Dead Stars

Look up. The stars you see right now are dead hundreds of years ago, yet their brightness still linger, through space and light-years. The emotions infused in my poems are dead long ago, yet they shine brighter, even capable of reopening wounds, with each reread.

i. Kahon
Heto ang tinatawag na pagsulat upang palayain ang sariling kinubli nang kay tagal.

Hindi babae
Hindi lalake
Panlabas na anyo,
simple; walang disenyo

Walang hininga
Walang gunita
Loob nito’y karimlan
Tila walang hanggan

Sadyang nakakubli
Walang makapagsabi
Kung ano ang laman
Ng karton na sisidlan

Wala nang poot
Wala nang kirot
Damdamin ng may-ari
Tuluyang na’santabi

Kanyang pinanood
Habang inaanod
Ang lalagyan sa karagatan
Nang ‘di na muli masilayan

Sino’ng mangangahas?
Sino’ng babagtas
Sa kahong sobrang sarado
Na tangan ang puso niyang bato?

(written 8/11/2008)

—-

ii. Kandila
Naguluhan ako nang ako’y nagsulat ng tulang may pangmatandang tema. Bakit nga ba? Gayumpaman, para ito sa isang taong may mga magagandang daliring minsang nakadaop ko. Ngunit, ito ay hindi na dapat magpatuloy pa.

Nais kong maupos sa iyong mga kamay
Maramdaman ang palad mo sa balat ko dumantay
Nais kong mapupog ng mga halik mula sa labing tumatangis
Na may halong lambing, galit at kaukulang bangis.

Tunawin mo ang puso kong sadyang pinipigilan
Ang lukso nito tuwing iyong hinahawakan
Diinan mo ang pagniniig ng ating katawan
Nang mapawi ang pagod, problema, kung ano pa man.

Hanapin mo ako gamit ang iyong mga daliri
Yakapin mo hanggang mawala sa sarili
Nais kong magsanib at ‘di na maghiwalay pa
Nais kong marating ang tugatog na kasama ka.

Nais kong mahuli ang mailap mong mga mata
Nais kong sisirin ang kalalimang ‘di pa natatantiya
Nais kong manatili ka sa’kin hanggang umaga
Nais ko… nais kong makita ang iyong mukha.

(written 8/12/2008)

—-

iii. Ang Kuwaderno ni Sarah
Sabi nila, makapangyarihan ang mga salita. Para sa akin, mas makapangyarihan ang pinagsulatan nito.

Gamit ang tinta
Kanyang nilalang
Kanyang nilathala
Mundong naaagnas

Patinig, katinig
kanyang pinagdugtong
Pinormang alapaap
Buwan, araw, at tala

Ngunit, walang liwanag
Ang mga kabagayang ito
Wala nito sa diksyunaryo
Nakalimutan ba o sinadya?

Walang lupa at dagat
Walang tutuntungan
Walang lalanguyan
Kalayaan; para saan pa?

Hangin, sumusunog ng baga
Tubig, mapakla, tila asido
Pagpikit ng mata
Baka hindi na maidilat pa

Mga manikang pilay
Kanyang nilikha
Kanyang pinagalaw
Sa pagpihit ng pahina

Burado ang kanilang mukha
Kanyang pinagsalita
Ng mura’t pangungutya
Kahit walang mga dila

Hindi sila makasuway
Putol ang mga kamay
Ang amo nila ay si Sarah
At wala nang iba pa

Patuloy niyang pinaikot
Ang mundo sa kuwaderno
Dito siya nakukuntento.
Dito, siya ang nananalo.

Nang maubos ang papel
Tumayo siya at sinaboy
Ang salita sa pader
Ng kanyang silid-aralan

Nang maubos ang salita
Kanyang pinangpinta
Ang kulay na sumirit
Mula sa butas na hita
(written 8/13/2008)

—-

iv. Dyslexic
It’s painful to want something you’re not capable of having.

You want the book
Up on that shelf
Surrounded by glass
Locked and guarded
You stare some more
You don’t understand
But it speaks at you,
“Buy me! Read me!”
You want to set it free
But you know you can’t
First, you’re a pauper
Second, you’re not of right age
Third, you can’t read.

(written 8/17/2008)

—-

v. Counting Clouds, Chasing Stars
There’s a significant difference between what you see and what you feel.

Stars
Jewelry of the sky
Fiery boulders up close
Even if you don’t touch
You’ll feel the warmth radiating,
Scorching and burning you
Down to your very core.

Clouds
Fabric of the sky
They appear like cotton
From a distance and up close
Once you attempt to feel
You’ll hold nothing but vapor
And you’ll sink to the earth below.

Which do you prefer?

(written 8/17/2008)

—-

vi. Bote
Ito ang pilosopiya ng aking kaibigan. Patawa, ngunit kapag pinag-isipan ay may katuturan. Sana matuto rin kayo sa kanya.

Kapag isinahod, madaling mapupuno
Hanggang umapaw at madamay
Ang mga gamit na tuyo
Kaya marapating
Huwag nang dagdagan
O basagin na lamang
Ang munting lalagyan
Nang hindi na lumaki
Ang mantsa
At masayang ang laman
Panghuli…
Iwas sa bubog
Baka ikaw ay matusok

(written 8/23/2008)

—-

vii. Reverse
Not everyone is asleep in the middle of the night.

She tossed and turned
It’s one-thirty
She blinked and sighed
It’s quarter to three

In a mild trance
She fell so deeply
She’s in a mad search
For her Sleeping Beauty

To break the curse
She needed a spell
Else she’ll be doomed
In this waterless well

Her pillow is filled
With stones and sand
Beneath her blanket
Lies a foreign land

She lay awake
As sick thoughts linger
She helplessly stared
At a glistening finger.

(written 8/23/2008)

—-

viii. Mayonnaise
Another of my friend’s crazy – but witty – comparisons. I just had to write a poem out of this.

I am the vinegar, you are the egg white.
The oil binds us, the common factor.
Stirring will emulsify, will thicken.
Storage, when prolonged, will ripen.
Time will come, and we will become
A delicious condiment.

(written 9/6/2008)

—-

ix. Alpha Centauri
So close yet so far.

I stare at you
You stare somewhere
Unaware of the care
I’m willing to share.
The space between
This desk and you
Is measured, defined
By light years and miles.

Perhaps you’re following
Another dazzling speck
Or simply enjoying
The infinite darkness;
Basking at the sadness
And the juvenile madness.

Oh! The misery
Of a star like me
Who chose a lowly,
Lonely satellite
To waste her light upon.

Or maybe it’s just me
Who can’t get past the fact
That I will only be
A thing of the past.

(Still I shine upon you.)

(written 10/6/2008)

—-

x. Amputation
Probably, you will be even better off without that infected part.

Before undergoing the procedure, you have to weigh the pros and cons.
Think about it real hard; you will lose an extremity.
Think about the major adjustments you have to do in your lifetime.
Primarily you will be scared; you will be deformed.
You will lose self-esteem because you know a part of you will be lost.
However, if it’s for your welfare, no matter how painful it is…
You decide to go for it. Bravery is all it takes.
Plus the will to get better.

The operation itself will take hours.
The pain will be excruciating, you have to expect that.
Rehabilitation will be even more tedious.
Day by day you have to face the truth that a part of you is already gone.
But after continuous practice of living without it, you’ll do away with it.
Probably, you will be even better off without that infected part.
Besides, the anesthetics, crutches, antibiotics are all around you.
Take your pick.

(written 2/4/2009)

—–

xi. Winner
You win base on how you perceive it.

You cannot win everything.
Don’t ever think you can.
Even the best fall down sometimes.

There is a reason why you didn’t.
Maybe it’s not meant to be.
Maybe it has another purpose.
Maybe for others it’d be more important.

Do not weep over the loss because
for sure you have gained something
only for now you can’t see.
Do not let those tears blur
your vision of this world.

I have no idea of the loss inflicted
or the time it’d take for recovery.
If I could, I will take half
of your pain and break your fall
Because one thing is for sure:
You may have not won me,
but you have won my heart.

(written 7/14/2009)

xii. Irony
Life is full of this.

You’re being given,
you decline,
and you realize
that you want it
from the start
when it has ended.

You hope
only to get tired
of waiting.
You yearn,
you search,
but when it’s found
interest ceases.

You attract
to repel.
Eventually.

Something exists
only to die.
The same as
how I loved you.
Before.
Now I don’t.
Anymore.

(written 7/17/2009)

xiii. Three. Ninety. One
The third strike. Ninety days of giving in. One person who’s the root of all this superfluous talk.

There exists a story
that needs no narration;
only keywords and verses

Three stands for repeat
Word count signifies days.
One poem for the girl I best loved.

~*~

Her smiles, her eyes, her warmth.
My shoulder, my eyes, my lies.
Cocoa, pets, books.
Storm, flood, her bed.
Sunsets, nights, that midnight.

~*~

Sleepless, defenseless, losses.
Awkward, wayward, downward.
Commit, admit, defeat.

~*~

Arson.

~*~

That day, Christmas day, afternoon.
His height, his hands, her hips.
Through wet lips, dips, they kiss.

My happiness, her caresses, plainness.

~*~

“We’re okay.”

(written 1/15/2010)

—-

xiv. To You, Beloved
Predestination doesn’t need logic and eyes; feelings are enough.

to you beloved
whose beauty cannot compare
feel my strong yearning

destiny ties together
our lives despite the distance
and difference of time

parallelism
of events, struggles, mishaps
i am more convinced

oceans can cut across
but the red string will remain
stretched, but not broken

the limitless sky
is what binds us together
please look up, see me

though we haven’t met
feel me within noisy crowds
and the songs you sing

to you beloved
eyes are not necessary
it’s the heart that screams

(written 6/26/2010)

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