Here, the moon is sluggish and dull
where stars cover the face of the earth
and the wind sings us peaceful lullaby
with every tone that it makes
soft bubbles of unsuspecting dreams escape
of selfless affection, of dedication
from the isolated restful minds
Here, the roads breathe for the first time
giving way for the vagabonds of love,
of careful whisperers, of blissful moments
looking for a faithful witness
from the trees, from wishful thoughts
and silent walls hoping that they never speak
And here, I touch you...
And this pitch black night is smeared
by the sporadic beating of our hearts.
A white moth rustles
beneath the old wooden
bench at 5 a.m.
where you used to have
morning coffee with me,
while overhead is a
signboard that reads
'Welcome to San Antonio!'
It swings back and forth
like a childhood sweetheart
waving outside my window.
How many sunrises
until the paint peels?
How many sunsets
until the letters fade?
my only choice is to wait
with my cup of coffee
on a chipped wooden seat.
Just like any other morning,
only colder now.
My Memoirs of Pancovie
You and me under a Cherry Blossom tree
one sunny day, not so long ago
the radiance of your white cotton shirt
was a perfect backdrop of the falling blossoms
pink and white, each of them telling me
secrets you never had the chance to speak.
My spirit danced, an eager butterfly in the
brink of Summer.
You said I was beautiful like the blossoms
but you wanted red,
there are no red Cherry Blossoms, my love
The crisp afternoon air plucked the blossoms,
shuffled my hair and dried my throat
pink and white, they fell on to the ground
the Cherry Blossoms,
one by one with a dull sound
of a dry sob, or languor, or silence
and they mustered on my feet
like a meteor shower on a summer heat
or my translucent tears
I gathered them in my wicker basket
and buried them between the pages of my book
along with my memory
of that one sunny day
I dwell in the vastness of my ocean
Bathed in the sun's merciful radiance
I was formed around a grain of sand
or of history, or love, or time
The loving Lonchura lands on my shoulder
To listen to the story of my forefathers
The tale of pride and of crimson waters
Of the braves, of victory, or the rare air
Sampaguitas kiss my sun-kissed cheek
And pour its oils on my curious feet
Gumamelas gather in harmony of color
and of fragrance, of adoration, of vigor
I loom over the golden seas
Of eager waves and mighty sailors
I dance with the gleeful chanting
of the north winds and the palm trees
A little bit of all the cultures made one
From a long history of Western colonial rule
Evolved a blood of a unique blend
Of east, of west, of appearance, of culture
I am the Nacre!
The pearl of the orient seas
I shine in the salinity and bounty
In the heat of the glorious Pacific
She lay still
Her soft skin
In a lonely mime
Like a dry land
Pulsating like anger
Like a storm
Her heart commanding
Like a traveler
Like a slave
To her Queen
Like a Queen
To her Goddess
To her being
Like a serpent