamahala,” wika ni Marcos.

“At ano naman ang mas ikabubuti ng buong Yumao kung ganoon ang mangyayari, Rodante?” tanong ni Quezon.

“Ang mga Indio ang pinakamarami at pinakamatatag pagdating sa ideyal. Ni di sila maimpluwensayahan ng mga radikal sa dekada nobenta. Nawari ko lang na perpektong pinuno si Nica Taal para sa mga tulad nila. Wala naman naging malupit na babaeng governor-general, meron ba?” sinabi ni Marcos na may bahid ng pamimilit.

“Tama siya, Alfa, pag nagkagulo pa ang mga yumao sa Late 19th Century, mapagsasabihan pa tayo ng Amo.” batid ni Quirino.

“Hear. Hear.” bulong ni Garcia.

“Very well,” tumuon ang mga mata ni Quezon sa kinakabahang si Cojuangco. Nagpatuloy siya,

“Ang sang-ayon sa panukala ni Rodante, magtaas ng kanang kamay,” nagtaas ang lahat maliban kay Cojuangco.

“Nica Taal, ganap na. Mamamahala ka sa Yumaong Indio. Siguraduhin mong hindi sila magkakagulo at na lagi silang areglado.”

“Mabuti na `yan, Nica Taal. Para mapagtanto-tanto mo rin ang mga pagkakamali mo,” wika ni Macapagal.

“Gusto ko lang naman na hindi maranasan ng pamilya—“

“Nica Taal, mahiya ka!” sigaw ni Magsaysay. Tumindig si Marcos at nagsalita; nanonood si Quezon na may ngiti sa mukha, 

“Sinungaling ka, Cory! Inutos lang ng Amo na maparito ka! Alam mo bang wala ka dapat dito! Ang kapal pa ng mukha mong makipagbiruan dito! Napakakarumaldumal ng ginawa mo—pinapatay mo ang asawa mo! Para saan? Sasabihin mo ngayon na para sa seguridad ng pamilya mo? Kalokohan!”

“Reliquere, frater” pumasok si Rizal, na may suot na itim na amerikana, tulad ng karaniwang makikita sa kaniyang mga larawan. 

“Papaano mo nagagawang magkaroon ng poot kung wala ka na naman ring magagawa?” tanong niya.

“Rizal, ang gusto ko lang naman malaman ay kung bakit pa siya kailangan dito sa konseho. `Di ba alam ng Diyos ang pagkakaiba ng taong tanga sa taong may dunong?” daing ni Marcos.

“Alam ng Amo kung sino sa silid na ito ang may laman ang utak. Alam rin ng Amo kung sino ang may dunong sa kung paano iniluluwas ang lamang ito. Kaya, Ferdinand, iyan ay pagnilay-nilayin mo nang maigi. Alam mong ika’y ipinangalan sa isang tanyag na mananakop. Ginampanan mo ang kasaysayan ng pangalan mo, Ferdinand—sa katunayan nga’y nakapatay ka rin ng tao,” naupo’t natahimik si Marcos.

“Nica Taal, tanggalin mo ang hubris sa iyong pagkatao. Wala na iyang kwenta ngayong patay ka na. Ang gagawin mo na lang dito ay mangasiwa’t siguraduhing areglado ang isang lipon ng isang lipon ng isang lipon. Minahal ko ang lipon na aarugain mo, Nica Taal; nawa’y mahalin mo rin silang may pagmamahal na higit pa ng sa`kin.” payo ni Rizal.

“Pinapunta ka nanaman?” tanong ni Quezon kay Rizal na tumango. Nagbuntong-hininga si Quezon at tumayo. Iyon ang tanda na tapos na ang pulong. Natayo si Cojuangco at lumapit kay Rizal,

“Salamat ho sa inyong pag-uunawa,”
 

“Walang anuman,” nginitian niya ito, at may binulong nang lumayo ang babaeng pangulo,

“Dare pondus idonea fumo”