In my younger and more vulnerable years —
Hah.
I say that as if I am aged
As if my armor is perfect
But I’m not, and it’s not
And what I am, I confess
is scared.
Not cynical, not jaded
Just plain old afraid
With fingers clutching tattered remains
Of faith misplaced.
So when I say,
“When I was young and vulnerable”
What I actually mean
Is that once upon a time
I was brave.
Let us have this final moment
The last before we part
Like the sunset, grand and silent
Sailing off into the west
One last lingering touch of color,
One last glorious burst of fire
Before the horizon inevitably
Steals it from our sight…
Let us not waste this precious urgency
With promises and sighs
Say goodbye to me, beloved,
Only with your eyes.
* inspired by the movies Before Sunrise and Anna and the King
The trees are dripping stars
in Puerto Princesa
And gold flutters over the streets
But he never sees them, his eyes are fixed
on the cup in his hand
and the passing feet.
There is music always where the people gather
Songs of giving and of love
The parks are jammed with merrymakers
He is invisible
in the rush.
The night winds are kind
in Puerto Princesa
But not to a boy without clothes
Long after the parks are empty, the fountains still;
he huddles there – his cup filled
– with nothing but cold.
Ubos na ang tula
para sa iyo
Said na ang mga salita
Ito na ang huling pagkakataong
iaalay sa iyo ang katha.
Kumukupas na
ang larawan mong
nakaukit sa gunita
At ang naiwan pang pakiramdam
‘Di ko na ititinta.
Mahusay din pala
ang mga taon
sa pagturong limutin ka
Balikan ko man ang nakaraan,
wala nang hapding nadarama.
Ubos na ang tula
para sa iyo,
Said na rin ang mga luha.
There is stillness here
after the storm
has spent its strength
and its casualties
of fallen frangipani flowers
pervade the night air
with fragrance.
There is silence here
not even a whisper
or a breath of wind
disturbs the mist
and the grass,
soaked with diamonds,
muffles the sound
of dripping branches.
And there is solitude
in the empty streets
as the pavement gleams
in the glow
of the light posts.
But not for me.
I hear echoes of laughter
as the frangipani scent
intoxicates
and voices
reveling
in the glitter
of rainwashed stars;
I sense footsteps
on the pavement,
but I know -
I am alone.
I am most alone
after it rains.
Restless
I long to
dance in the rain
laugh in the rain
to be the rain
to be your reason
to quench your thirst
with every cold, clear drop
of everything I am
and to purify you
with the cleansing gift
of my tears…
But you
do not know
that you need me.
So I stay inside.
Midnight
after a storm
the world was asleep
It was just us
in the stillness
in the scented air
and the hundreds
of frangipani blossoms
fallen on the grass.
The cold air, the fragrance
the rainkissed white flowers
the mischievous laughter
the empty streets
the starry, starry night -
they were ours for a time
they were ours for forever;
and I will never forget
the scented softness
the playful smiles
the trail of dreams
we built with what we found
And even though
morning came
and claimed the world again,
I still smell the sweetness
I still hear the silence
I still walk that trail
I always will
as I did that night with you.
* Alassëa nosta, Legolas-y!
She sits
alone in the silence
of the city’s most opulent room
In her aged hands,
a bouquet of weeds
Dry, brittle
As fragile as memory itself
and she remembers…
Youth, in the countryside
A young girl
with the lure of neon lights
in her eyes
And a boy
who offered her the stars instead.
She remembered
how she chose the unknown
knowing it would break his heart
not knowing
it would also break hers.
But as the train rolled away,
her tears fell on his final gift
Fragrant, familiar
the final offering
of a broken heart.
In one moment
a frozen teardrop of time
all she knew
was the urge to cry out -
Stop! Wait -
I have made a mistake…
But the impulse is silenced
So the train rushed on
And life rushed on
And the musty sweet scent
of dried wildflowers
is all that is left
of the dream.
I would like to reach you
if I could
but we both know
that my arms cannot ignore
the laws of time.
Of course, in dreams
where rules don’t matter,
and a poem is more than a poem,
my words can touch reality -
your reality
at least while I am asleep.
I get tired, too.
Paper is such a flimsy medium
for the intensity
of this wistful tenderness
but it is all I have
for now
because it is daylight
and you cannot listen.
How will it feel, I wonder,
to smile for you?
Find me.
I would share with you
how to look for patches of sky
embroidered with acacia leaves
I would whisper
what a woman really means
with her Mona Lisa smiles
and explain
that really, spiderwebs
are for catching dewdrops
and not butterflies at all.
I will speak,
I will listen
when it is time.
This soul-deep longing
for a half-remembered dream
bewilders me, and I wonder:
How can I miss someone
I do not even know?
No meeting,
no memories -
just this silent sadness
for what is unseen, unheard, untouched,
unknown.
In the crowd,
the secret heaviness haunts me
and I search for that nameless hope
with faith like wildflowers
blooming against the odds.
The promise is sacred,
so I wait.
________________________________________________________
*Whoever and wherever you are, I will wait for you. No matter how long it takes, I know it will be worth it.
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