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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

 

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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.

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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.

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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.

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Outpouring

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

nothing...

nothing...

 


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-

waiting...

waiting...

 

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Panibagong Takipsilim

bab

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.