Finding Home

Before you can forget You have to remember everything Every sweetness, every sting Remember it Feel the fist Pounding on Your heart Making it alive Remember it Feel it relentlessly pounding Cracking you open Letting the light in And Remember the light Feel it washing Over you Breathing life Into your every vein Remember it Feel it run through The shadowed scars Dispersing all that was dark--hurt, anger, pain Remember it, How the fist slowly Opened transforming Into hands that hold Cradling your Tired feet Carrying you Remember it Feel it-- The pounding Now making you Hollow inside Feel emptiness be empty Feel every Torn, broken piece Of you Even as the earth Is splitting Pulverizing Everything In sight- Sanctuaries, The old brays Of your heart Be hollowed Let the ground swallow You whole Remember it Feel it again When you said, "The fist! I want the fist!" L

Do you see trees Grasping clouds Just so it would rain? Or the speechless sky Persuading the sun to turn into evening? Do you see the river Stones and rocks Stopping the water From where it's headed Out to the open sea? And the sand, do you see it Tugging the waves To kiss its shores? Or do you think it Comes back again and again In its own accord? Just as a leaf of grass Waits for the first Dew drop in the Early hours of morning And the quiet earth Yearns for the Sight of the first Star to glisten in The blanket of night So shall I remain Right here where You are not As yet In the meantime, Hush your tired heart, Embrace, then Let go. Embrace, then Let go. Repeat. Remember Everything follows, is Nature's course. Photo Credit: http://matthew12photoym.wordpress.com/2012/09/13/111/

1999. I remember every time we'd pass by the road somewhere in Mabolo to and from college, my father would point out to me the young tree he planted just recently with his civic group. He was around 68 years old that time. What was most vivid in my mind was how it seemed so important to him. I felt he was talking more to himself than to me. Was he somehow convincing or validating himself as somebody who did something as good in the suburbs of Cebu? In his life? I thought to myself. If that was indeed the case how badly I wish to tell him had he been alive today that he need not prove to himself what a good, generous and kind human being he was. Because he truly was. I was born into a family nothing short of conventional to say the least. Despite and in spite of the unconventionality of our circumstances, Papa made it a point that my brother and I had nothing to want for and provided for all our needs, materially and emotionally. He called me his "princess". 2013

There's an atmosphere like no other in airports and terminals. Could it be brought about by the very thought of leaving a place one has thought of as home? Or could it be the yearning, searching for another place to call home? Or, maybe the hustle and bustle, the explicit restlessness of these people is a mere byproduct of having explored a place they saw as an ordinary stopover or a few days getaway. And so the conversations go: "I had the best vacation ever." or "Remember when Pedro fell off..." or "What time did you get in last night?" or "Where are you off to?", "Are you traveling alone?" And yet among these loud conversations are hidden, unsaid lines that resonate: "I'm leaving this place." "I need to get out of this place." "I need to find my place." "I'm leaving because I can't stand the pain." "I'm out to find my joy." Indeed, more is

Reunions, parting of ways All in one place Remembering, forgetting Immersing, running away Delicious anticipation Or unforeseeable dread Of what's to come Solace, respite Renouncing, accepting Of all that is unacceptable Laying down boundaries Defying limits Embracing possibilities Going against the tides Reasonable judgments Unreasonable situations Or the other way around But above, beyond And beneath all this-- Courage and grit. Photo Credit: shuttergoclick.photoshelter.com

I'll pick up each and Every broken piece of you Fill the cracks with liquid gold Like this overflow of words My palms and fingers will do their work-- Mold you, mend you, recreate you Until you're whole again. Photo Credit: Google Images

"Despedida" Spanish for send-off, leave-taking This word, It shouldn't have a place in the lives of those who love, I thought But it does. C'est la vie French, it happens, "Life." Walking out The door for a better one One with quieter hinges Or noisier screws Or, maybe it's those Who open the knobs Welcoming us with greener grass Or bidding us, "Come in,  You are safe here.", Who make us Pack our bags Travel light or carry Our entire history Or make us stay Where we are. Who will ever know The truth of One's renouncing for another soul's searching? And those who are Left behind, Are they really left behind? Or are they condemned as well to their Own farewells? Sigh. A thousand ways to say goodbye but not enough words for pain Of parting, of change So really, How many miles do we have to travel,  What places do we need to go, How many goodbyes d

And then when you said hello The four thousand three hundred Twenty minutes vanished Into thin air and All was well with The universe again...

Alindanaw, Handanaw, Sandanaw In our vernacular In noonday height Its scurrying flight on grilled fences and nameless greens It placed itself in front of me Waiting somewhat patiently For me to what? Catch it? Shoo it away? Or capture it In an eternal frame? It hovered from leaf to steel And leaf again Until I poised the shutter and clicked away Twice. But it was gone the second time. And I looked at the screen That first single capture simply said it all-- Sometimes in life, You only need one chance Just one, to get it right.

Abuyog, Leyte 2013 Where the river meets the sea And in between A sand bar of powdery beige bringing back a monument of memories... Badian, Cebu 2002 It's fascinating when you're caught in the middle of such meeting an illicit rendezvous almost A gush of coolness a rush of warmth against my lungs and down my toes A taste of bland and a dash of salt where the river which was liquid from the waterfalls ran to the sea Running with the speed of the sun rising and yet... With the lazy courtship of the sky blossoming and sun falling Bring me back to the shores of Badian where the laughing waves meet the giggling sand... Coastal drive Slowly curving gently turning blind corners transformed kind with telltale signs that signal every turn leaving only an easy comfort as the soundtrack of my life blares on as loudly as the sun glares high as brightness takes on a

Haiku Number 1: In these words, you're here With me, in these lines we be- Come infinite, free Haiku Number 2: (Failed attempt, clearly) I'll tell the world our story, how I held on to you Like a lifeboat and how You were the sea Haiku Number 3: Searching for my truth Is digging the earth with both my hands that find you Haiku Number 4: Between spaces of The words " I love you" is Where you'll find me. Haiku Number 5: And then three plain words Simply strung together just mends you--" I have you." Haiku Number 6: And when you cup my Face in your hands, all else-- fear Doubt, pain disappear Haiku Number 7: I'll pick up each and Every broken piece of you Love you whole again... Haiku Number 8: Let me pry open Your clenched fist where your soul is Let me set you free Haiku Number 9: All we have is three Thousand six hundred seconds Of you breathing me... Photo Credit: Google Images

This life is not Black and white Even days have Their share of Shadows and grays Even summer Has her glimpses of Preponderous rain Even martyrs Have their quiet sins Even miracles have Their unfortunate Equivalents And still Even the most Common of us Have moments of Brilliance And even in the Most desolate of nights Glows forth these balls Of light Even the height Of monsoon Sheds unimaginable Colors across the Muted sky Even sinners find redemption, comfort Salvation Even the impossible Is conquered by The unfathomable No, life is not mere Halves of white And black There is light. Do not forget. There is light.

If only life was as simple as the words I write In the verses I have created Then I wouldn't be Writing this to you. Instead, I would be Your "good morning" And "good night" Every sigh you hear That takes the place Of the air you breathe...

To just sit and drink Your cup of coffee Inhaling its aroma Its steam warming Your cheeks down To the soles of Your feet To listen to the song Of the rain trickling On stones like water Tickling their surfaces Pouring on grass Like a rustled whisper Of comfort, "tip-tap" To watch birds fluttering Chirping on the barb-wired fence As if in serious conversation To find oneself immersed In that conversation as well, Chiming in To feel the coolness of air The rain gives off On your bare skin To touch window panes And trace one's name Or another's or draw Stars, hearts or Whatever shape And to behold the Dew drop on One's finger point To hold that piece of Silver scoop and wonder How fingers move To shovel bits and pieces To one's mouth That nourish one's faculties To feel every texture, taste And crunch with your Teeth, palate and tongue To wait for nothing But your ow

Isn't it odd? You and me, us Speaking In tongues We don't even Understand We're no Linguists By any chance But speak We do Maybe the Language Isn't What is Important Maybe It's the Conviction That fierce conviction That cannot help But overflow And transform Into words, Words that are Wittingly Conjured up By the brain And transmuted Into the Movements Of the tongues Upper palates Lower palates Upper lips Lower Lips With the Elemental Vibration Of air That comes in And out of our Nostrils And mouths Like sighs of relief From joy or Pain Producing Beautiful Utterances of "Ti amo" or "Je t'aime" Maybe it's the Force that Drives Human beings To go beyond Oddness and Idiosyncrasies Maybe it's The Choosing To focus on the good To feed the love Rather than hate Maybe it's the Knowledge That to say One Universal Seed of Salvati

Nothing Sweeter than Silence romancing My ears Save for Sonatas of Chirping Winged creatures Crisp and clear Proudly perched On orchid trees Wind whispers Achingly gentle Like lips that Come forth Within a mere fraction Of a centimeter From each other As if relishing Every nook and Cranny Of every breath Every shape Shadow, line Curve And shade Inhaling one Exhaling the other Until they Finally meet Like The wind Soothing my Needing skin With such faint, Merciful breeze A healing balm Bringing my Troubled heart To relinquished calm And carrying off my Restless mind To restful sleep...

Anais Nin knew "To write is to taste life twice." All for the glory of being alive But maybe for me To write is simply to love you twice...

(6-8-13) What is it with boats and sunsets that makes me weak in the knees? And sand and salt water that beckons to me? Now I am here. Finally. Feeling every bit of Grain of sand devouring my feet The corals gash my shin The waves kissing the shore The sun romancing my skin Turning it pinkish red And the wind Asking the coconut leaves to dance Delicately swaying Like a dancer in euphoria Like my heart calming Breathing, at last Sighing, Yes this, right here I need Now rain pours singing One sweet song no longer of my sins But a gentle choir Lulling me to Restful sleep...

You asked me, "Do you pray?" I said, "What do you think?" And you replied, "I don't think you do." I laughed, "Incredulous." Thinking about our conversation, last night, I pondered. I thought how it may be true what you said. How I do not pray. Anymore at least. I do whisper every night in my heart to whoever might listen. Whoever. Yes, I erased the names of my saints. Because that's what you do when you are hurt and the people you want to hear you are deaf. You un-name them. Because maybe they will get the point. Hopefully. Because of all the ironies in life, of all the names I have been called, the only retaliation I can throw back is to take away the names of my saints. It's like blaming the universe for the sin of one person. Unfair, I know. It always is. But guess what? I decided last night. I want to believe again. In something. Anything. To just hold one truth or two, any truth in my hand, to hold it against my hea

When Icarus flew over the great vast sky He forgot about himself That his wings were made only of wax and feathers of some other living thing The sun blinded him With its beauty and Commanded him to come forth Which he did And so he soared How he soared He forgot the tenets his father pleaded him never to forget, which he did But he soared, he flew towards that blinding ball of light and tasted sunlight with all its glory and might Until his feathered and waxed wings gave up and melted Into his mortality And he fell deep into the vast ocean And drowned. But at least Before he died He let the sun blind his eyes At least He tasted life... -MAY 26, 2013- Photo Credit: http://www.photo-zen.com/scotland-hebrides-seagulls-photographs.html

Sudden memories Appear out of nowhere Like cocktail servings In minute increments Like unexpectedly meeting An old friend as you turn Left at a blind corner Catching you viciously off guard Like being shown an old Home video That remind your sorry self How at one point you were alive Tasted life down to its Very core Dared to go to the very edge And yet find that, You could not say "More." Instead what you could manage were Soft retorts of, "Maybe in an alternate universe, Maybe another lifetime. " And now I am writing this On an imaginary journal That you handed to me On the drabbest street Praying as I write you feel The strokes, hear me talk To myself, "Life is a word problem, According to them Whoever said calculus Was of no use was right A lot of X's and Y's Variables they call them Damn right they were And me? I'm a "W" And there's no solution To this

Closed Mouth Closed Mind Open Palms Open Heart Surgery Without the Surgeon's Fine precision Tools Only Chaos Leaving my Heart in shambles Not enough curse words I whisper Turning down my voice Like the Volume Of a Surround Sound Mute.

Monsoon June Rain Coats Rain Boots Roof Gutters Drop By single Drop Gush Splash Onto a pool Of earth Stones And mud Ripples Surround That Pin drop Concentric Rounds Bringing Me back to 11 years past When rain was Not rain at all What was it? I forget. Oh yes there it is-- A deep dull ache Tearing at my gut Rain back then Was, oh you know one nonchalant, mere Bleeding of My too brash Brazen, hubristic heart. Why don't you Just stop? I said to this Wretched organ As in stop beating So the pain would Be no more? But it was deaf And stubborn hard-headed And so on it Went beating 60 per minute Sometimes less Sometimes I willed it to be less But still it fought And the rain just Poured Down-poured Torrential Washing away all 20 pounds Of flesh Why couldn't it Wash away my Heart instead? That place That was what The poets were Raving about Th

There was no sun today Nor wind to soothsay Only an ordinary dusk Silent, mute Bland No brilliant sunset skies No blinding light making my amber eyes No, there were no Audacious display of hues All that prevailed was a Distant quiet memory A thousand memories Whose voices are forcibly Silenced Like a heart that's Given up all fragments Of hope And all you can see Is an emotionless Unreadable face A living mantra of Buy peace, choose peace From what seemed like Decades past and yet The sting like that of a fresh Untended wound An unfinished novel That's beating around The damn bush Same old same old Story One satirical tragedy One irrefutable truth Me and well Who else? You.

One day It comes-- The truth You once so feared Everything becomes clear Without force or friction It just comes Unbidden Like the skies on a summer's day The sun in noon day Height Light bursting Seeping through the cracks A healing balm on your heart Like a sudden Downpour of June or July Heaven weeping Raindrops trickling Humming a soothing tune Water gushing through and around the rocks on the riverbed Mending your wounds And even as the rocks remain solid, unmoving, the water does not It travels on Like the blood in your veins Keeping the beast that's your heart alive Water, it goes on Onto the roaring beckoning sea And it comes and goes The waves Unrelenting, effortless The sun, that golden Orbit of light and Heat turning water Into vapor And vapor into A tuft of clouds Until it is full of itself and rains down again Life. Love. Fate. Curves

One big universe And here I am One minute insignificant speck of dust One blank canvass A Tabula Rasa The dust grows into a desert storm The canvass is filled The lines come forth Words overflow Brush strokes move across Rising and falling this way and that One unmistakeable image, abstract like these words that reveal nothing and everything Confined in my mind's blind spot, Unseeing, yet all-seeing Hearing acoustic strings being plucked so beautifully by a tone-deaf musician Telling a story Creating a mystery Eternally concealing the protagonists Singing an aria of longing and renouncing Undecipherable The middle of nowhere and everywhere The tug of war transformation of day into night and night into sunrise Forbidden corners emblazoned by light Lighting my frigid night And safe shadows comforting my excruciatingly bright sunlight Life's wondrously bitter ironies Like

The heavens are thundering weeping for my eyes that cannot cry The skies are loud Rebuking, remonstrating like cumulonimbus clouds without the silver lining angry for the muted warring voices inside wildly beating drums that is my heart Rain falls trickling down never-ending Sweet relief albeit brief like a hymn the song of the winds that sings, serenades a question whose answer cannot be bestowed upon for now at least cannot be fathomed deciphered unencumbered like the depths of the violin-shaped body of water of Lake Danao And the question? Why this life?

Beethoven's Appassionata Sonata Filling, encompassing the room Overwhelming Commanding , demanding Declaring, imploring Going on and on Do not stop Because if you do It may be the last of you Like reading Coelho's story Page by single page Ravishing, consuming Every subtle nuance of its Devastation and creation All at one time Every second grasped Every minute tightly clasped Every hour shackled To the veins of My heart Like writing verses Formulating lines that Mold the curves of Infinity like the Gold orbit on your index Blinding me, binding You to impossibility Like my life's story Stamped, carved Permanently immortalized In stone Your face is contorted Impassioned Your eyes wild The beads of sweat On your forehead The strength you Muster on those Black and whites With the force of A million universes Expelled merciless The adamant press on Those gold levers That resonates beaut

Every once in a while, out of the blue, something happens that make you confront your own demons again. How many they were. How deep they wounded you. How unfathomable they seemed. How it brought the age old ache that rips just about all your nerve endings. How you never think you'd reach a point of no return. How blatantly stupid one can choose to be. How absurd, impossible, unbelievable. But real, frighteningly real, it scares the whole life out of you. The questions. Ask them, face them, confront them even if the winds cut your face. Because there is really no getting out of this place. No other way but through. One unforgiving truth comes out-- you have never been merciful to yourself. Not even a single bit. I mean do you really have to? You buried it deep enough under mounds of earth the same earth you thought you'd already be buried in. Is there no redemption from this place? This place that you hoped would be your home. Where you would feel the most safe. But then even

Here and now Rain falling Coming in merciful torrents Dissipates all pain Dispersing Unimaginable heat Its sound like Flat notes on a Piano Andante, moderato With hints of Staccato delicately, deliberately plunked By a solitary soul comforting, imploring, "Close your eyes Breathe deep All that is good Remember life And all its miracles Hold on to hope Find that joy Excavate all That is not and just Let. it. Go. " Then repeat.

You just get used to it. Eventually. That ebb and flow of expectation and disappointment. Sooner or later you begin to memorize the script by heart. You even know when the attempt to change begins. For whatever good intention there is you still find it in your heart to appreciate it because you can't help it. And then you wonder could it be true? The road to hell is indeed full of good intentions. So where are you off to? To hell? Or a heaven of intentions? But again it really is a matter of how much a heart can hold. It's amazing how quickly and slowly a heart can heal. In one instant you feel as if the wind has been knocked out of you and all you see is the world spinning, and in the seconds that follow, that familiar acrid acidic process in your insides, at the pit of your gut takes place ever so slowly. You fail to identify what it is until you realize, "oh its you" --your natural ability to adapt, accommodate, adjust your perspectives and ultimately your expec

Poetry Readings A sacred haven where boys Became men And men turned Into craftsmen Artisans Of words and Emotions The very language Of your hypothalamus the very function Of your left brain Exploding Like Katy Perry's Fireworks Unashamed Unfeterred Unapologetic you hear them Articulate Throes Of sorrow Desperation Of lost loves Of happy endings Of musings That speak of The chaos In their mind Taboo almost And yet it is Taboo That makes it All the more Beautiful Euphoric nostalgic eternal Where women Reveal How cold a fire Can turn And how the heat Can emanate From ice Where spite Is thrown Here and there And yet It is picked up Again one by one Like shards of glass Reattached and turned Into one hilarious Song Of romance And love and frisky Sunsets Singing your Age old pain that ironically Is the prime Ingredient Of your joy Gibran was right