pagitan

2011-02-28T00:23:00.000+08:00

freezing time

salamat sa pagitan. marami akong mga alaalang isinulat dito. halos tatlong taon din ng pag-iipon ng mga alaala iyon. hindi ko naman gustong takasan ang mga alaala, babalik-balikan ko pa rin itong blogsite. kailangan ko lang humanap ng panibagong purpose para sa pagsusulat. malungkot ang buhay, malungkot ang blog na ito, kalungkutan ang nagpapadaloy sa pagitan. sa tingin ko, yun naman talaga ang dahilan kung bakit ako nagsimulang magsulat. pero ngayon, iniisip ko kung bakit ko pinipilit na manahan sa kalungkutan, kung bakit parang tumatakas ako sa mundo at isinisisi sa lungsod ang lahat ng mga kamaliang ginagawa ko. iniisip ko rin kung hanggang dito na lang ba talaga ang pagsusulat ko -na sa dinami-rami ng bagay na ginusto kong gawin sa buhay, nakahiligan ko nga ang pagsusulat pero baka humantong na ito sa puntong hanggang doon na lang e, wala nang malalabas pa. hindi kaya siguro, gusto ko namang sumubok ng ibang bagay maliban sa pagtula. ganoon naman ako palagi kahit noong bata pa ako, marami akong alam na gawin pero may puntong humihinto ako para humanap ng panibagong larangan na susubuking matutunan. kaya siguro wala talaga akong na-master na kahit anong skill. kaya siguro hanggang dito na lang at hindi ko mama-master ang pagtula. pero sino na nga ba ang naka-master sa pagtula?

tamang sukat na ito ng pagitan, hindi na lalayo o lalapit. freeze.

2011-01-31T21:24:00.002+08:00

note to self:

1. wag kang umasa sa iba.
2. wag mong isisi ang kamalian mo sa ibang tao.
3. have self respect.
4. wag kang gumamit ng ibang tao.
5. wag mong pagbuntunan ng galit ang ibang tao.
6. sa huli, sarili mo pa rin ang maaasahan mo.
7. kaya mo naman kung tutuusin, wala ka lang ginagawa.
8. mag-aral ka nang mabuti, mag-isa at wag nang umasa sa iba.
9. tamad ka. alam mo yun. pero bakit wala kang ginagawa para maalis tong ugaling to?
10. palaging nagbabago ang mundo. panahon na para ikaw naman ang magbago.

2011-01-26T00:21:00.003+08:00

Perhaps there is another kind of writing, I only know this one: in the night, when fear does not let me sleep.
-Franz Kafka

2011-01-15T11:43:00.002+08:00

A New Law

Let there be a ban on every holiday.

        No ringing in the new year.

No fireworks doodling the warm night air.

        No holly on the door. I say

let there be no more.

        For many are not here who were here before.

-Greg Delanty

2010-12-31T19:48:00.000+08:00

speechless.

wasak ka.

salamat 2010.

2010-12-12T22:38:00.000+08:00

Fairy Tales Do Exist In This World

...and they lived ~~happily ever after~~.

2010-11-24T00:54:00.004+08:00

Wakas

Nagbabago ang mundo. Nararamdaman mo ba
ang pagyanig, ang pagbitak ng lupa,
ang paggalaw ng ating kinalalagyan
papalayo sa isa't isa?

Ikaw ay nasa kabilang dako ng tulay at sinisigaw ko
ang pangalan mo sa gitna ng mga gusaling gumuguho.
At matatabunan ang lahat ng kadiliman.

Magigising ako at makikita ang bagong mundo,
walang alaala ng nakalipas.

Ito ang simula. Ito ang ating wakas.

2010-11-14T23:13:00.001+08:00

You have to understand. I'm jealous of everything that moves. I'm jealous of the rain!

-The End of the Affair (1999)

2010-11-09T15:48:00.004+08:00

from Canti

XXXVII

ALCETA

Listen, Melisso: I want to tell you a dream
I had last night, which comes to mind,
seeing the moon again. I was standing
at the window that looks out on the meadow
staring up, when suddenly the moon
unhooked herself. And it seemed to me
that as she fell,
the nearer she got the bigger she looked, until
she hit the ground in the middle of the meadow,
big as a bucket, and vomited
a cloud of sparks that shrieked as loud
as when you dunk a live coal in the water
and drown it. So, as I said,
the moon died in the middle of the meadow,
little by little slowly darkening,
and the grass was smoking all around.
Then, looking up into the sky, I saw
something still there, a glimmer or a shadow,
or the niche that she'd been torn away from,
which made me cold with fear. And I'm still anxious.

MELISSO

You were right to be afraid, when the moon
fell so easily into your field.

ALCETA

Who knows? Don't we often see
stars fall in summer?

MELISSO

There are so many stars
that if one or another of them falls
it's no great loss, since there are thousands left.
But there's just this one moon up in the sky,
which no one saw fall ever—except in dreams.

- Giacomo Leopardi (translated by Jonathan Galassi)

Enough

It's a gift, this cloudless November morning
warm enough for you to walk without a jacket
along your favorite path. The rhythmic shushing
of your feet through fallen leaves should be
enough to quiet the mind, so it surprises you
when you catch yourself telling off your boss
for a decade of accumulated injustices,
all the things you've never said circling inside you.

It's the rising wind that pulls you out of it,
and you look up to see a cloud of leaves
swirling in sunlight, flickering against the blue
and rising above the treetops, as if the whole day
were sighing, Let it go, let it go,
for this moment at least, let it all go

- Jeffrey Harrison

2010-10-22T11:22:00.000+08:00

ang pagsusulat

ay bagyo.

ay damdamin.

pabugsu-bugso.

2010-10-05T10:09:00.002+08:00

Testy Pony
by Zachary Schomburg

I am given a pony for my birthday, but it is the wrong kind of pony. It is the kind of pony that won’t listen. It is testy. When I ask it to go left, it goes right. When I ask it to run, it sleeps on its side in the tall grass. So when I ask it to jump us over the river into the field I have never before been, I have every reason to believe it will fail, that we will be swept down the river to our deaths. It is a fate for which I am prepared. The blame of our death will rest with the testy pony, and with that, I will be remembered with reverence, and the pony will be remembered with great anger. But with me on its back, the testy pony rears and approaches the river with unfettered bravery. Its leap is glorious. It clears the river with ease, not even getting its pony hooves wet. And then there we are on the other side of the river, the sun going down, the pony circling, looking for something to eat in the dirt. Real trust is to do so in the face of clear doubt, and to trust is to love. This is my failure, and for that I cannot be forgiven.

2010-09-30T01:00:00.000+08:00

I.
Tandaan mo mapanganib ang lungsod para sa ating dalawa. Mapanganib ito tuwing gabi dahil nagbabago ang lahat ng inakala nating alam na -ang bangketa, kalsada, mga sasakyan, mga bato sa daan, ilaw-poste, ang kulay ng kalangitan, mga billboard, karatula ng mga tindahan at restoran, mga bahay-aliwan, ang palengke, ang simbahan. Kaya hangga't maaari huwag tayong sabay na umuwi. Dahil sa dalawang pusong nagsisintahan tanging damdamin lamang ang nasusunod. Hindi tayo makalilingon sa pinanggalingan. Tayo ay tatawid sa maling tawiran. Hindi tayo makapag-iisip ng landas pabalik. Mawawala tayong dalawa at magiging iba ang paningin natin sa mga bagay na akala natin ay maganda. Hindi na tayo mabibighani sa lungsod tuwing gabi. Hihigpitan natin ang kapit sa isa't isa subalit sa huli'y lalamunin tayo at iluluwa ng mga pasikut-sikot na kalsada. Magigising tayong hindi kilala ang isa't isa. Hindi na makababalik pa. Ito ang parusa ng lungsod sa atin. Dahil pinipilit nating maging masaya. Dahil gusto nating angkinin ang lungsod. At dahil takot tayong mawala ang maraming bagay na lumilipas.

II.
Sinadya ang lungsod para sa pag-iisa.

2010-08-08T21:34:00.000+08:00

Catherine

I can't
hear

her

heart.

2010-07-17T22:06:00.001+08:00

Two times, I have died.
That which passes, I can't feel.
I do not exist.

2010-07-12T22:30:00.000+08:00

SA BINGIT

Isang hakbang na lamang

Ang pagitan natin, ngunit may

Kung anong humahadlang sa akin

Na ika'y tuluyang yakapin.

2010-07-09T00:20:00.009+08:00

We are

We are not ordinary lovers.
We are not bound by wishes
Upon falling stars, by promises
Disintegrating slowly in hearts
Like of couples as they watch explosions,
Fading flickering flares from the night sky.
It is not letters we send to each other
But recordings of our songs for one another.
We are not ordinary lovers.
I love her. She may sometimes feel the same,
She may not have said anything
About this thing called love. Anything about her
Hand in mine. Anything about last night
Apart from the day we confessed our hearts.
She may think this poem is for her
But it is not. You see, we actually wrote this
Together right from the start.
We are not ordinary lovers.
That must mean a lot. That must mean
There is no room for failure in this poem.
No sadness, no fear of pain. This poem is not ordinary.
Yet it is not complete.
You see, my dream is to be able to write
A poem that is perfect. Perfect enough
To describe what is between the both of us.
You see, ordinary hearts won't last a lifetime
But a poem would live forever.

07/09/10 12 am

2010-07-06T22:47:00.000+08:00

UNANG ULAN NG MAYO

Handa na akong lumipad sa ulap

Upang humalo sa ulan at maranasan

Ang nananabik mong pagtanggap

Sa patak-patak kong mga yakap.

2010-07-02T00:01:00.001+08:00

let it go this too shall pass when the morning comes

this too shall pass when the morning comes let it go

let this go when it comes the morning too shall pass

when the morning comes it shall pass too this let go

2010-06-27T00:20:00.000+08:00

LOVE SONG

~~Huwag kang mag-alala,~~

~~May nagma~~mahal ~~sa 'yo~~,

Nandito ako.

2010-06-19T21:56:00.000+08:00

SA TOTOO LANG

Hindi mo sinabi sa akin ang totoo

Na hindi ka marunong magbisikleta

Sinubok ko pang pigilin ang iyong pagsemplang

Ngunit pati ako'y napahandusay sa damuhan

Sa totoo lang, ginusto kong manatili tayo doon

Pagmasdan natin ang langit tayong dalawa lamang

Ngunit mahalagang magamot nila agad ang iyong sugat

Tuloy hindi ko naihayag sa iyo ang totoo

Naiwan akong nakalupasay doon at duguan

Ang puso na matagal nang nagsusumamo
Ikaw ang lunas na aking kailangan.

2010-06-15T21:35:00.000+08:00

TULA ANG AKING MUNDO

Nais tumakas, ang tula'y aking tinalikuran

Ngunit nakitang muli sa aking harapan.

2010-06-12T17:34:00.000+08:00

BICOL EXPRESS

Bata pa ako noong huling punta ko doon sa probinsya

Dito na ako lumaki sa lungsod

Ngunit gusto kong doon sa probinsya tumanda't mamatay

Maraming bata ang doon na lumaki sa probinsya

Malaki na sila nang magpunta dito sa lungsod

Ngunit hindi nila ginustong dito tumanda't mamatay

2010-06-11T13:32:00.000+08:00

BUWAN SA IBABAW NG TUBIG

Dito patay lahat ng ilog sa Maynila

Kaya tuwing sasapit ang gabi

Kontento na kami sa pagtingala

2010-06-10T23:18:00.000+08:00

MAGKAIBANG IKOT NG MUNDO

Wala sa lakas o bilis, sabi mo

Ang sekreto sa pagpapaikot ng trumpo

Kundi sa maayos na pagbalanse nito.

Kung nasaan ka man ngayon,

Hindi na nga uso ang trumpo ngunit

Gusto kong matutuhan iyon sa iyo

Dahil unti-unti nang tumitigil

Ang pag-inog ng aking mundo.

2010-06-10T23:06:00.000+08:00

welcome back

ang gusto ko lang naman e, sabihin yung sinasabi ng puso ko. kung maipadama ko iyon sa mambabasa, tagumpay ako. ito yung pinakadahilan kung bakit ako nagsusulat. yung totoo lang. yung galing sa puso. walang bahid ng kung anu-anong teoryang ginagawang kumplikado ang mga bagay-bagay. haha, ang gandang halimbawa ng irony yung pagsali ko sa heights ano. pero tuloy lang tayo. mahal ko ang heights. at marami pa akong dapat malaman.

2010-04-27T20:05:00.002+08:00

cool off muna.

it's not you baby, it's me.

2010-04-12T12:53:00.000+08:00

alam mo yung pakiramdam pag nabasa mo yung mga dati mong tula tapos nabaduyan ka bigla, o kaya nasabi mo shaks bakit ang pangit nito, alam mo yun? ibig sabihin naglevel-up ka. kaso nga lang, kaso, kawawa naman yung mga tao sa dedication. di ba? bakit pa kasi nilalagyan ng 'kay ganito', 'kay ganyan' e. yan tuloy.

2010-03-21T01:01:00.003+08:00

There and Back Again

nag-booksale ako last week tapos nakita ko to. di ko na sana bibilhin kasi tutal naman alam ko na yung plot. naadik ako masyado sa middle earth nung bata ako. pero ngayon binabasa ko na siya at naisip ko, marami pala akong mamimiss pag hindi ko to nabasa. buti na lang. mahal kita booksale haha.

What has roots as nobody sees,
Is taller than trees,
     Up, up it goes,
     And yet never grows?

"Easy!" said Bilbo. "Mountain, I suppose."

Voiceless it cries,
Wingless flutters,
Toothless bites,
Mouthless mutters.

..."Wind, wind of course,"

It cannot be seen, cannot be felt,
Cannot be heard, cannot be smelt.
It lies behind stars and under hills,
        And empty holes it fills.
It comes first and follows after,
        Ends life, kills laughter.

"Dark!" he said without even scratching his head...

personal favorite:

This thing all things devours:
Birds, beasts, trees, flowers;
Gnaws iron, bites steel;
Grinds hard stones to meal;
Slays king, ruins town,
And beats high mountain down.

alam mo ba yung sagot? hehe.

2010-03-05T22:07:00.000+08:00

Song

Listen: there was a goat's head hanging by ropes in a tree.
All night it hung there and sang. And those who heard it
Felt a hurt in their hearts and thought they were hearing
The song of a night bird. They sat up in their beds, and then
They lay back down again. In the night wind, the goat's head
Swayed back and forth, and from far off it shone faintly
The way the moonlight shone on the train track miles away
Beside which the goat's headless body lay. Some boys
Had hacked its head off. It was harder work than they had imagined.
The goat cried like a man and struggled hard. But they
Finished the job. They hung the bleeding head by the school
And then ran off into the darkness that seems to hide everything.
The head hung in the tree. The body lay by the tracks.
The head called to the body. The body to the head.
They missed each other. The missing grew large between them,
Until it pulled the heart right out of the body, until
The drawn heart flew toward the head, flew as a bird flies
Back to its cage and the familiar perch from which it trills.
Then the heart sang in the head, softly at first and then louder,
Sang long and low until the morning light came up over
The school and over the tree, and then the singing stopped....
The goat had belonged to a small girl. She named
The goat Broken Thorn Sweet Blackberry, named it after
The night's bush of stars, because the goat's silky hair
Was dark as well water, because it had eyes like wild fruit.
The girl lived near a high railroad track. At night
She heard the trains passing, the sweet sound of the train's horn
Pouring softly over her bed, and each morning she woke
To give the bleating goat his pail of warm milk. She sang
Him songs about girls with ropes and cooks in boats.
She brushed him with a stiff brush. She dreamed daily
That he grew bigger, and he did. She thought her dreaming
Made it so. But one night the girl didn't hear the train's horn,
And the next morning she woke to an empty yard. The goat
Was gone. Everything looked strange. It was as if a storm
Had passed through while she slept, wind and stones, rain
Stripping the branches of fruit. She knew that someone
Had stolen the goat and that he had come to harm. She called
To him. All morning and into the afternoon, she called
And called. She walked and walked. In her chest a bad feeling
Like the feeling of the stones gouging the soft undersides
Of her bare feet. Then somebody found the goat's body
By the high tracks, the flies already filling their soft bottles
At the goat's torn neck. Then somebody found the head
Hanging in a tree by the school. They hurried to take
These things away so that the girl would not see them.
They hurried to raise money to buy the girl another goat.
They hurried to find the boys who had done this, to hear
Them say it was a joke, a joke, it was nothing but a joke....
But listen: here is the point. The boys thought to have
Their fun and be done with it. It was harder work than they
Had imagined, this silly sacrifice, but they finished the job,
Whistling as they washed their large hands in the dark.
What they didn't know was that the goat's head was already
Singing behind them in the tree. What they didn't know
Was that the goat's head would go on singing, just for them,
Long after the ropes were down, and that they would learn to listen,
Pail after pail, stroke after patient stroke. They would
Wake in the night thinking they heard the wind in the trees
Or a night bird, but their hearts beating harder. There
Would be a whistle, a hum, a high murmur, and, at last, a song,
The low song a lost boy sings remembering his mother's call.
Not a cruel song, no, no, not cruel at all. This song
Is sweet. It is sweet. The heart dies of this sweetness.

-Brigit Pegeen Kelly

2010-03-01T23:13:00.009+08:00

Falling Stars

Do you remember still the falling stars
that like swift horses through the heavens raced
and suddenly leaped across the hurdles
of our wishes--do you recall? And we
did make so many! For there were countless numbers
of stars: each time we looked above we were
astounded by the swiftness of their daring play,
while in our hearts we felt safe and secure
watching these brilliant bodies disintegrate,
knowing somehow we had survived their fall.

-R.M. Rilke

2010-02-26T12:31:00.001+08:00

Tula

"The task of poetry

is to never run out of words"

- The Doomed, Mikael Co

Hindi sa pangungulila nagmumula ang tula.
Kaya ngayon, aking hinahanap

Ang mga tulang bigo, hindi ko matandaan
Kung saan naisuksok o naitapon;

Saan ako nagkamali? Naitanong mo na rin ito
Noong napag-usapan natin ang hangganan

Ng mga pangako, naaalala ko kung paano mo
Inilahad sa akin ang iyong puso

na bigong-bigo; kung paano ako nahirapan
Na umapuhap ng salita sa alangaang.

Paano ka mauubusan ng salita?
Paulit-ulit kong naririnig ang iyong tinig

Habang isinusulat itong kabiguan nating dalawa.
Alam mo, gusto kong magtagumpay

Itong tula. Liparin sa hangin ang bawat linya
Hakutin lahat ng mabibigat na bagahe nitong naninikip

Na dibdib, tangayin ang bawat hinanakit sa lungsod
Patungo sa kalawakang hindi natin maaabot.

Gusto kong mabasa mo ito at isumpa
Ang lahat ng salitang nakalatag dito sa papel,

Iyong sunugin hanggang sa tuluyang maglaho,
Tulad ng isang bituing unti-unting nagiging abo.

Nang sa gayon wala kang mabalikan,
Nang sa gayon manatili akong naghahanap.

kay Amor
02/24/10

2010-02-17T16:31:00.004+08:00

matatapos din to

kung kilala mo ako talaga, alam mong motto ko to sa buhay. medyo kakarampot na salita para sa mabigat na kahulugan. pero kung sakaling nagtataka ka kung saang lupalop ko to nakuha, eto ipapabasa ko sa yo:

gam zeh yaavor.

"This too shall pass" (Hebrew: גם זה יעבור‎, gam zeh yaavor) is a phrase occurring in a Jewish wisdom folktale involving King Solomon.

One day Solomon decided to humble Benaiah Ben Yehoyada, his most trusted minister. He said to him, "Benaiah, there is a certain ring that I want you to bring to me. I wish to wear it for Sukkot which gives you six months to find it." "If it exists anywhere on earth, your majesty," replied Benaiah, "I will find it and bring it to you, but what makes the ring so special?" "It has magic powers," answered the king. "If a happy man looks at it, he becomes sad, and if a sad man looks at it, he becomes happy." Solomon knew that no such ring existed in the world, but he wished to give his minister a little taste of humility. Spring passed and then summer, and still Benaiah had no idea where he could find the ring. On the night before Sukkot, he decided to take a walk in one of the poorest quarters of Jerusalem. He passed by a merchant who had begun to set out the day's wares on a shabby carpet. "Have you by any chance heard of a magic ring that makes the happy wearer forget his joy and the broken-hearted wearer forget his sorrows?" asked Benaiah. He watched the grandfather take a plain gold ring from his carpet and engrave something on it. When Benaiah read the words on the ring, his face broke out in a wide smile. That night the entire city welcomed in the holiday of Sukkot with great festivity. "Well, my friend," said Solomon, "have you found what I sent you after?" All the ministers laughed and Solomon himself smiled. To everyone's surprise, Benaiah held up a small gold ring and declared, "Here it is, your majesty!" As soon as Solomon read the inscription, the smile vanished from his face. The jeweler had written three Hebrew letters on the gold band: gimel, zayin, yud, which began the words "Gam zeh ya'avor" -- "This too shall pass." At that moment Solomon realized that all his wisdom and fabulous wealth and tremendous power were but fleeting things, for one day he would be nothing but dust.

2010-02-06T01:17:00.006+08:00

The event has been cancelled due to cloudy skies and the sudden unavailability of the speaker. Maybe next time. It’ll be rescheduled so please wait for further announcements. Sorry guys.

Hi everyone! Here’s another opportunity to write. As in previous exercises, submit a 1-page poem to me by Friday, 7 December.

Here's the exercise: Describe a celestial body in such a way that a reader will think of death. Do not mention death in the poem.

Please take note that the talk will be given in Filipino, and talks about astronomy's contribution to the art of poetry. I highly encourage you to attend. Bring a friend.

***

~~WIKAlawakan~~

~~Stargazing~~

~~National Observatory Field~~

~~December 1 (Saturday)~~

~~7:30 pm onwards~~

~~Free poetry lecture and stargazing from the LITSENSE Movement with the special participation of the Astronomical Association of the Philippines.~~

2010-01-23T02:12:00.004+08:00

Nakakatakot yun

hindi ko na maalala kung tuesday o thursday ba yun, pero ngayong week lang nangyari. kakatapos lang ng philosophy class ko sa bellarmine, papunta ako sa xavier hall. tapos nakita kita, papunta naman sa bellarmine. napatigil ako sandali. ang sweet ninyo, may h.h.w.w. pa kayong nalalaman. pero teka teka, sa isip ko: ano tong nakikita ko, may boyfriend ka na pala? bakit ngayon ko lang nalaman. ang loser ko. tonight i can write the saddest lines. ngayong gabi kaya kong magbitiw ng bitter words. tulang naisulat matapos ayain ang isang kaibigang lumabas at mabigong muli. tulang naisulat matapos itapon ang isa na namang tula ng paglimot. tulang naisulat matapos itapon ang isa na namang tula ng pangungulila. pakiramdam ko kaya kong tumula ng pagkadami-raming tula tungkol sa pangungulila at kamatayan. ito na yun. may quota ang pag-ibig. hindi ako kasama. ganito siguro yung pakiramdam ng mga emo pag sinasabi nila na hindi sila maintindihan ng mundo, na mas masakit yung inner pain na nararamdaman nila kaysa sa physical pain kaya nila gustong maglaslas convention. naisip ko, kinabukasan magsusuot ako ng black shirt at magiging die hard fan ako ng chicosci dahil sila lang ang makakaintindi sa nararanasan kong suffering ngayon. tapos idedelete ko lahat ng text messages mo, dahil i have to move on and start a new life. a new, emo, low habitus life. sana panaginip lang to, pero nakikita ko kayo ng boyfriend mong kalbo. magkakasalubong pa tayo. palapit kayo ng palapit sa akin. 5 seconds, 4, 3, 2... tapos, pagkatapos nun, saka ko lang narealize. hindi ikaw yun. kamukha mo lang pala sa malayo. kasi malabo ang mata ko, parang pag-ibig.

2010-01-23T01:00:00.000+08:00

Disyembre

Minumulto ng hangin ang mga dahon

sa labas at ako sa loob ng kuwarto

habang nag-aaral. Kung bakit ako napatingin

sa kisame kung saan makikita ang mga bituin

na istiker, hindi ko alam. Marahil tinatawag mo ako

kaya ko naisipang dumungaw sa bintana. Tumingala

kayo, sabi sa balita, ika-10:30 ng gabi, makakakita

ng mga bulalakaw. Pagkalipas ng isang oras,

sumuko ako at kumuha ng isang basong tubig

para sa nanunuyong lalamunan. Nakatingala ka

rin ba kanina? -ang mga salitang nasa isip ko

habang naglalakad pabalik sa kuwarto.

Naririnig ko ang sariling sinasabi ito,

at sinasabi ng sarili kong naririnig ko ito.

Nang itanong ko ito sa aking ama, walang imik

lamang siyang nanonood –magiging maulan

bukas kaya magdala ng payong ang payo ng

PAGASA. Hindi na ako umaasang

totoo palagi ang mga sinasabi sa balita.

Nang lapitan ko ang alagang aso,

lumuhod ako at ibinulong sa kanya:

Nakatingala ka rin ba kanina? Marahil totoo,

nakaaamoy ang aso ng takot, pati ng lungkot.

Papatayin ko na ang ilaw.

Ngunit muli akong bumangon.

Itatanong ko muna ito

sa larawan mo

bago ako matulog.

2009-12-30T14:19:00.001+08:00

new year na naman

I love how things attach themselves

to other things--the rocks sitting stubbornly

beneath a river, the beards of moss.

I choose a color and it connotes sadness.

But how long must the symbols remain true? Blue

is blue, not lonely. After a time, one gives up

reading the sky for shadows, even rain.

There is no promise, only a possibility.

A moment moves to another, and still it feels

the same. Like old letters in boxes.

Or how the rain, at times, falls invisibly.

Finally, the things we love demand more love,

as if we have always been capable of it. Yet

I can only offer belief, mirages that mean water,

long travels leading somewhere. I am reading

old letters, trying to make something

of what's been said. It might be raining;

some pages are unreadable.

-Joel Toledo, Attachments

salamat 2009.

2009-12-21T21:42:00.017+08:00

The Star

Arthur C. Clarke

It is three thousand light-years to the Vatican. Once, I believed that space could have no power over faith, just as I believed that the heavens declared the glory of God’s handiwork. Now I have seen that handiwork, and my faith is sorely troubled. I stare at the crucifix that hangs on the cabin above the Mark VI Computer, and for the first time in my life I wonder if it is no more than an empty symbol.

I have told no one yet, but the truth cannot be concealed. The facts are there for all to read, recorded on the countless miles of magnetic tape and thousands of photographs we are carrying back to Earth. Other scientists can interpret them as easily as I can, and I am not one who would condone that tampering with the truth which often gave my order a bad name in the olden days.

The crew are already sufficiently depressed: I wonder how they will take this ultimate irony. Few them have any religious faith, yet they will not relish using this final weapon in their campaign against me–that private, good-natured, but fundamentally serious, war which lasted all the way from Earth. It amused them to have a Jesuit as chief astrophysicist: Dr. Chandler, for instance, could never get over it (why are medical men such notorious atheists?). Sometimes he would meet me on the observation deck, where the lights are always so low that the stars shine with undiminished glory. He would come up to me in the gloom and stand staring out of the great oval port, while the heavens crawled slowly around us as the ship turned end over end with the residual spin we had never bothered to correct.

“Well, Father,” he would say at last, “it goes on forever and forever, and perhaps Something made it. But how you can believe that Something has a special interest in us and our miserable little world–that just beats me.” Then the argument would start, while the stars and nebulae would swing around us in silent, endless arcs beyond the flawlessly clear plastic of the observation port.

It was, I think, the apparent incongruity of position that caused most amusement to the crew. In vain I would point to my three papers in the Astrophysical Journal, my five in the Monthly Notices of the Royal Astronomical Society. I would remind them that my order has long been famous for its scientific works. We may be few now, ever since the eighteenth century we have made contributions to astronomy and geophysics out of all proportion to our numbers. Will my report on the Phoenix Nebula end our thousand years of history? It will end, I fear, much more than that.

I do not know who gave the nebula its name, which seems to me a very bad one. If it contains a prophecy, it is one that cannot be verified for several billion years. Even the word nebula is misleading: this is a far smaller object than those stupendous clouds of mist-the stuff of unborn stars-that are scattered throughout the length of the Milky Way. On the cosmic scale, indeed, the Phoenix Nebula is a tiny thing–a tenuous shell of gas surrounding a single star.
Or what is left of a star…

The Rubens engraving of Loyola seems to mock me as it hangs there above the pectrophotometer tracings. What would you, Father, have made of knowledge that has come into my keeping, so far from the little world that was all the universe you knew? Would your faith have risen to the challenge, as mine has failed to do?

You gaze into the distance, Father, but I have traveled a distance beyond any that you could have imagined when you founded our order a thousand years ago. No other survey ship has been so from Earth: we are at the very frontiers of the explored universe. We set out to reach the Phoenix Nebula, we succeeded, and we are homeward bound with our burden of knowledge. I wish I could lift that burden from my shoulders, but I call to you in vain across the centuries and the light?years that lie between us.

On the book you are holding the words are plain to read. AD MAIOREM DEI GLORIAM, the message runs, but it is a message I can no longer believe. Would you still believe it, if you could see what we have found?

We knew, of course, what the Phoenix Nebula was. Every year, in our galaxy alone, more than a hundred stars explode, blazing for a few hours or days with thousands of times their normal brilliance before they sink back into death and obscurity. Such are the ordinary novae– the commonplace disasters of the universe. I have recorded the spectrograms and light curves of dozens since I started working at the Lunar Observatory. But three or four times in every thousand years occurs something beside which even a nova pales into total insignificance.

When a star becomes a supernova, it may for a little while outshine all the massed suns of the galaxy. The Chinese astronomers watched this happen in A.D. 1054, not knowing what it was they saw. Five centuries later, in 1572, a supernova blazed in Cassiopeia so brilliantly that it was visible in the daylight sky. There have been three more in the thousand years that have passed since then.

Our mission was to visit the remnants of such a catastrophe, to reconstruct the events that led up to it, and, if possible, to learn its cause. We came slowly in through the concentric shells of gas that had been blasted out six thousand years before, yet were expanding still. They were immensely hot, radiating even now with a fierce violet light, but were far too tenuous to do us any damage. When the star had exploded, its outer layers had been driven upward with such speed that they had escaped completely from its gravitational field. Now they formed a hollow shell large enough to engulf a thousand solar systems, and at its center burned the tiny, fantastic object which the star had now become– a White Dwarf, smaller than the Earth, yet weighing a million times as much.

The glowing gas shells were all around us, banishing the normal night of interstellar space. We were flying into the center of a cosmic bomb that had detonated millennia ago and whose incandescent fragments were still hurtling apart. The immense scale of the explosion, and the fact that the debris already covered a volume of space many billions of miles across, robbed the scene of any visible movement. It would take decades before the unaided eye could detect any motion in these tortured wisps and eddies of gas, yet the sense of turbulent expansion was overwhelming.

We had checked our primary drive hours before, and were drifting slowly toward the fierce little star ahead. Once it had been a sun like our own, but it had squandered in a few hours the energy that should have kept it shining for a million years. Now it was a shrunken miser, hoarding its resources as if trying to make amends for its prodigal youth.

No one seriously expected to find planets. If there had been any before the explosion, they would have been boiled into puffs of vapor, and their substance lost in the greater wreckage of the star itself. But we made the automatic search, as we always do when approaching an unknown sun, and presently we found a single small world circling the star at an immense distance. It must have been the Pluto of this vanished solar system, orbiting on the frontiers of the night. Too far from the central sun ever to have known life, its remoteness had saved it from the fate of all its lost companions.

The passing fires had seared its rocks and burned away the mantle of frozen gas that must have covered it in the days before the disaster. We landed, and we found the Vault.

Its builders had made sure that we should. The monolithic marker that stood above the entrance was now a fused stump, but even the first long-range photographs told us that here was the work of intelligence. A little later we detected the continent-wide pattern of radioactivity that had been buried in the rock. Even if the pylon above the Vault had been destroyed, this would have remained, an immovable and all but eternal beacon calling to the stars. Our ship fell toward this gigantic bull’s-eye like an arrow into its target.

The pylon must have been a mile high when it was built, but now it looked like a candle that had melted down into a puddle of wax. It took us a week to drill through the fused rock, since we did not have the proper tools for a task like this. We were astronomers, not archaeologists, but we could improvise. Our original purpose was forgotten: this lonely monument, reared with such labor at the greatest possible distance from the doomed sun, could have only one meaning. A civilization that knew it was about to die had made its last bid for immortality.

It will take us generations to examine all the treasures that were placed in the Vault. They had plenty of time to prepare, for their sun must have given its first warnings many years before the final detonation. Everything that they wished to preserve, all the fruit of their genius, they brought here to this distant world in the days before the end, hoping that some other race would find it and that they would not be utterly forgotten. Would we have done as well, or would we have been too lost in our own misery to give thought to a future we could never see or share?

If only they had had a little more time! They could travel freely enough between the planets of their own sun, but they had not yet learned to cross the interstellar gulfs, and the nearest solar system was a hundred light?years away. Yet even had they possessed the secret of the Transfinite Drive, no more than a few millions could have been saved. Perhaps it was better thus.

Even if they had not been so disturbingly human as their sculpture shows, we could not have helped admiring them and grieving for their fate. They left thousands of visual records and the machines for projecting them, together with elaborate pictorial instructions from which it will not be difficult to learn their written language. We have examined many of these records, and brought to life for the first time in six thousand years the warmth and beauty of a civilization that in many ways must have been superior to our own. Perhaps they only showed us the best, and one can hardly blame them. But their worlds were very lovely, and their cities were built with a grace that matches anything of man’s. We have watched them at work and play, and listened to their musical speech sounding across the centuries. One scene is still before my eyes-a group of children on a beach of strange blue sand, playing in the waves as children play on Earth. Curious whip-like trees line the shore, and some very large animal is wading in the shallows yet attracting no attention at all. And sinking into the sea, still warm and friendly and life-giving, is the sun that will soon turn traitor and obliterate all this innocent happiness.

Perhaps if we had not been so far from home and so vulnerable to loneliness, we should not have been so deeply moved. Many of us had seen the ruins of ancient civilizations on other worlds, but they had never affected us so profoundly. This tragedy was unique. It is one thing for a race to fail and die, as nations and cultures have done on Earth. But to be destroyed so completely in the full flower of its achievement, leaving no survivors-how could that be reconciled with the mercy of God?

My colleagues have asked me that, and I have given what answers I can. Perhaps you could have done better, Father Loyola, but I have found nothing in the Exercitia Spiritualia that helps me here. They were not an evil people: I do not know what gods they worshiped, if indeed they worshiped any. But I have looked back at them across the centuries and have watched while the loveliness they used their last strength to preserve was brought forth again into the light of their shrunken sun. They could have taught us much: why were they destroyed?

I know the answers that my colleagues will give when they get back to Earth. They will say that the universe has no purpose and no plan, that since a hundred suns explode every year in our galaxy, at this very moment some race is dying in the depths of space. Whether that race has done good or evil during its lifetime will make no difference in the end: there is no divine justice, for there is no God.

Yet, of course, what we have seen proves nothing of the sort. Anyone who argues thus is being swayed by emotion, not logic. God has no need to justify His actions to man. He who built the universe can destroy it when He chooses. It is arrogance-it is perilously near blasphemy-for us to say what He may or may not do.
This I could have accepted, hard though it is to look upon whole worlds and peoples thrown into the furnace. But there comes a point when even the deepest faith must falter, and now, as I look at the calculations lying before me, I know I have reached that point at last.

We could not tell, before we reached the nebula, how long ago the explosion took place. Now, from the astronomical evidence and the record in the rocks of that one surviving planet, I have been able to date it very exactly. I know in what year the light of this colossal conflagration reached our Earth. I know how brilliantly the supernova whose corpse now dwindles behind our speeding ship once shone in terrestrial skies. I know how it must have blazed low in the east before sunrise, like a beacon in that oriental dawn.
There can be no reasonable doubt: the ancient mystery is solved at last. Yet, oh God, there were so many stars you could have used. What was the need to give these people to the fire, that the symbol of their passing might shine above Bethlehem?

2009-12-15T20:59:00.012+08:00

I think

I am

in love

therefore

I exist

2009-11-26T23:11:00.004+08:00

humans are temporal. meaning, they have a beginning and an end.

because of this, humans somehow established a sense of past, present, and future.

how do we think of time is different from how we experience it.

we think of time in terms of quantifiable data - seconds, days, years of the past and the future.

we experience time only in the present. it is only in the present that we do "work" and the experience of that "work" is the experience of time itself.

the experience of time is more important than the quantifiable concepts or the physical world's definition of time.

therefore the present will always be more valuable than the past and the future.

in this experience of the present [moment], we establish a certain connection with reality. we establish "presence"

time is, in reality, presence (Gegenwart). more correctly the "life-stream of presence." (lebendig stromende Gegewart)

we may now say that time, upon considering only the present, is an endless "presence".

the endless presence is always a tension between "absence" and "presence"

-HISTORICITY, albert dondeyne

------

1. makikitang dependent sa concept of "time" yung essay. kung nagsimula sa pagiging temporal ng human being ang dahilan kung bakit nagkaroon ng sense of past,present, future (sense of time na rin), posible ngang gawa-gawa lang ng tao ang idea ng "time". What if there is no such thing called time?

2. pinag-aaralan ko ngayon kung paano gumamit ng strikethrough sa tula. ano konek? may connection sa experience ng reader, sa presence nung salitang may strikethrough at sa pag-alter ng tenses ng mga salita pabalik sa past. well of course, may mga limitations nga lang dahil hindi pupuwedeng basahin pabigkas ang tulang may strikethrough. e ano ngayon?

2009-11-02T00:31:00.002+08:00

Bulong

Naaalala mo ba noong araw

na nagpalipad tayo ng saranggola,

magkahawak-kamay? Sumabit ito bigla

sa kawad ng kuryente at ilaw

poste at sa wakas

natutuhan ko

kung ano ang pagbitaw.

2009-09-29T16:22:00.002+08:00

1.

Dear City,
Conchitina Cruz

Permit us to refresh your memory: what comes from heaven is always a blessing, the enemy is not the rain. Rain is the subject of prayer, the kind gesture of saints. Dear City, explain your irreverence: in you, rain is a visitor with nowhere to go. Where is the ground that knows only the love of water? Where are the passageways to your heart? Pity the water that stays and rises on the streets, pity the water that floods into houses, so dark and filthy and heavy with rats and dead leaves and plastic. How ashamed water is to be what you have made it. What have you done to its beauty, its graceful body in pictures of oceans, its clear face in a glass? We walk home in the flood and cannot see our feet. We forget to thank the gods for their kindness. We look for someone to blame and turn to you, wretched city, because we are men and women of honor, we feed our children three meals a day, we never miss an election. The only culprit is you, dear city. This is the end of our discussion. There is no other culprit.

Rain
Jack Gilbert

Suddenly this defeat.
This rain.
The blues gone gray
And the browns gone gray
And yellow
A terrible amber.
In the cold streets
Your warm body.
In whatever room
Your warm body.
Among all the people
Your absence
The people who are always
Not you.

9th Ateneo National Writers Workshop

2009-09-22T20:14:00.003+08:00

The 9th Ateneo National Writers Workshop wil be held on Oct 19-22 at the Sacred Heart Novitiate in Novaliches, Quezon City.

Eight young writers from a total field of 79 applicants have been awarded fellowships which include board and lodging, a modest stipend, and the opportunity to learn from an esteemed panel of Atenean writers and critics. The fellows are:

For poetry in English: Gian-Paolo Simeon T. Lao (Ateneo de Manila University) and Patricia Angela F. Magno (Ateneo de Manila University); for poetry in Filipino: Marco Antonio R. Rodas (Enverga University) and Patrick Noah R. Bautista (University of the Philippines, Diliman); for fiction in English: Jenette Ethel N. Viscocho (University of the Philippines, Diliman) and Anne Carly Abad (Ateneo de Manila University); and for fiction in Filipino: Mark Benedict F. Lim (Ateneo de Manila University) and Joselito D. Delos Reyes (Philippine Normal University/ De La Salle University).

The workshop is organized by the Ateneo Institute of Literary Arts and Practices, headed officer-in-charge Asst. Professor Alvin B. Yapan, assisted by workshop director Asst. Instructor Yolando B. Jamendang of the Ateneo's Kagawaran ng Filipino.

*galing sa facebook page ni kael*

congrats kanila gian, petra, maki at anne :)

heights 1st regular issue book launch

2009-09-14T23:11:00.006+08:00

Friday, September 18, 4:30-6:30, MVP Basement.

kitakits po tayo!

Handog ng HEIGHTS para sa Buwan ng Wika

2009-08-07T23:17:00.010+08:00

KITAKITS SA LAHAT!!!

(k)(u)(m)(i)(s)(l)(a)(p); lumelevelup

2009-08-01T09:27:00.012+08:00

writing exercise 07/31/09

pumili ng salita at bumuo ng isang tula gamit lamang ang mga letra ng salitang iyong napili. ex yung beautiful inlaw ni adam david. "kumislap" ang napili kong salita.

UMALIS KAMI SA ALAPAAP

kipkip ka sa alaala
umalis kami

sa alapaap kipkip ka sa alaala

umalis kami

sa alapaap kipkip ka
sa alaala umalis ka-
mi sa alapaap kipkip ka

(sa) alaala umalis ka-

mi sa alapaap
kipkip ka sa alaala

*
revised 08-04-09

paano ka mauubusan ng salita?

2009-07-27T01:11:00.004+08:00

1.
kasi meron akong kuwento. matagal ko na tong gusto ikuwento yun nga lang hindi ko magawa kasi marami akong ginagawa. mahirap na. alam mo yun, mahirap pag tambak ang trabaho, mahirap maging bossing, mahirap maging estudyante at mag-aaral (hindi nga ako makapag-aral nang maayos), mahirap ang ginagabi palagi ng uwi. kalaban ko palagi ang oras. siyempre pati pagod. sanayan lang naman yan. teka, meron akong oras ngayon.

2.
alam mo matagal ko na tong gustong ikuwento. yun nga lang hindi ko magawa kasi hindi ko matapus-tapos yung kuwento ko. nabibitin kasi palagi. alam mo yun. nangyari na rin ba sa 'yo? nakasakay ka sa jeep, sa gabi tapos traffic. wala kang magawa kundi mag-isip ng kung anu-ano. sa dami ng naiisip mo parang gusto mong kausapin yung katabi mo at makipagkuwentuhan. pero hindi mo naman magawa. kaya hahayaan mo na lang. kaso pagdating mo sa bahay, wala na. nabura na. naubusan ka na ng salita.

3.
meron akong gustong ikuwento. kaso may panahon ka ba para makinig?

4.
hindi naman tayo madalas magkita sa campus. siguro ginagabi ka rin ng uwi, siguro madami kang trabaho. o kaya busy ka lang sa pag-aaral. mahirap na rin ngayon. madaming distractions. text. internet. tama naman di ba? alam mo may sinabi yung philo prof ko, darating ang araw na hindi na tayo mag-ooffline. napaisip ako. tama naman di ba? sa panahon ngayon ng hypertext at ng iba pang internet chorva, para bang commodity na lang ang pakikipag-usap. hindi na raw tayo mauubusan ng salita.theoretically speaking yan ha.

5.
kung ganoon ang usapan, ikaw, kailan ka pa naubusan ng salita?

6.
kasi meron akong kuwento. Di ko na ito maalala, kaibigan, ngunit nadarama ko pa rin.

five words

2009-07-20T22:36:00.004+08:00

nitong nakaraang sabado, nagkaroon ng formalist talk sa poetry at fiction ang Heights, kasama ng Haranya mula sa UA&P. At bilang bahagi ng program, naghanda kami ng isang munting writing exercise para sa mga dumalo. kailangang bumuo ng tula mula sa limang salita:

Dati Katha Lubos Bagabag Paglagi

Dehins ko na ginamit yung ibang salita diyan noong nag-revise ako.

Nga pala, napapansin ko kung paano ako tumula, mga simpleng salita lang ang gamit. Ewan, kailangan ko bang palalimin yung vocabulary ko para makatula?

Tulang Nagwawakas Sa Hindi Natapos Dahil Ginabi Na Naman Ako

Noong minsang gabihin ako
at iyong masumbatan sa kuwarto
ako nagkulong at pilit na tumula
tungkol sa patay-
sinding ilaw-
poste sa tapat ng bintana

ngunit aking napag-isip-
isip hindi pala ako makatula

maliban kung sakay ng jeep
sa gabi
palagi akong binabagabag
ng bilis
ng mga pangyayari

ang mga alaala nag-uunahan
naggigitgitan sa aking gunita
nagsasalpukan
ang mga ilaw
ng sasakyan
ang bituin at buwan
sa kalawakan
ng mga salita sa tulang aking kinakatha
habang nakaupo sa isang sulok
nagmamasid sa paligid nagtataka
kung meron ding nagmamakata
na katabi

ngunit gaya ng ilang sasakyang nasiraan
sa daan laging maiiwan
na nakatirik
ang mga linya
sa aking isip tila naghihintay
na maisapapel
pagdating sa bahay ito

ang pasalubong ko sa iyo
isang tula
hindi natapos
dahil ginabi na naman ako.

laging umuulan sa maulang kapuluan

2009-07-17T21:44:00.004+08:00

binasa ko ulit yung libro na hiniram ko kay mike, bago ko isauli sa kanya bukas. naisip ko lang i-post dito yung isa sa mga nagustuhan ko. wasak yung koleksiyon na to. mula sa Magdaragat ng Pag-ibig at Iba Pang Tula ng Pagnanasa - Reuel Molina Aguila

Ikaw Na Ba 'Yan?

Maulan ang mga buwang ito.
Nagnanaknak ang mga lubak
Na kalyeng binaha;
Buhol na trapiko
At mga di makauwing pasahero.
Nag-iisa sa dami ng tao,
Nanginginig sa lamig at dilim,
Naunang nakasakay sa panimdim
Ang aking gunita
Pauwi sa tahanan ng mga alaala.

Walang ulan noon at nakapayong ka
Sa init ng araw ako'y nasilaw
Sa pag-iisa mo.
Ay, kay laon ko nang hinintay
Ang araw na ito
Gaya sa paulit-ulit na panaginip:
Isang dilag na marilag
Ngunit walang mukha
May hawak na payong
Gayong hindi umuulan.
Nagkamukha ang panaginip.
Ikaw na ba 'yan?
Ang gusto kong idulog sa iyo.
Ngunit pinaghiwalay tayo
Ng dagsa ng tao at sasakyan.

Makailang ulit man akong magbalik
Sa lugar na ito, sa parehong oras
Wala, wala ang dilag
Wala ang payong
Wala ang mukha ng panaginip.
Ngunit lagi akong naririto
Sa init ng parehong lugar at oras
At ngayo'y nangangaligkig.
Nais kong mahiga sa malamig
Na bangketa ng pagnanasa;
Matulog at managinip.
Upang kahit doo'y makitang muli
Ang dilag na nakapayong
Kahit walang mukha.

At idudulog ko:
Ikaw na ba 'yan?
At isasagot mo:
Ako na nga ito.

overlooking

2009-07-02T22:09:00.003+08:00

Sumulong Highway, Antipolo:
susunod kong proyekto.

galing dito ang larawan.

usapang zombie

2009-06-24T11:02:00.002+08:00

der koya bags,

hello poh, am ur fan poh. kaya poh aq sumulat kc nnaginip poh aq kgabi. masama poh ung pnaginip q. dhil poh sa ah1n1, naging zombie lhat ng tao na kakilala q, ung mga frnds, classm8s and txtm8s q poh naging infected poh. tpos aq nlng daw ung hndi nagiging zombie. hinahabol poh nila aq. takbo aq ng takbo.tpos sumisigaw ung 1 zombie, sbi niya wg na aq mag-aral. sabi q noooo hndi pde kc gus2 q makita ung crush q ehh. kaya hinabol nila aq, tpos nacorner nila ako, tapos bigla na aq nagcng poh.

ano poh kayang ibig sbihin ng panaginip q?

am urs poh,
badong

* * *

dear badong,

hindi ko alam. wag ka na sigurong maglaro ng left 4 dead.

sige sasakyan ko na tong trip mo ano. hmmm. malamang naging zombie na rin ung crush mo, kaya tama wag ka nang pumasok. wag ka nang mag-aral. kung zombie na lahat ng tao e di ok, ganito: sunugin mo lahat ng libro, mga computer, cellphone, etc, basta lahat ng bagay na associated sa human civilization tapos bumuo ka ng bagong mundo. wasakin mo lahat ng ideas na gawa-gawa lang ng society. kumuha ka ng semi automatic shotgun. huntingin mo sina gloria, manny villar, manny pacquaio, manny v pangilinan, henry sy, obama, george bush, george of the jungle, roger federer, rafael nadal, maria sharapova, maria ozawa, virgilio almario, ambeth ocampo, boy abunda, kris aquino, michael jackson, michael jordan, michael phelps, chris tiu, marami pa e bahala na u. hahaha.

kailangan mong mabuhay ha. maghanap ka ng ibang survivors. kailangang ikaw yung maging leader nila. hintayin mong magkaanak sila ng lalaki at babae. tapos isang araw, ipalapa mo sa mga zombie yung ibang survivor maliban dun sa baby boy at girl. palakihin mo ung dalawa. bumuo kayo ng bagong mundo. o di ba.

tanong: paano ka makakaligtas sa zombie invasion?

yan. wag mong gamitin sa sarili mo ha. i-spray mo sa mga zombie na hahabol sa iyo para maging chocolate sila.

mixed media

2009-06-15T09:33:00.010+08:00

sa wakas. nakasulat na ako. ano ang mangyayari kapag idol mo
sina sir egay, kael, ayer at brandz?
mixed media. hahaha. parang artwork lang.

Heto Ang Isang Tulang Nagwawakas sa Langit

Gaano kalayo
Ang langit

Sa lupa? Naaalala
Mo ba? Noong mga bata tayo
Pilit kong tinanong sa iyo.
Ewan. Paliparin mo na lang
Itong saranggola. Alam mo,
Ginusto kong baybayin
Sa aking isip
Ang haba ng pisi
Na hawak ko ngunit napakalawak
Pala ng langit naisip ko:
Kapag namatay ako, doon
Ako pupunta.
Napatingala ka
At nakita mong nakasabit
Ang iyong saranggola
Doon sa kawad ng kuryente at ilaw
Poste. Binato mo ako noon
Ng sisi. Magmula noon
Ay hindi na tayo muling nag-usap
Tungkol sa langit, lupa, at mga ulap.

Huwag nating pag-usapan ang kamatayan.
Paborito kong linya ng isang tula.
Sabihin ko kaya ito sa 'yo mamaya?
Sanay na akong magsalita
Sa isip habang nakasakay
Sa bus. Patawad
Kung wala akong dalang bulaklak,
Wala naman talaga akong balak
Umuwi sa San Roque kung hindi ko pa
Nalaman ang balita.

Gaano kalayo
Ang langit

Sa lupa? Marahil tinatanong din
Ito ngayon ng iyong ina
Sa harap ng iyong labi.
Habang umiiyak siya
Ay may biglang dumapo sa aking labi
Na isang paruparo.
Mamaya, susundan ko ito.
Kahit na alam ko,
Hindi naman nito mararating
Ang langit.

babay summer

2009-06-02T23:37:00.004+08:00

sabi na nga ba e. matatapos din.

...

Psychoanalysis: An Elegy
Jack Spicer

What are you thinking about?

I am thinking of an early summer.
I am thinking of wet hills in the rain
Pouring water. Shedding it
Down empty acres of oak and manzanita
Down to the old green brush tangled in the sun,
Greasewood, sage, and spring mustard.
Or the hot wind coming down from Santa Ana
Driving the hills crazy,
A fast wind with a bit of dust in it
Bruising everything and making the seed sweet.
Or down in the city where the peach trees
Are awkward as young horses,
And there are kites caught on the wires
Up above the street lamps,
And the storm drains are all choked with dead branches.

What are you thinking?

I think that I would like to write a poem that is slow as a summer
As slow getting started
As 4th of July somewhere around the middle of the second stanza
After a lot of unusual rain
California seems long in the summer.
I would like to write a poem as long as California
And as slow as a summer.
Do you get me, Doctor? It would have to be as slow
As the very tip of summer.
As slow as the summer seems
On a hot day drinking beer outside Riverside
Or standing in the middle of a white-hot road
Between Bakersfield and Hell
Waiting for Santa Claus.

What are you thinking now?

I’m thinking that she is very much like California.
When she is still her dress is like a roadmap. Highways
Traveling up and down her skin
Long empty highways
With the moon chasing jackrabbits across them
On hot summer nights.
I am thinking that her body could be California
And I a rich Eastern tourist
Lost somewhere between Hell and Texas
Looking at a map of a long, wet, dancing California
That I have never seen.
Send me some penny picture-postcards, lady,
Send them.
One of each breast photographed looking
Like curious national monuments,
One of your body sweeping like a three-lane highway
Twenty-seven miles from a night’s lodging
In the world’s oldest hotel.

What are you thinking?

I am thinking of how many times this poem
Will be repeated. How many summers
Will torture California
Until the damned maps burn
Until the mad cartographer
Falls to the ground and possesses
The sweet thick earth from which he has been hiding.

What are you thinking now?

I am thinking that a poem could go on forever.

renga. may 15, 2009

2009-05-16T20:36:00.004+08:00

heto ang isang renga na in-edit ko galing dito

...

Habang tinitiklop ng kamatayan
ang mga dahon, umuungol ang
tangkay ng usal. Nagdarasal

sa saliw ng hangin. Buhay ang
agos ng tubig sa bukal. Nauuhaw

sa tenga ng dahon ang lupa.
Kung bakit ito tinatabunan
ng sanlaksang pagtiklop

ay walang nakaaalam
liban sa nag-iisang dahon

na tinangay ng hangin at napadpad,
parang tinig ng huling awit --pinag-iimbay

ang tubig at hangin,
ang lupa at apoy,

sa nanlalamig mong palad.

-jc, brandz, japhet, rachel, ej

unang ulan ng mayo

2009-05-14T00:38:00.013+08:00

experiment ko to sa line cutting.

...

Kung bakit ayaw nating pag-usapan ang pagkahulog

Palalim nang palalim
ang walang hanggan

na dilim nang bigla kang magising
sa tunog ng nahulog

na porselana. Binabasag
ng iyong paghinga

ang katahimikan sa kalawakan.
Ang durog na buwan. Pinulot mo

ang nagsabog na bubog
sa iyong paanan. Dumaplis

sa iyong isipan: paano pa mabubuo
ang pira-pirasong puso?

Dahil Isa Akong Tiyanak

2009-04-23T00:25:00.003+08:00

1.
Nasa sinapupunan pa lang ako ni Mama e, magulo na raw sa Pilipinas. Panahon daw ‘yon ng patayan at dilim. Madilim kasi patay lahat ng ilaw, brownout dito, brownout doon, palagi na lang daw may brownout, dagdagan pa ng mga protesta, karahasan at rebelyon. Dalawang buwan bago ako ipinanganak, sa Pasay pa kami nakatira, lumindol nang malakas sa Luzon. Marami raw ang namatay lalong lalo na sa Baguio. Malakas daw talaga ‘yong lindol sabi ni Papa, kaya dinaan niya na lang daw sa biro si Mama para ‘wag matakot, sabay hawak sa tiyan niya at alog dito at biglang sabi ng “nalilindol ka baby?” 5x. Hindi ko na talaga maalala kung naramdaman ko rin ba ‘yong malakas na lindol noon, o kung si Papa lang ba ‘yon habang inaalog niya ‘yong tiyan ni Mama, pero natitiyak kong may brownout talaga noon sa sinapupunan ni Mama.

2.
Setyembre 9, 1990 - Una kong nasilayan ang mundo. Hindi ko na maalala kung maliwanag ba noon o hindi, basta malaki raw ang pasasalamat nila Mama at Papa dahil wala raw brownout sa ospital. Kasalukuyang bumabawi naman ang Pilipinas noon mula sa lindol na naganap noong nakalipas na dalawang buwan. Kung marunong na akong magbasa ng diyaryo sa mga panahong iyon, ito ang headline na mababasa ko: Bush and Gorbachev Open Talks today; Iraqi Invasion tops Agenda. Hindi lang pala sa Pilipinas magulo noon dahil sa Gulf War. Si Cory naman, tiniyak na ligtas ang mga Pinoy sa Jordan, Kuwait, at Iraq, at sinabing maayos din ang lahat kagaya ng kanyang pangakong maayos din lahat ng mga problema sa brownout at mga rebelyon.

3.
Setyembre 10, 1990 – Hindi ko pa alam kung ano ang pangalan ko, o kung ano ‘yong mga tunog na nariring ko sa paligid ko, o kung sino sa mga mukhang nakikita ko si Papa at si Mama. Hindi ko pa rin alam na ni-raid ang AFP Armory ng mga rebelde ni Honasan nang mismong araw na ‘yon at nakikigulo sa bansa ang Communist Party of the Philippines, at medyo marami na palang sakit sa ulo itong si Cory noon, na sana natapos na lang at hindi na nadagdagan pa ng iba pang mga rebelde, ‘yan tuloy sumakit din ang mga ulo ng mga sumunod sa kanyang presidente. At nasa kolehiyo na ako ngayon nang malaman kong kahit noong panahon niya, laganap na pala ang katiwalian at pandaraya, ang polusyon, at kahirapan, kaya ngayon napapaisip na lang ako kung tama bang kasalanan lamang ni Gloria ang lahat-lahat, kaya ngayon napapaisip ako kung sino ba ang dapat kong iboto sa 2010.

4.
Disyembre 20, 1990 – Bininyagan ako sa simbahan. Hindi ko pa noon alam na ‘pag binigyan mo ng pangalan ang isang bagay o tao o santo, binibigyang kahulugan mo rin siya. Sinabi ng pari: Emmanuel John –galing sa Bibliya ‘yong Emmanuel at John. Hindi ko nga alam kung ano ba ang talagang pumasok sa utak ng mga magulang ko at ito ang naging pangalan ko. Ayaw ko na rin silang tanungin, kaya gagawa na lang ako ng dahilan mula sa sariling pananaw ko. At ito ang naisip ko: Dahil nga ang taong 1990 ay panahon ng kadiliman at karahasan, malamang na maghahanap ang tao ng pag-asa at liwanag, oo, medyo baduy pakinggan pero ganyan naman talaga ang tao hindi ba, na sa panahon ng kagipitan saka lang makaaalala sa Diyos at saka lang mananampalataya. Sa tingin ko, ayaw ng mga magulang kong isiping malas ako at isa akong tiyanak, at magdadala ako ng sakuna sa aming pamilya dahil nga samu’t samot na kaguluhan ang sumulpot nang ipagbuntis ako ni Mama. Kaya naman walang magawa noon sila Mama at Papa kundi maniwala na lang na magiging mapayapa ang lahat kapag pinangalanan ako ng isang pangalang galing sa Bibliya, na walang darating na anumang trahedya, na magiging maayos ang buhay namin, na ngayon ay kailangang paniwalaan ko na lang din.

Renga. April 17, 2009

2009-04-17T20:29:00.007+08:00

Sapagkat ang lahat ng bagay ay likha sa apoy
na inakala ko noong napupuksa
ng hangin ngunit hindi
nauupos ang apoy sapagkat
ang lahat ay nilikha para rito. Marahil
malilimutan ko ang bawat pagkakataong
ibubulong ng hangin sa akin ang mga linya
ng isang tulang nagsisimula
sa "Sapagkat ang lahat ng bagay ay likha
sa apoy". Nadarama ko ang paglimot
buhat ng masabi ang mga linyang ito.
Malungkot. Maririnig kong muli sa hangin
kung paano susunugin ang lahat.

--- jc, jaja, ej

summer classes

2009-04-14T14:29:00.008+08:00

sige lang. sige lang. matatapos din yan.

2 poems by Stephen Dunn:

Aesthete

A fire has started in the kitchen,
and is moving from room to room.
There's just enough time
to save Rembrandt, an original,
or the portrait of your wife.
You save the Rembrandt, of course,
but when you get outside
you think it might be possible
to save the portrait as well.
You dash back in, and rescue
the portrait just before the flames
would have it as their own.
You're half way out the door now,
you're going to be fine
when you realize, oh no, your wife
has been up in the attic sorting through
memorabilia of your lifetime together.
How stupid of me, you say to yourself,
the Rembrandt or my actual wife-
that's what I neeeded to decide between.
How did I get it so wrong?

To a Friend Accused of a Crime
He May Have Committed

We'll never know for sure now,
you in your garage with the motor on
and the tailpipe clogged and the door closed,
three days before the trial. Your wife
found you after she found the note,
and this morning the numinous beauty
of low fog in our fields has taken on
a strange gloom, a lone deer grazing there
with an alertness that you must have had
many days of your life, lest you be caught.

For twenty-five years we knew you
to be a man who could charm a room,
yet stand up at a faculty meeting
and press an argument, not back down.
When we dined with you, you loved
to tell us all the places you'd been.
How stupid of you to allow
your computer to be repaired,
the hard facts on the hard drive-
all those boys, girls, this other life.

What brilliance, though, to have concealed it
for so long. And how nearby desperation
always must have been. I'll remember your face
now as a thing with a veil, what I so admire
in poker players. You were not one of those.
When word first got out, we called you,
said we were there for you. In our minds
your remained a friend. We didn't call again.

When does a friend cease being a friend?
After which betrayal, yours or ours?
Or do we just go on in the muck and the mud
holding ourselves up the best we can?
That's what we're asking ourselves,
the fog lifting a little, the newspaper
with your photo in it open on our table.

Detour

2009-04-05T16:25:00.009+08:00

Mahigit-kumulang dalawang oras na biyahe galing sa eskuwela, isang sakay ng tren, maghahanap ng kakilala o mananahimik sa isang sulok, mga libro ng tulang pampalipas oras, bababa sa Santolan station, fishball, kalamares, kikiam- sige kain lang habang nag-aabang ng dyip sa ilalim ng footbridge, isang sakay ng dyip na patok, 21 pesos na pamasahe, 18 pesos 'pag estudyante, bayad ho, Simbahan, estudyante lang, madalas nakatingin sa malayo, mga ilaw-posteng walang ilaw, pipiliting magmakata, hampas ng hangin sa mukha, pull the string to stop, isang mahaba-habang lakaran hanggang sa terminal ng tricycle, amoy ng french fries ng mcdo, saglit na maaawa sa taong grasa sa tabi, magkukrus pagdaan ng simbahan, sampaguita at iba pang bulaklak, gulay, karne at ang malansang amoy ng isda sa palengke, mahabang pila sa terminal, isang sakay na naka-backride sa tricycle, namamagang buwan at mga napupunding bituin sa kalangitan, titigil sa itim na gate, nananabik na kahol ni bantay, hahanapin sa bag ang susi ng bahay, didiretso sa kuwarto, sa lamesa, magkapatung-patong na libro, may nakaipit pang litrato sa isa, maghuhubad ng amoy-usok na damit, bubuksan ang bintana, hihiga sa kama, ipipikit ang mga...

...

...tatlong taon na rin akong naglalakbay
sa lungsod. tatlong taon ng pagsasanay
umuwi. ngunit, kung kailan alam na
alam ko na ang daan, mahal,
isang araw, bigla mo akong iniligaw.

i can't help fallin' in love with my new chocolava

2009-04-02T17:30:00.005+08:00

chocolava. i'm in lava. -> ang corny ng patalastas na to. haha.

maiba tayo. heto ang isang wasak poetry.

To die in a poem

I didn’t know if it was possible

To live in a poem.

A friend sd he wouldn’t

Mind to live in a poem

I’d written.

Yet there were poems

He just couldn’t live in.

Based on this I didn’t know

If my poems were any good

Or if I were at least a good friend.

But if one could die

In a poem, I’d pick one

With only a few lines—

My life, short as these words,

Would end there just fine.

-mesandel arguelles

fumifilednapalako

2009-03-24T23:40:00.001+08:00

kaya natin to.

isa na namang pagsakay sa tren

2009-02-13T21:26:00.009+08:00

Lakarin mula Santolan hanggang Cubao? Tinawanan mo ako, sabay turo
sa itaas ng mga poste ng ilaw, sa sementado't bakal na daang humahati sa
mausok na kalangitan, kaya nga merong tren. Ngunit alam mo, gusto ko lang
patagalin ang oras, kasingtagal ng panahong hindi tayo nagkita, higit na mas
matagal sa katahimikang babalot sa ating dalawa sa loob ng tren bago ko pa
sabihin ang salitang kumusta. Sa totoo lang, hindi sapat ang sampung
minuto sa dami ng nais kong sabihin at itanong sa iyo, kung may nagpatibok
na ba ulit ng iyong puso, kung hindi ka pa ba nagsasawa sa paglalakbay sa
lungsod, o kung hindi ka pa ba iniligaw nito. Sa totoo lang, bago pa matapos
ang tulang iniisip ko ay magbubukas na ang pinto ng tren, magpapaalam ka ng
hanggang dito na lang ako, mabilis na makikisiksik sa mga nagmamadaling
tao. Maiiwan akong nakatingin sa bintana, darating ang kasalubong na tren
at unti-unti ka nitong buburahin.

naligaw ako minsan sa lungsod at narinig ang usapan ng taumbayan

2009-02-08T22:05:00.012+08:00

isang daang metro lamang ang pagitan
ng bangin at kamatayan
ang nasa isip niya ay tumalon
ang kanyang ina ama kapatid nobya
hindi na niya muling ma

*******
teka, astig 'tong video kasi makikita mo

sa kaibigang matagal ko nang hindi nakikita

2009-02-05T22:25:00.003+08:00

Kung sawa ka nang maligaw sa lungsod, tumingala ka. Nangangalahating buwan,

patay-sinding ilaw-poste, umaandap-andap na neon, bituing bumubutas sa madilim
na kalangitan. Baka ituro ka nila doon,

papunta sa silid ng binata, na sa pangambang malimutan ang panaginip,
isinulat sa isang kuwaderno ang lahat ng maalala. Isang kuwento ang kanyang binubuo,
tungkol sa isang tinig na naglalaho. Ngunit hindi niya ito matapos-tapos.

Tumingala ka, ang sabi sa isang billboard ng pananampalataya. Sa bituin nakaukit ang
mga naglalahong panaginip. Pagmasdan mo kung paano ito lumilipad patungo
sa kalawakan. Hindi ka ba nagtataka kung bakit madalas tingalain ng mga sawimpalad
ang mga tala? Ang lahat ay nawawala sa lungsod. Wala kang dapat sisihin

kundi ang bituin. Alam mo, hindi na matatapos ang kuwento ng binata.
Kung sawa ka nang maligaw sa lungsod, tumingala ka. Dahan-
dahang ipikit ang mga mata at iyong makikita.

alam mo, may stalker ako

2009-01-26T20:28:00.001+08:00

1.
late na ako sa klase kanina kaya nagmamadali ako. tapos habang
naglalakad ako nang mabilis sa soccer field walkway, nakarinig ako
ng boses, tinawag ako. EJ! paglingon ko, may babae pare.
kaso di ko makita yung mukha, nearsighted ako at wala akong
salamin na suot e. so, di ko siya pinansin. late na kasi ako e.

2.
nagtext sa akin 'yong kapitbahay ko, sabi niya natatakot siya.
kasi may isang tricycle driver daw na hiningi sa auto-loading station
'yong cel no. niya. tapos tinetext daw siya. ang gusto nung tricycle driver,
ihatid-sundo siya palagi, parang private service raw.

3.
natatakot tuloy ako. buti kung hot 'yong babae kanina, 'yong stalker ko, e
paano kung pangit siya? ok sana kung pagbukas ko ng multiply,
o friendster ko, e ang makita ko sa who's viewed me e si alodia
gosiengfiao, o kaya si ashley gosiengfiao, si tricia gosingtian,
o 'yong hot na courtside reporter ng la salle, pwedeeeee!
e pero, paano kung si majin buu ang makita ko???
nabobobo na ako sa kakaisip.

4.
mamaya pagdating ko sa bahay, magbubukas ako ng imeem account.
magsa-soundtrip ako. "i'll send an S.O.S. to the world 2x
i hope that someone gets my 2x message in a bottle yeah."

usapang origami

2009-01-22T01:12:00.000+08:00

kung kaya ko lang bumuo ng pag-ibig
mula sa papel

laughtrip.

matapos mapanood ang "the curious case of benjamin button"

2009-01-12T17:42:00.000+08:00

-suspension of disbelief.

Permanence

I can't remember how old I was,
but I used to stand in front
of the bathroom mirror, trying to imagine
what it would be like to be dead.
I thought I'd have some sense of it
if I looked far enough into my own eyes,
as if my gaze, meeting itself, would make
an absence, and exclude me.

It was an experiment, like the time
Michael Smith and I set a fire in his basement
to prove something about chemistry.
It was an idea: who I would
or wouldn't be at the end of everything,
what kind of permanence I could imagine.

In seventh grade, Michael and I
were just horsing around
when I pushed him up against that window
and we both fell through—
astonished, then afraid. Years later

his father's heart attack
could have hit at any time,
but the day it did they'd quarreled,
and before Michael walked out
to keep his fury alive, or feel sorry for himself,
he turned and yelled, I wish you were dead!

We weren't in touch. They'd moved away.
And I've forgotten who told me
the story, how ironic it was meant
to sound, or how terrible.

We could have burned down the house.
We could have been killed going through
that window. But each of us
deserves, in a reasonable life,
at least a dozen times when death
doesn't take us. At the last minute

the driver of the car coming toward us
fights off sleep and stays in his lane.
He makes it home, we make it home.
Most days are like this. You yell
at your father and later you say
you didn't mean it. And he says, I know.

You look into your own eyes in a mirror
and that's all you can see.
Until you notice the window
behind you, sunlight on the leaves
of the oak, and then the sky,
and then the clouds passing through it.

Lawrence Raab

totoo ba?

2009-01-10T11:32:00.000+08:00

The Secret Of Poetry

When I was lonely, I thought of death.
When I thought of death I was lonely.

I suppose this error will continue.
I shall enter each gray morning

Delighted by frost, which is death,
& the trees that stand alone in mist.

When I met my wife I was lonely.
Our child in her body is lonely.

I suppose this error will go on & on.
Morning I kiss my wife's cold lips,

Nights her body, dripping with mist.
This is the error that fascinates.

I suppose you are secretly lonely,
Thinking of death, thinking of love.

I'd like, please, to leave on your sill.
Just one cold flower, whose beauty

Would leave you inconsolable all day.
The secret of poetry is cruelty.

Jon Anderson

ang sa akin lang

2008-12-29T22:47:00.000+08:00

kahit na-nominate ako for Heights EB Race, pinag-iisipan ko pa kung itutuloy ko o hindi 'yong candidacy. nakakahiya naman dun sa nag-nominate sa 'kin kung tatanggi ako basta-basta. a basta,
meron na lang akong hanggang new year para sa confirmation ko.

ang sa akin lang, mas gusto kong ganito yung mangyari:

Heights EB '09-'10

Executive Editor
Marie La Vina

Business Manager
Joseph Casimiro

Secretary-General
Rachel Marra

English Staff
Wyatt Ong

Filipino Staff
Walther Hontiveros

Design Staff
Abstain
^_^

Art Staff
Maurice Wong

Special Projects
Selene Uy

Space Shuttle

2008-12-23T11:54:00.000+08:00

"we're running in opposite directions, clutching
our chests, trying not to get our hearts pulled out."
-Isabel Yap, Rabbit Stew

They said he was a victim
of an accident. They said he was desperate
to reach the moon and hold it
in his hands. But let me tell you
exactly why he died. It was no ordinary
roller coaster ride. The sign
on the entrance says:
those with weak heart may not enter.
But he wanted to. He insisted
and they let him get through.
Things happened so fast. He tried not to look
at the lovers who held hands
as the roller coaster blasted off.
The wind hit him violently
as things began to zoom
at the back of his mind, like his memories
of you saying saka na ulit natin subukan
na pumunta sa buwan. Somehow, he wished
that there wasn't an empty seat
beside him, so he looked away
at that empty space. He tried not to scream
his heavy heart out but it was getting heavier
than before so he had to let go.
When it was all over, they found his body
on the seat, one hand clutched
in his chest; the other held nothing
but an empty, lonely space.

for abi

Pag-uwi

2008-12-09T17:59:00.000+08:00

Gusto kong sabihing nahihirapan akong pumikit.
Isang madaling araw, nagising ako sa pagkalunod
sa aking mga panaginip. Ilang gabi na rin akong binabagabag
ng mga salitang: pagitan, hangganan, at kamatayan.
Ilang gabi na rin kitang iniisip
habang umiihip ang hangin, ibinubulong nito sa akin
ang isang linya ng pangungulila.
Hindi ka sana mawala. Gaano katagal
na ba akong wala? Hindi pa rin ako mapalagay
sa tuwing naglalakbay sa lungsod
at nakakakita ng mga magkasintahan,
magkayakap, magkawahak-kamay.
Ngayon, naiisip kita, kayakap
ang iba at wala akong magawa
kundi alalahanin ang dating pagsasama.
Patawad, sadyang hindi ko alam
ang salitang paalam. At hindi ko rin alam
kung bakit mabigat sa dibdib
ang pagdilat, pati ang pagpikit. Madilim.
Ngayon, naiisip kita, heto ako sa isang sulok ng bus,
kapiling ang mga taong hindi ko naman kakilala.
Gumagabi na dito sa lungsod at kailangan ko nang umuwi,
hinihintay na ako ng aking kwarto.
Mamaya, bubuksan ko ang bintana.
Hihiga. Ipipikit ko ang mga pagal na mata.

(sunod sa Liham sa Kababata)

On Uncertainty And The Impression That Men Could Easily Forget

2008-11-18T16:29:00.000+08:00

"Know what memories will make your heavy heart heavier. "
-Brandon Dollente, Letter to my Future Self after Having my Memories Erased

Let me begin with something I know.
I know that metamorphosis is a process
of change, for example, a cocoon
will transform into a butterfly,
a beautiful one, perhaps a loved one
who passed away yesterday
in an accident across the ocean.
Will it land upon your lips
to give a last kiss? Maybe. Now let me
tell you everything I remember
about my dream last night: two lovers
were adrift at sea, directionless, motionless, lifeless
regardless of waves hitting them.
They died together yet they remained strangers,
uncertain of their hopes, dreams and sins. Isn't it
a bit funny, that I am dreaming of dreams, sinning
but still hoping? But I am sure
that this is soon to be forgotten.
Uncertainty is part of every lover's dream,
and to forget is nothing but a gift. Memories change
and wither. That is why I'll end with a story
not of a butterfly, not with a lie.
Something that will not change.
Something that I won't remember
unless I read this poem again.
There was once a boy.
His memory was lost. Adrift
at sea, only to be a passing one.

Dahil Mahal Natin Ang Ulan

2008-11-14T22:22:00.000+08:00

May panahong ganito:
puno ng kabigatan ang dibdib
ng kalangitan at nagtatago ang araw
sa likod ng mga ulap. Madalas, makikita
akong nangangarap dito sa isang sulok
ng eskinita. Nagpapatila. Nangungulila.
Nag-aabang sa iyo, nagbabakasakali
na pauwi ka na, tulad ko. Alam ko,
wala kang payong. Heto, may dala ako
ngunit mahirap sabihin ang salitang
sabay tayo. Mahirap mangarap
na sabay pa tayong uuwi tulad ng dati.

Gusto kong sumikat muli ang araw.
Gusto kong malusaw at lumipad sa mga ulap
upang sa muling pag-ulan,
muli kitang mayakap.

Pangungusap

2008-11-13T21:14:00.000+08:00

Nalunod tayo
sa salita, hindi makaahon
sa grabedad ng panahon,
at kahit gusto man nating
mangusap, laylay pa rin
ang nababad nating dila.

Liham sa Kababata

2008-11-09T20:51:00.000+08:00

I.
Dumating ang aking pinangangambahan
kasabay ng balita ng pag-alis mo bukas.
Napakalawak ng Maynila,
hindi tulad dito. Malaya
nating napupuntahan ang gubat. Magkahawak-kamay
tayo sa bawat huni ng ibon, sa katahimikan
ng mga puno, humahanga sa mundo ng mga ligaw
na sampagita, gumamela, paruparo, at puso.
Ingat ka. Patawad, sadyang hindi ko alam
ang salitang paalam. Tanggapin mo ito:
liham, litrato, tula, luha.
Hindi ka sana mawala.

II.
Ang ibig kong sabihin,
mag-ingat ka sa pag-alis ko.
Mag-iingat ka sa gubat kung saan tayo
dating naglalaro. Naghahabulan,
nagkukuwentuhan, at kapag napagod,
ating susundan ang mga bato
na inihulog sa daan, palatandaan
upang ligtas kitang maiuwi sa inyo.
Alam kong mahal natin ang gubat, kahit hindi
ko pa noon alam ang ibig sabihin ng mahal kita,
at hindi ko sana ito natuklasan pa. Hindi sana
tayo ngayon magkakalayo.
Itatapon ko sa daan mamaya itong bagahe:
liham, litrato, tula, luha.
Ituro sana sa akin ng mga ito
ang landas pabalik sa iyo.