Para Lang Tayong
Nagdurugong Puso
Sa Hardin Ng Unang Panahon
Nahalina ka yata
sa aking hardin
Minabuti kong ikaw
ay patuluyin
"Halika, pagmasdan
mo ang mga likha
ng sining!"
"Mga likas na yaman—
lupain, hangin, dagat, araw,
at mga bituin!"
Ganyan ang nakita ko
rin
sa kislap ng mata mong
tumataginting
Kasing ganda ng mga
bulaklak na maraming
gustong umangkin
Oo, luma na ang mga
tumubong punong kahoy
at iba't-iba pa ang
disenyo ng mga dahon
Hindi ba't ganyan din naman
nung nagkataong maulap
ang ating panahon?
O, Tag-ulan!
Tag-ulan lang!
'Wag sanang lumakas ang ihip
mong
hangin at sila'y tatangayin.
Mga ginintuang halaman
at karilagan ng
pagkalikha na disenyo sa
ating hardin
Mga bulaklak lang
parati ang nariyan upang
samahan ang mga
ibon—
Tila Siya ang Nagiging Musika Sa Aking Munting Mundo
Sa tugtuging Bago
walang tatalo,
ngunit sa tugtuging Luma
ay para bang
binabaon na sa lupa.
Ano pa ba ang ritmo
na gugustuhin pa niya
ngayong ako'y tumatanda na?
Ililipad ba ako ng hangin sa tuwing
oras ay nagdaraan?
Maglalahong
parang bula.. o
mawawalang parang
multo sa kadiliman?
Sa kalagitnaan nitong
gabi'y aking tatanawin,
O malayong abot-tanaw!
Nawa'y palaging
mahimbing itong
aking pagtulog
upang magising
ng tama at wasto
sa araw-araw!—
Nagsasalita Rin Ba Ang Biyolin?
Nagsasalita rin ba
ang Biyolin?
Ganyan naman sila,
pati ang Piyano.
Kung magsasabay
ay melodya lang
ang tanging habol.
Sa mga interpretasyon
lang kung magkakatalo,
sa ganda, at hugis
ng kanilang
mga naratibo.
Gaya ng ulan,
sa kanilang pagpatak
Maingay man sa iba
ay dahil ito'y
parang may binabalak
O Ingay, sa hagod, at kalampag,
tilamsik at bangayan ninyo,
Nawa'y ako'y 'wag
mapaiyak, aking di maaninag na Anino
Hindi pa man nagdaratingan ang mga ibong marikit,
sa sandaling ito,
sana'y malaman mong
nawala ka ng isang saglit.
Parang Silakbo, Damdamin Ko'y Wag Sanang Maglaho
Nung nabanggit niyang
hindi na muli pang
magkakagusto ang isang tao
sa maganda,
ako'y nabigla.
Ngunit halos naging tulala
Matimyas man ang halik
ay bugso
ng hanging umiihip
Nakaraan na 'yon
at, para lang ding alon,
si lalaking animo'y nalunod
ay masagip
Ikaw na kasi ang kalawakan!
Nasa kalagitnaan nitong
alapaap
ay aking langit
Marahil ay malalagak
na lang sa dulo nitong
mundo kong
tila bang nawaglit
Mamahalin pa rin
kita, O Ganda, malayo
man ang tala na nasa
pagtingin ko
Ngunit sa bandang
'yan, hindi ko pa rin
malaman kung
itong pagkasawi ay totoo
the peaceable reed
the peaceable reed
(of their ilk),
like the bountiful
rice variety
so nice to look at
—those slender
stalks
like the idylls
of European creativity
in this case,
any person that talks
all conversations
that have that potential
for explosive eruption
the friction is everywhere,
a gruelling task
normal life's allusion
now, may i ask
how she
managed to endure
such horridity?
(answering the plea—)
boy, it's not love..
but
just affinity!
calling it love (yet involving cultural variances)
it's as if they know—
how to lift their wings
to fly
only to be able to reach
that glorious blue sky
it's when city dreamers
really, really
could dream high
yet trying to go on their
own particular ways—
not even finding relief, sigh!
would you still hold me
until the golden dawn?
tell me what year are we now, again?
we're here, olden.. but then
somehow
we still have
fallen apart, as you joked
again..and..again
—that you bleed—
(unrequited love?)
that's how we
pass the blame to reality
but really, it could just be
an untranslatable word
for perfect love
unconsciously—
misunderstanding
mere affinity—
to come to know another
(a breakaway discovered
among groups of birds)
to come to know me is
to deep dive to me
to not resent
the unanticipated
cavernous dark
sides or hues
what an awful
surprise that would
be if you had
that false image
before you love
an idea far-flung
gets into your
morality,
then let birds
fly away
forgetting everything
in their flight—
in that one-way mirror again
high up in his flying train,
he gathers up his
thoughts once again
a seeming intersection
while the Tokyo music
was revivified in his
digital song collections
sure, they never admitted
their needful urges just to
warrant their utmost desires
to live in heaven peacefully
but the firmament,
where was that exactly?
we may forever escape
our scathing and snide
remarks thrown unto each other
the overarching cultural
relativism, capitalism,
individual differences,
language barriers,
denialism & its power
your misdeeds are forgiven
by him, like a muscle twitch
unlike when he needed to scratch
whatever it is when compared
to an itch
he came along
she was the song
but just without words
and tender caresses
of samurai swords
—like a moonless twilight
the dead of winter
make things
not right
not all countries
dusted by snow
to their heads alight
it does speak
through our fallacies
and biases alike
our dreariness,
longstanding,
dreaminess,
like a moonless twilight