smooth pillow, warm blanket, a woman's body so white and calm light is shun by the door of the room on closed silk curtains by the window i still taste the youth in spring its perfume still remaining in the air late at night, the same smell comes even in my sleep

who had seen the little child paddling a boat
along this old river?
he drifted silently along the river weeds,
picking white lotuses along the way
the water hides his tracks
as duckweed opens him another path.

i was that boy, now, wanting to go back
in that old river.

all i see is the mist, on top of this hill the bloom of flowers are hidden at night my lover comes concealed by darkness and at dawn, after a tryst, she goes our again, oh, she comes like a happy memory but like a dream, she cannot stay in the morning, as i watch a cloud coming, it is her that i always remember

poetry en masse

like bread in bakeries
like automobiles from factories
like pizzas in boxes for delivery
like ordinary figurines for sale
like drugs in the pharmacy
like pineapples in the farm
like apples in a basket
like inhalers in the nose
like manufactured gadgets
spoons and forks and kitchen utensils
mass produced
without the romance of the personalized work
the interaction of the mind
with the body and soul
must art be?

MOON over you
Once in a blue moon
i was
moon over you, once in that
blue moon, i was,
as stupid as you,
moonstruck and blind
and too trusting,
pleased and gulled
and pained.

forever?

who wants forever?
who wants a road that leads to
a straight line, without any
crooked view on
the sided? who wants to
be left here
in the now forever?
who wants all the leaves
and the pebbles?
the sentence even
needs a period.

changing photos
from time to time to
confuse the self
and lead it to some
possible options one
way of killing
suicide, now serious,
then wild, now tame,
then appearing fully
civilized, domesticated,
now thin, then fat,
ugly, then handsome
so desirable and
sought, tired, then
vibrant, all in the click of
the hand, only friends,
real friends, know what
you are, understands your
games and laugh.
others suggest that
what is needed is
a psychiatrist.

You and Me
alone we shall say
naked in bed
forgetting everything
that binds our Minds
that shackles our hearts
to norms and
Tradition

we close our eyes
we kiss and then we
taste infinity

we become birds
big wings and sharp claws
flying strongly
along the horizon

in a moment soon
both of us shall be gone
as we begin again
this duet of conquest

a pen that you just keep
but you have no time using,
an outmoded cell phone
that you are not willing to give up,
a creaky bed, a rusty pin,
a handkerchief with an embroidered
name of your someone special
a old diary, a tiny wild flower
between the pages of your
favorite book, locks of hair,

what do i really need these things for?
ah, memories, rotten memories,
so sweet still.

when i get to be an old man
i shall not speak of any regret
about the past that i buried
in the silent city of my ancestors

i carry with me a poem in my heart
as i look forward to the coming of the black horse
that will carry me to the shore
and i shall wait for the boatman
to carry me to another island

my heart is expectant like a child
waiting for mother from the market
like a man in love waiting for his woman
under the trees beside a silvery river
under the moon kissing and knowing
beforehand destined eternity.

when fifteen i got more
dreams than you,
until i got to be nineteen
experiencing some little pains
i sorted some dreams
and threw them all away

i wanted to live in a new house
there is no show of a shadow of a house
i dreamed of horses that i can ride on mountainsides
i got only goats

got realistic somehow
i only take what i can take hold of
at fifty i dream no more
a practical man
i sit on a bench facing a road
sip my coffee
and watch the dusts left by a rushing car towards the city.

i guess i am too vain
(handsome and naughty
to their tastes
sweet to their tongues
accommodating to
their mouths
caving in for some
pungent pleasures)
it is love that gets inside
my house
as i open the door and
let it in
too kind, i let love
undress my coyness
dinner is ready
served right above my
abdomen
down the most
wanted
and demanded part,
it is me now
moaning, the sun shining
inside my chest,
as soft fingers roll
like spiders,
i am patient to love
and those love-deprived
all giving to
their fantasies and adventures
i am love
conquered and yet
all over triumphant
to the sound
of the thousand
Arabian nights
love belly dancing
love water to the oasis
camel to the desert
Moon above
the sleepy sands.

PAVING THE ROAD TO TABON

IT is election time
and the powers that be
paves the way to Tabon

gravel is hauled and poured
fitting the wider version of the road

everything is slippery during the rain
the farmer slides and his basket of fruits roll on the hill

after election time
the road shall be what it used to be
no one cares.

reverse psychology

if you leave
leave at once
for i have nothing
to say,

others ask
what to say when someone
you love says
about leaving?

i say
go, go, find what is lacking
find that which must complete you
and if you are empty still
do not come back to me
for i am empty too

how can emptiness fill another
emptiness?
mine will always be an invitation
i care
but once refused
there is no where
where you can find me
i am also gone
searching what you have been searching
but now it
shall not be you
i'll have someone else
who can fill
my own emptiness

welcome to the ebb
of time

have you experienced
drowning in an ocean
of emptiness?

have you once drowned
yourself
pursuant to the will of
your cowardice?

welcome to the rise of the
water
people do not just swim there
they also want to die
and others who see are not
at all shocked
for once they also
attempted doing the
expected

and those who rise from that
low feeling
somehow become renewed again
tempted to the power of
life they begin to love the fear
of dying

ah, life is too short for an argument
and experimentation
this time, life goes hand in hand
with pleasure
and meaningful attachments
like that flowering vine
so attached to the trellis
that even the sun could not
really take it

it wilts in time
irrevocably posted to the
mutuality of the coldness of
the inanimate trellis

it saddens me to see a face
on the mirror
sunken eyes like the church
after the volcanic
eruption years ago
in the distant
unknown island
of Camiguin

moles multiplied and
fates confused
destinies convoluted
on the random lines of
the palm

i pity this face
trampled by the shamelessness
of the constancy of sin
hypocrisy begging for
forgiveness
losing any meaning

what i am
time erases from time to time
what i write
the letters fade and what
comes back to my mind
is the blankness
of the wall

i have no complain about
the ways of this
eraser
in fact
that is the way how i want
myself to be

fresh to the waking up
of all hours
new to every eyes
horizons stretching
without end
roads flying roads
birds with four
to eight wings

we keep on untangling
the vines
that choke us
each hand has
no place on the
secrecy of old time's
breast

it is the season of
freedom
freedom from roots
and barks
tasting the bitterness
of what this self
has inflicted upon
its flesh

what appears is what it is
that is how simple it is
and how beautiful can it be

a petal of a flower is nothing
but a petal of a flower
falling to the ground on a
windless day
caused by no other than
this pull of gravity

we watch a world unfolding
we only use words because there is a need to write
what beautiful thing we have seen

but there is more to the simplicity of all these things
those that we have seen and felt and
cannot completely tell you
even in the most simple words of our poetry

the experience of beauty is so personal
like how i experience the poetry of the heart
it is like this, no, it is like this... words fail now

(........)

ONE That tells me
the true color of my soul
intimacies like vine
to a tree
faithfulness like
the sun to the mountain
shining on early mornings
without fail
one that i am at home with
with others are
taken by the storms of
my confusions
and needs
one who takes me for
what i am
identifies with me
during my
crucifixions
one who stands by me
when i sink as a ship
abandoned by
all the rats
and cockroaches
water to my pail
air to my lungs
sugar to my coffee
lemon to my
honey.

for i am empty
my song is as blank as the
desert sand

there are no lyrics yet
except some
memories of us

there is no tune except
the passing of the wind

come beside me
and i will sing it with you

our distance
makes it a song of
despair

your promise
puts the notes in anticipation
like birds
on the telephone wire

you give me rain
on a song drying up
under the sun

THERE is still light
piercing the
blinds,

it settles on the
soft spot
of the pillow

it hits the iris
of my eye

it says there is
a reason for
mornings

for mourning
for sorrow
for wings and buds
for rivers that keep on flowing
for the rain that finally stops.

my mind drifts
in the space of
thoughts
passing by
some trees
i gather thoughts
bunches
of gloss and
refinement,
every morning
i take the pleasure
of putting them
here, lest they
go away, like
fading light
like a voice
suppressed
in silence.

there are trees without leaves
there are those
that do not flower
that do not give you
any fruit at all

yet these trees remain
trees
and i do not entertain
any idea
of an ax

probing deeper on what is important

what if you
have no children?
what if what is left
of the family is
just you and your
spouse?
what if there is
only you?

will you be less
of what you are?

They content with
the images of themselves
proud of the genetic chain fulfilled
through their children
Yet they are empty too
for sometime
Just like me
Though i entertain not an image
of anybody
NOT even myself or the other self of myself
IT Is the NOw that i embrace
on a door that closes and opens when i step
outside

i sing, que sera sera
whatever will be will be.

winding way

winding rivers
like snake enclosing
an island

we tread upon the path
of the cow
on this dry season
we sweat

we lay our bodies
beside the water

the water moves on and on....

in here

in here
there is an opening
of my heart
come
and lay with me
in the fourth
chamber
it is this that you
desire

without so much
love
without words.

tired

she undresses herself
and lays naked
on her bed
her body is lighted
by the moon
she faces him
and he swallows
his promise
not to be promiscuous
this time
she is beautiful and
his body has no right
to deny
what is there.

know thyself

this is the sign
at the entrance of the Oracle of
Delphi

Oedipus, he says, you must stop,
right here, in the middle of
an ignorance,
you know what happens next
when you know
finally the root cause
of this misery

You will finally be free
until you become
blinded
by the Truth

You chose your own
Destruction

ENVY

it comes near you
upon your invitation
sits beside you
it opens its mouth
and eats you
whole
before you knew it
you are already
consumed

Kaiserschmarrn

Uncle Gomolka
says that this dessert
of shredded pancake
and stewed fruit
was invented for
Emperor Franz Joseph

i almost
forgot to
drink water

he says in vienna
only frogs
drink water

funny duh!

Wiener Schnitzel in vienna

aunt gomolka
serves a speciality originating from the Italian
"costoletta milanese" -
breadcrumbed
and fried veal escalope,
frequently served with
Erdäpfel Salat

vienna february
5, 2010

Stretching from the gate to the front of the main house in Gen San is an extensive driveway. Family members and guests alike get off from their cars on a covered walkway, held up by classic white pillars. The walkway leads to the front door.

The wide front yard provides more than enough room for a landscaped garden. It features a fountain and a koi pond.

Cream or beige was the color of choice for Manny Pacquiao's two-story, seven-bedroom, 780-square-meter Mediterranean- style house that sits on a 2,300-square- meter lot. This understated hue complements the classic lines and details of the architecture. The red tiles used on the roof are imported from Japan .

Flanked by white pillars, paved by tiles from Spain , and illuminated by a bowl pendant chandelier, the main entrance, with its white double front doors, gives guests a hint of the grandness to be expected inside.

Manny Pacquiao's expansive backyard in Lagao Village , General Santos City , features a swimming pool in the shape of a boxing glove, and iron garden furniture that provides seating for both swimmers and guests. Hidden by the lush greenery is Manny's seven-car garage.

The boxing champ reportedly spent P35 million-plus for the structures alone—the 780-square-meter main house (known to local tourists as "Pacman's Mansion"), and the 320-square-meter, two-story building that houses the servants' quarters, a billiard room, a gym with a sauna, an entertainment center, and a recording studio. The furniture pieces and furnishings inside both structures, according to Manny, are imported from Italy and Japan .

Providing a good view of the pool and backyard are several balconies on the second floor. On the ground floor is a lanai where guests can enjoy a refreshing breeze, yet still be under the shade.

Situated in the backyard but separate from the pool is this round Jacuzzi.

In the lanai, an entire wall is dedicated to framed photos of the Pacman's boxing successes. The permanent exhibit includes action-packed shots of his bouts with Erik Morales and Juan Manuel Marquez, as well as photos of Manny with President Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo and former Manila Mayor Lito Atienza, now secretary of environment and natural resources.

The winding staircase is something Manny and Jinkee wanted for their dream home. Set against tall windows, and with a "ringside view" of the large crystal chandelier hanging from the dome ceiling, the staircase becomes a very impressive sight.

Manny began the construction of this "dream house" in August 2006, while he was preparing for his November 18 match with Mexico 's Erik Morales. The Pambansang Kamao's win earned him $3 million. That's what he used to pay for this house, which saw completion in December 2006, just in time for his 28th birthday.

Flanking the tall window are two smaller yet elegantly draped windows and regal-looking torch lamps, further emphasizing the grandness of the space.

This console table, standing near the foot of the stairs and against a tall window, holds photos of the Pacquiao family.

The living room flows easily into the formal dining room, seen in the background.

Hung together, these black-and-white photomontages create a huge impact. They also manage to go well with the dark grand piano. Unknown to many, Manny can play a few pieces on this piano. His favorite, we gathered, is the Beatles' "Let It Be."

The formal dining table comfortably sits 10 diners at a time. The curtained sliding doors to the left open up to the lanai.

The formality of the dining room is toned down by the presence of a large flat-screen television set in a corner.

Muted tones of peach, cream, and brown are accented by burgundy colors, brought in by the throw pillows on the sofa, silk flowers on the coffee table, and the pattern on the area rug.

The kitchen walls' bright apple-green color is complemented by the red-and-white floral curtains. Though the kitchen's colors may be a bit country-ish, the appliances are anything but. The stove top, range hood, and oven are as modern as they can be.

in choosing simplicity

friends have gone abroad
for greener pastures and they always make
all the reasons: children in college,
a husband to support, a mortgage to pay,
a house, a new lot,
relatives in the province needing help,

in my simple ways i chose to stay
in this country
thriving on vegetables from my garden,
a government job, though it does not pay much
but i can serve well
my own people,

perhaps there is something more to this decision,
i can take my morning walks
breath fresh air from the sea
reflect by the river
see the kingfisher catching a fish
hear the chirps of newly hatched fledgelings
on their nests
simple pleasures that i have already
gotten used to
which i cannot dispense with

in fact, this i can say
i do not have much like the dollars they earned
in the USA or Canada
but i am more of what i am
when i reduce all these
in poetry.

days hold you in an embrace
there is love
and affection in light
warmth
given by the sun
by the side of the window
like a red apple
on the tray

it is here
and it will always be here
the fire burning inside
the heart
to do, to always do,
even if typhoon comes
and floods the condo
it will always be here
inside my head
the words always
recite what they have
to say in
every syllable

the poems that
you read
and all for free

this is passion
speaking.

early morning the house is as silent
as a feather falling
on the floor

the cat wakes up and checks
what it is

it is like him, silent as a cat
silent as his master
not wanting to wake up

no one boils the water
to make a smell of coffee in the air
time drags like a snail
convoluted like some thoughts
like Hamlet's
to be or
not to be

it happens most of the time
fate resolves itself

there are those however
who do not really work hard
those with natural talent
who think everything is
just plain play, and then
they get an A+,

do not call it unfair.
they simply excel without
lifting a finger
without lashing an eyebrow

they are born you know.

lady, what must you do
during summer
when the sea is blue
when the waves are
cool?
when the flowers
are blooming
when the rain is
nil
lady, what must you
do when the wind is
sweet?
when the grass is not
as green as the
meadows

lady, don't waste the hours
fall in love
if you must, then
grab, if you will,
be the
crab.

i have to be honest now
despite the first lie
that after i have slept with you
something in me becomes
real: i am real, i am alive
i am whistling at midnight

when you wake up and
look at me and kiss my lips again
i know what it feels
the world becomes real too:
this bed, this blanket,
this window and the sea.

to understand how this world works
where the stars are kept
how this earth intervenes on the affairs
of the sun and the moon
why the frog sings when it rains
why the geese are noisy on their
v-shaped migration,

to me, is plain, crazy,
we are here not to understand at all
we are given gifts to accept
we are here to wonder and appreciate
why worry? enjoy what you see
taste what's so beautiful and delicious on the platter
on the table
we indulge in conversation
we toast a drink to this beautiful universe
we are amazed by the stars
and the heavens
we are caressed by the sun and the moon
what more do we have to argue about?
such a waste of such a short time span
i like to spend it some more bathing in the pond
with the swans.

the inablity to accept

dyeing his hair
this morning and
putting on a new pair of trousers
a supporter
he attempts to play
basketball

somehow he cannot shoot
the ball
he fails again
on the next attempt

he sweats it out
drinks his lemonade
and whistles
Inamorata a la
Dean Martin

Tony

tony,
widower at 76
just found a woman
of 18
and they are in church
holding hands
kneeling
beside each other

tita,
widowed at 78
has something new to talk about

concealed is
envy, i suppose

sitting beside you
on the bench inside a church
listening
to the homily of the
parish priest

to avoid rejection

take a part of your
pelvic bone

close your eyes
let someone take
the flesh

and bone to bone
of your own bone

let it grow
smoothly

to get rid of the pain
and start anew

bone to bone
of my contention
following yours
nothing
opposing
blood following
the flow

affirmation

there is no truth anymore
to a lonely life

it is true
there is more to solitude sometimes

but who can tell that you are alive
without me?

who can tell that i speak of love
when you cannot love me?

love is not love
unless shared

otherwise it can simply be another tragedy
of car tires traveling
without any commitment at all
on the hold of the road

of skies dappled with stars
and yet so unfeeling

of arms too strong and
lips so warm
yet the hugs and kisses
have not found
solace?

mutuality

i

for me to see you
you do not have to open your eyes

ii

seeing you could be a car in a
one-way traffic
relating to you could be that
numb, bland,
you look at the other direction
when you open
what you have just closed

iii

but i beg of you
on a covenant of mutuality
so we can love some more
and let this flame light the darkness

i beg of you
we must close our eyes together now
to see
what is more beautiful
within

april 12, 2010

the ship
slices its way
along a mirror sea

behind it
you do not see any scar
there is no sign
of disturbance
whatsoever

in a minute you look back
the sea is another mirror again
reflecting
fury
at noon

eating alone

in Dumaguete
at 4 o'clock in the morning
you went out of the ship to take a walk along
the boulevard: an old one
with a story to tell
the one that you like to hear
again and again

this time
the heavy rains intervened
forgivable as it is the first heavy rain in the city
for the past five months

people stand along the side
of the covered pathway
watching
the rain

you sit on one of those benches
where breakfast is served
cheap

fish and rice and coffee
the roof leaks
and drops of rain begins to hit
your shoulder

a man beside you
with some tattoo on his arms
looks at you like you are the man whom
he had been searching
all the years of his life

you stare back
sort of saying
you are not afraid
for this encounter

he looks away knowing that you also know
what betrayal is
what a war is
what killing fields are

he sidesteps your gaze
unzips his fly
and urinates pointing to the heavy rain

this is pure disrespect to the rain
you stop eating
brace the rain beyond the roof
bathes there
and walks away from there

this world is not absurd
it is logical
it knows when to stop and to begin again
when to stare back
when to back off and when to retrace its steps
along the boulevard

now the stories are becoming clear
and then the rain stops
you remember that was the song
precisely the lyrics are intact


but what for? you ask again
over and over again

you are so foolish.

moral lesson for today

if one knows
the reason for pain
one can endure it
for days

for a lifetime
the pain becomes nothing
but a lifestyle

everyday
is an offering
and the pain is taken away

somehow
in understanding the meaning of its source
the reason of its existence

one misses it like a long lost friend
and once when you meet it again
you hug it
you shed tears of Joy
and when it leaves
you want to be with it
you ask that you join it in its lone journey
but you are refused
for pain has its own life too
its own span

then you take pride in this understanding
you feel like you are god
crucified and redeemed
whole and strong.

what i like in cebu city

when i walk alone Colon
i remember being treated for free barbecue
by my sister during her student days,
(it may not be important to you but it is
to me, for it was the first time that i have
had a free barbecue
with white rice wrapped by coconut leaves)

nothing significant really like it is an ordinary day
but there is one thing that i cannot tell you

i have seen stars there,
people who shine ordinarily without anybody knowing
that they are stars in their own right,

ordinariness felt
something that pleases you when you walk
and no one knows you

independent, open, nothing significant
you become real.

he is lost
took the train to nowhere
until he stops
mixing with the unknown figures
blending with the shadows
there is no talking
nothing to hold
someone from behind him
slits open his pocket
and took everyone
from him
his credit card his money
his ID
and he has no one to run to
no one to help him
he walks without stopping
on a muddy path
no flowers no clouds
just the twilight without end

the water from the river rises
up to the tip of trees
there was a rage and
i can no longer figure out
where was this figure
this tall lean man
who lost everything inside his pocket
his identification
his story inside my dream

the little birds of my country

one is red
up the tree
one is blue
down the drain
one is white
at the center
of the house
the others eight
in all
on each window
one sun
with eight rays
no stars
this time
not one
stripe
the Filipino people
has learned
to hate.

matutinal

few drops of whiskey
to cheer my tongue
wet my lips

energize the bone
that sleeps throughout the night
as she bangs the door
this morning.

we do not wish to explore more
what life is
we are here we must live it
in daily celebration

i like the sunrise with my feet
comforted by the surface of the table
my shoes are dirty
but i never mind the weeping of the table cloth

i got lemonade on my hand
pancake glazed with pure honey from the farm
the world is standing still
i shy away from silly talk this time

a sort of infection

in the silence of the house
come and be my guest
tell us your story
make us laugh
infect us with the virus
of your happy moments
when you were gone away
we have mourned enough
cheer us now
with your presence

one man's mistake

something sad
same things over and over again
like a chain of dominoes
waiting for a time
one slab, one fall, hell for all.

since we love the dogs
who sleep with us
now we must feast
with all the fleas

we feel the rhythm
of their barks
we mark our lives
with dog ears

we master the art of
stand and sit and roll
and get that ball!

now scratch my back
as i scratch yours.

a morning vow

morning wakes us up
with the gusts of the
winds from its
whispers ,

loneliness creeps again
inside our bones
we quiver to this
we like to harvest reasons

the grains of wisdom are ripe
we take the chaff and
let them go

we are here with the purity
of what is left
and on the table now my love
we share
this grace.

flower petals
hands
trying to reach
out
for the clouds
the sun
meeting at
the glimmer
flickering
like dragonfly
wings
forgetting how
to fly.

what if
i stop loving you
will you accept that fact
the love sometimes
stops
upon its own ceasing
upon its own clock
stopping its own
ticking?

what if
you do the same to me
your same love
like a clock's ticking
too stopping
in a minute
as though its hands
are fractured
by its own rusty
gear?

now, this is scary
but come to think of it

it is
a possibility.....

outside the window
this early morning
blue clouds hover
on the green hill
like the curly hair
of a little boy

on the guava tree
a twig without leaves
a bird sings
with blue feathers
the kingfisher
below it a pool
of rippled waters
a fish is seducing
its black beak

goddess

a circle of stars over
her head
hands holding white
flowers
her feet on top
of a snake

her long black hair
smooth skin
wavy eyelashes
slender fingers
virgin
pure
mother of all

in plaster of paris
painted and revered

the eyelids are heavy
children need more sleep
the rain last night was long
the night was noisy on
the rooftop

this early morning the children
rush outside
they are happy
watching the rainbow

so momentary
before they pointed their fingers
it is gone

YOU CANNOT KILL TIME

In truth
it is time that is
slowly
gently
killing all of us...

the measure of man's worth now
is not his face value
not his hectares of rice land
not his family name

it is his money in the bank
not even his integrity
not even the ugliness of his face
not even the horrors he sowed

can defeat that.

opposite poles

we must be two opposite
poles
repelling one another
to support
a world

distant apart
we maintain a certain space
where we can
be strong...

watching his transformation

did he start
from an egg
hatching into
a worm
then hid
in a cocoon
and then
turning into
a butterfly?

did you see
him
spread his wings
for the first time?

IT IS when you have no one
that you become
everything, when you become
everyone, it is when you accept
that you have nobody
that you become a part
of everyone,
there is just too many of us,
too many of you and that is
enough to make us all happy,
cheers!

there is a river that is filled with salt
as it takes in
from all tributaries everything that they are giving
it is not giving away anything in return
it is dead,

no one sinks there
try it.

it is dead
there is no fish there
no shell

taste it when you go there
it is dead.

i was relaxing on a
hammock

there was this little
white butterfly

fluttering and fluttering
no hovering ever
no stopping

it rises up over the fence
of my house
and then it is gone away....

i slept and dreamed about
a little white butterfly

fluttering and never stopping
it flew away from my mind...

a political trip

beside the woman with short hair
chinese eyes
plain clother
all black is another woman with
long hair
thick glasses
holding a cell phone
and a black leather bag
which she carries with her left hand

they are boarding a plane
to the central city
to talk the president about a
political proposal

the president has a mole on her left cheek
always smiling....

what is the point of all these?
nothing. The plan is kept as a top secret.

do you feel being fooled?
that is normal.

my philosopher friends

there is no use really
arguing about God
whether he exists
or not
whether he is present
now amidst
our triangular grouping
there is no use
he was once here and
as we are too noisy
he left
a minute ago.

a fruit tray

inside a wicker basket
are two red apples
beside three persimmons
on top of them
is a ripe mango

still
there is no sound
even a ripple of air
from the window
covered with
white lace curtains.

a date

three red chilis
on top of two sliced calamansi
beside the cup of white rice
inverted in form
the chicken barbecue is glazed
with butter
above a banana leaf

we have nothing to talk about
we eat

the first time is always nice
it cannot even be forgotten
it continues to drip inside the mind
it does not cease
even if you stop it
even if you wish it were not there anymore

then i ask myself
what happened to the last time?
it was there before but it is nowhere to be found now
i refuse to remember it
it broke me
into pieces....

i stab
the fried banana
with a fork

pieces eaten
with joy in my heart

i stir coffee with cream
hot water inside the cup of white porcelain

i hear the ringing
of the door bell

and i do not mind
who is it what is it

i expect no one
this early morning

as i begin to piece together
broken glasses of memories

i dare love no one
and i dare no one to love me

there is an island of coffee with creams
inside the cup of porcelain

no one stirs it
except myself

i feed myself piece by piece with
a fried banana stiffened with bread crumbs

deep fried and well cooked
self, selfish upon itself

on a Maunday Thursday
the silence creeps like soft feet of a white butterfly on my arms

the windows are open
the air is free to go inside and play and be wary about its own molecules

the door is closed
no one is allowed to get in at this hour of my reflection

a day as mirror
a self as shadow cast upon a self upon a self

there is no language from the body
this time

only fools,only fools,
rising above themselves

saving life on some memoirs
a biography of another bigot begotten by this ghoul.