The Loop

Empty house

In a silent street

At a sun-bathed eerie afternoon.

A pen was capped;

A note was written;

Sealed at a table of wild, white roses.

A chair was pulled,

A rope was tied,

And beside the house an oak tree was waiting.

The leaves rustled,

The branches swayed;

The wind whispered a silent goodbye.

Then there’s a loop,

A tightening loop,

Sucking the breath of finality.

Now pours the rain,

To wash away the sin,

The only shelter of souls lost in desperation



Goodbye Valentine

I couldn’t be bitter so I’d rather be sour: yesterday there was sadness in my happiest hour.

You spoke about the girl whom you wish one day you’d marry; you said you’d meet her soon and I thought, “wouldn’t that be scary?”

But you spoke so lovingly and I could see stars in your eyes; your voice was sincere; I know your words weren’t lies.

By your words I tried to picture out the girl of your standards while doing my best not to let down my guard.

She’s pretty and rich and wonderful all throughout. She’s a real beauty inside and out.

You talked for sometime but for the most part I wasn’t listening. All I could think about was I and the girl of your dreams.

For some mysterious reasons I was comparing myself with her and it’s weird but I felt real sad for knowing I am the opposite of her.

I may be pretty but not beautiful enough. I might be good but I know I would never be good enough.

I told myself not to count what I lack but it’s the reason we can’t be’ that is the fact.

I might be a good actress for there wasn’t any teardrop that fell though what misery I was suffering, you can never tell.

It was such a great effort to look at you straightly and to show all the people there that I was listening affectionately.

You were a murderer but it was by no means your mistake: I was the one to allow my own heart to break.

I didn’t know when was the time I started to care, the time I felt awkward; the time I couldn’t stare.

These changes just happened one day in our friendship. You gave me signals I would wrongly interpret.

I believe your efforts were because we’re just friends but you made me feel special; that I couldn’t comprehend.

You took extra time for me and showed me that you care; you drew me a promising dream which you now colored with a nightmare.

It was such a rare occasion that I appreciated someone more than I should and how unfortunate it is that what was reciprocated was a wound.

The little hope for an us was now dying slowly…slowly…slowly… the irony of us being friends instantly.

I was once again a fool for thinking I could read between the lines because sometimes it could mean anything and sometimes it could mean none.

Now I was rebuilding my wall while you drew us a line. You gave me a smile and I silently bid you goodbye.

The show was over and I had to move on. Sometimes love is freedom but this time it was a prison.

Maybe it was really meant for me to be caged because the knight meant for me was the one who’ll help me escape.

Or maybe love is hard for cupids that’s why cupids shouldn’t fall in love: they were always the giver, never the taker.

Regardless, thank you for making me smile. I know this heart would heal in a while.

Go for the one you know you truly love. I’d be happy to know that you’re happy by her side.

I’ll smile because you’re happy; I’ll smile because I’m sad.

I’ll smile because we’re already a step closer to our one perfect love.


The Poet of the War

If I were a poet-

I would have painted you with wings

to travel all bright places;

to see the colors of the wind.

If I were a poet-

I would have given you an eye

for beauty and perfection;

freedom I won’t deny.

If I were a poet-

the heart I would have defined.

You would see of gentlest affection;

you would know love when it was said.

But you see I was no poet-

with all their ideology.

And if I were some poet

I’d be the shadow you won’t see.

Cause if I were some poet-

I won’t tell you of flattery.

The world is full of mockery

And sometimes life could get real ugly.

No, I couldn’t be a hypocrite-

Who is blinded by the bliss.

Do you know of violence?

Do you hear the screams for peace?

I would tell you of the story-

Of little girls out the street,

wearing none but tattered clothing

and pity is all they get.

I would talk of little boys-

breaking in houses and stores

so as to fill their rumbling stomachs

while the world’s reduced to black.

If the air smells of plutonium-

could we give nothing more than sympathy?

Where would humanity stand

At the question of morality?

I would tell you of great mean-

whose lust for power gave us pain.

I’d tell you of real patriots:

unnoticed men whose death was put to vain.

No, I couldn’t just be a voice-

who would lull you into dreams.

Even smiles have it’s colors;

laughter is born from tears.

I am no poet-

and I am indeed no great mind.

I couldn’t discuss things difficult to grasp.

My plea is of the heart.

I could merely be that small voice-

trying to make you feel

of the strength the week ones possess;

of great men’s Achilles’s heel.

I am but a voice-

and this I tell you blandly:

You can never soar  the heights of beauty

without swimming the depths of pain.

Until at last the bullets hit me-

and take away my sanity,

I’d deny being some poet

for this I do believe:

I am no kind of poet-

or maybe I thought I was.

But no… I am just a soldier;

A poet made by war.


The Phantom

She walked slowly,

the gentle breeze kissing her visage.

She took to long walks;

drowned in the depths of her thoughts.


“Who are you?” is the question

silently whispered to the wind.

“Where are you?” is the shout of

determined steps on the pavement.


What if in the millions of footsteps 

there’s one that belonged to you.

What if in those long travels

she had already seen you?


You were the color of her imagination,

the shadow of her memory.

You rule in her subconscious;

to truth she was oblivious.


Oh it’s such a tragedy,

When truth mingles with fantasy,

When all one could do is assume,

When there was never a way to confirm.


But though you’re a King she never met;

A dream she would never get,

the thought of you brings comfort

at times when she couldn’t think straight.


Dear Mr. Editor

I wonder-

what do you have to say about tears?

Sworn to your principle and reason,

in words you prosper.

Yet, young man I know

words are but the irony

which mask a soul in ambiguity.

Deep down inside

there is a person vaguely defined.

You play with wit and play it well,

thinking perhaps to the real you

no one would care.

In retrospect, you might be right-

you never fail to put everyone in awe.

But if for humanity

a genius would suffice,

I’d rather unravel the person behind the show.

Who are you Mr. Complexity?

It’s the first time I felt

this kind of curiosity.

I’ve met you upon reading between the lines

and I got the feeling of an unspoken understanding.

Could stranger hearts yield to intimacy?

Because oddly enough, my heart was drawn to where it shouldn’t be.



One... two... three...

And a million more droplets fell.

It was the heaven's heavy surrender

but it was you who walked away.


One... two... three...

And a million shattered pieces

is what was left of my heart.

My soul is as heavy as the downpour

but it was as lonely as the rain.


One... two... three...

And a few more steps

on that cold, wet pavement

before you were gone.

You and the rain, you were much like the same-

cold and unstoppable.

But I stayed.

I waited.

You moved on.


One... two... three...

And a few more times I called out to you.

I called out in my prayers,

even looked for you in my dreams.

And every time it's raining,

I called out to the heavens.

Hoping my voice could be heard

above the pattering of the rain.


One... two... three...

And all the rainy days found me peering-

out the window and out the door-

unveiling a glassy curtain;

hoping I might find-

a shadow, a silhouette, a figure-

of the man I long to see.


One... two... three...

And I looked for you some more.

Trusting such faint recognition,

I trudged the dark and cold.

Between the cycle of slipping and falling,

I got back up.

with fear and uncertainty close at my heels,

I threaded the murky path.

Because you're much more important

than the pain...

Or the rain...

Even when ahead I see




One... two... three...

And I counted some more-

of days, months and years-

when the rain would be heavy

and the rushing water might lead you back to me.


One... two... three...

But maybe these tears would be the last.

The heavens might cry,

but soon enough it dries.

And though there might be some pain left,

and the clouds are threatening

 of another outpouring,

the load is light enough

to keep one smiling.


The rain is once more falling.


One... two... three...

Alas! a million more droplets fell.

And once again I looked out-





Panibagong Takipsilim


Nakatingin sa mga bituin,

Akoy muling humihiling,

Na sa munting liwanag,

Ako rin ay iyong hinahanap.


Sa lumalalim na gabi

At lumalamig na hangin,

Ako’y muling nagtatanong,

“Laman din ba ako ng iyong pangarap?”


Nakasilip ang buwan

Sa pagitan ng mga ulap

Na tila ba alam

Ang sagot sa aking tanong.


Nakaukit sa mga ulap

Ang iyong larawan-

May hugis at porma,

Ngunit mahirap makilala.


May himig ng ibon

Sa hindi kalayuan,

Ngunit nais kong marinig

Ang iyong awitin.


Nakababa na ang kurtina

Ng bawat bahay,

Ngunit hindi sa bintana

Ng puso kong naghihintay.


Abot-tanaw ko ang mga bundok

Na tila bakod ng mundo,

Ngunit di ko alam kung ika’y nasaan,

Lawakan ko man ang aking paningin.


Ang mga mensaheng hindi masabi-

Ng puso kong kumikirot,

Ng labi kong nanginginig,

Ay ipapadala na lang sa hangin.


Nais kong maunawaan mo

Na sa gitna ng katahimikan,

Hindi lahat ng naiiwang sugatan

Ay patuloy na magdaramdam.


Alalahanin mo sana

Na sa gitna ng dilim,

Liwanag ang hahanapin

Ng ating mga mata.


Limutin mo ang iyong pangamba,

At damhin ang pagmamahal

Na handog ng gabi,

Na minsan mong kinatakutan.


At sa bawat araw,

Habang ako’y may paningin,

Ika’y hihintayin,

Sa panibagong takipsilim.