Category: Poetry
Eyes, eyes, eyes
Where else would I look at but the eyes Eyes that seem to bring to a time I cannot remember
Orange light hour
in the summer countryside where everything else is silent or silence. Hush, it’s where the sleeping rams reside
In Finitude
Imagine being in the middle of the world,the exact pointin which everything crossescrosses one’s mindscrosses, crosses, crosseseveryone else carries on their backs Imagine being in the middle of the universe,the deepest spacewhere gravity is concentratedwhere nothing else matters but the nothingness of mattereveryone, hence, is everyone else: is no one else. Imagine being in the…
Song for the Muse of July
Why ought I write so long when the word Spirit brings me are few? So scarce whenever I ask So much when I could not care less And how, do you imagine? How do I care less about love? Love itself, the very foundation of my existential affections I love as much as I am…
A brief conversation about chaos
You said you’d like to dwell in the chaos for a while longer “Here, where the ground has become softer—” It’s all in your mind, I remind you, it is everything else that has turned tough, rough. Take off your lens; open your eyes. Ad infinitum tempus post tempus: it is time. No more second…
A telegram: smoke
The neighbouring volcano is awakening. At last, says Old Pinatubo to its young mentee, but you do not do it like me; like I did, had done. intense, all-consuming unlike you, a trap: covering house by house with smog like how you would boil a frog slowly filling in each nostrilwith every piece of your…
Pagkalimot
Work-in-progress of sorts. Probably going to update this post with developments. Probably–hah! Sa bawat pagpikit, maaari mong kalimutanAng lahat ng paghati, lahat ng hindi mo ninanais Hindi mo kailangang magpigil sa paghingaPatuluhin ang mga luha’t hayaang matuyo na Bumitaw, hayaang lumubog ang arawBumitaw, mayroong bagong umagaSariwang hangin, panibagong alalahaninBumitaw at hayaan ang sariling makalimot Puwede…
Asking chaos
In the midst of the chaos, that isplain: black and white and black and whiteSomething asked me of a question I’ve been wondering myself:What is it that causes the waves to glistenin the early hours of the oceanlike glitters that do not stick? How can some days feel like it’s made of honey?And where can…
Interlude: two poems and a thought
I. Sometimes I feel it / and yet it escapes me / that golden burst of light that lightness of living / for drowning but my own gravity / keeps me from the currents I long for II. The devil left the details long ago to look for warmer pastures An island far east where…
fish out of water
she feels her heart collapsing as if every vein is giving upslowly constricting, tightening the spaces around the only musclethat remains feelingthe rest of her body is numb, cold by the wind, burned over by the sunthe sun’s light through the moon’s filters shine on her scales gentlyas if there can be any help to…