Floating, crossing the river that’s Amburayan*.
I’ve submerged all my miseries underneath.
This pair of hands touched the cold waters,
Intoxicating myself and refreshing.
What pleasure to kiss.
What daytime to miss.
The other island is dry.
I’m not going back to my old,
Haunted version of a child.
On the raft, I go with the flow,
Leaving a place of blunders and blows.
*Amburayan River is a river in the northeastern portion of island of Luzon in the Philippines. It originates from the Cordillera mountains and traverses the provinces of Benguet, La Union, and Ilocos Sur, where it empties into the South China Sea (Wikipedia).
Slumber is not my lover
when I shut my eyes later
at the strike of the night’s
I exhaust, I deplete,
I use my feet to run
more distance that
I can run.
But slumber isn’t my lover.
Music fades, weaker
than the strum of thoughts
in appearance of Bigfoot
I force to throw myself on bed,
to close my eyes and feast
the dark, but slumber is not
a good lover. My enemy is
my own anxiety.
transferring from one
major field to another.
details of your exit,
details of entering
the newly accepted
endeavor, leads to
you questioning how
to start again,
you can do more.
are normal thoughts
you keep on walking.
you escape from home.
you keep on thinking.
you want to write.
to eagerly write.
but there are no words.
there are no words to write.
your mind is blank.
you keep on walking.
until you are back at home.
dangerous, that being. that powerful.
lesser boys and lesser girls have no control.
followed that. followed on and on.
pushed them. punished them.
angered at nights,
angered at mornings,
angered without cause.
houses torn, houses burned.
forced to leave,
to find a new abode somewhere.
but there’s nowhere else to go
except with that being.
that harsh, that cruel being.
imagine sleeping with no roof
under your head.
except that being.
that false, that unmerciful being.
who punished everyone who don’t obey.
We stood, facing each other,
one meter apart. With our silence,
our proximity is awkward.
Our only messages are
secretly playing in our thoughts.
Penetrating our shame from each other.
We are frozen, stuck on our feet,
as our eyes are talking, hardly
figuring out what we really want to say.
You painted a blue haze.
You painted it so well, so magnificent.
How I’d enter it, a realm of scattered debris.
Floating in my thoughts, like objects
in a space without gravity.
You painted a blue haze,
where you locked me like a prisoner.
The sound of a stranger is like
water dripping from your plastic
It tickles my tendons, triggers my
blood pressure, entices my
just a favorite
intimacy between me and
my poor solitude.
Swallowed. Took control of the circumstance.
Heavy in the inside, heavy in the body.
The mountain in your mouth respects your choice.
The mountain in your mouth deserves respect.
The mountain in your mouth is bigger than your dreams.
Swallowed. You took dominance as a vengeance.
Swallowed. You took away everything to make you feel better.
Red, crashing my heart
on a radio heartbreaking song.
Black, blinding my eyes on
the pictures of your divorce.
Green, separating me from
the big slice of your wedding cake.
Blue, pounding my flesh on
a horrific fever and bad flu.
Yellow, exposing my dirt, my
transgressing in secret places.
White, washing me fully, making sure
that I am saved.