do not capture the best
neither shall you say i am
just keep on gazing and

moving into the journey of
that soul within which till
date you have not really held
with your own embrace
you do not have to capture
the best and say i am the best
for it is the best that captures you
and then it says: i have the best
and of course, you will never know.

EID
today i must
remember how Abraham
was ordered by God
to sacrifice his only
son Isaac

perhaps i must think
about doubt
how i too, doubted
God's orders
perhaps i must take
that leap of faith
perhaps if i had a son
i could have killed him
myself and say
it is God's order
and i must obey
but what if God had
not sent me a lamb?
what if i had killed my
own son?
what if God allowed
me to kill
and never stopped me
at the end?
History will condemn me.
There is only one Abraham
as There is only One God.

do you need an army to let them know that you are here?
do you need company in that walk of your solitude?
do you need a friend to listen to the sighs of your soul?

do you need a child to continue the footsteps of your future?
do you need a wife to comfort you in the place where you are rested?
do you need a government to get what you want in this world?
do you want to be ruled?
do you need a cup to drink your water in the river?
do you need a horse to complete the journey that you have started?
do you need a follower of your thoughts?
do you really need yourself to understand finally who you are?
do you need life to understand what death is?
do you really like what you like?
i am not asking you.

after we talked
i already know what you wanted
i toyed with that idea
and then when we finally meet
each other at the agreed
time and place

i already know what to say
but i only listened
to what i already expected you to say
to me
i toyed with that idea
as always
as i have always done with the past
with all of them
and they all like me
just like the way you like me now
at the end
you say, this kind of thing won't last
these toys
won't last longer than we think
we both toyed with these ideas
and we
since we know already this kind of pain
we did not pain that much
(perhaps a little like that
grain of salt
like the way we toyed with
one another)
with tongue-in-our-cheeks
we part and we do not use any word
any longer
when pain is anticipated
what can pain be?
obviously, the one that you already know
does nothing to you.

I always understand
this manner of keeping things of the same color
and glow
size and even scent

i know what hands are
and the lines of those palms
the hardness of these nails
the sensient
transcendence

i have seen arms that elbow
those that obstruct
what you need is what you want
what you love is what you keep
nothing is extraordinary in all these
and so i am not a stranger
to what you have to say next

now i must get even with you
i make a dam and keep my water
i leave you dry
plain and simple
i am this high and must not seek
your level

i have seen thirst and hunger
and even death
and i have seen to it
that it is not mine

THE SONG OF SELFISHNESS

i've seen the truth
and heard its sound
i've seen its light
surging and strong
i've touched its softness
caressed its directions
i've seen it leave me
because i have always
said to myself
< I am not ready>

THE SHADOW OF THE PAINFUL PAST

a shadow rises from the sea
that night when the moon was weary

the shadow drips and comes near me
and without any word touches me
i offer a glass of wine to keep it warm
to keep it bold so that it may soon speak the word
the word that i have never heard before
when the sea was calm when the place is deserted
the shadow tries to show the face i love
the body i long
the memory i had been for long wanting to
still keep
because i always remember
and then the shadow does the trick
which i have long embraced and accepted
it still leaves me
in this darkness.

YOU keep a box
like my size
my head is still larger
than that
my body much bigger
and my feet and hands
never fit

I keep the movement
between here and there
like time and home
and chasing and hiding
and saying and
then in my chosen time
this silence
You keep that box
and you call me and say
This is your home and
You live here
You'll have no worry
about growth and change
This is the place of
painless plunges
I know my name
Every curve and edge of
my Body
I take this fingers as friend
and rivers
My self is not your boat
My mind not your port
I am myself and my secrets
I have a home and this
Comfort room
This tower, and this vision.

an isolated island
has only pebbles and sand
for its love
all affections are settled only
on the foams of the sea

the caressed hair of the wind
the simplicity of the plain
if the world is in chaos it professes
its innocence
if the world ends tomorrow in a nuclear
bombilation
it hears nothing but the buzz of the bee
the hush of the butterfly's flutter
it does not disregard its beliefs
it is an island and it knows not how this world
shall end.

a fugitive
finds a shell
goes inside the
labyrinths without
a string

a fugitive loses
himself
and he likes it
for no law shall
find him
the genuine loss
is when
you, yourself
cannot even find you
and that is what
fugitives like
always uncaught.

a rainy day
that day the rain falls heavily on the roof.
the leak has been managed.
the doormat is replaced with a new one.
the dogs are inside the house and they
are everywhere. The biggest one stares
at me on the dining table.
i stop sipping my coffee.
The smallest one, coy and secretive,
sleeps beside you in bed.
the other three are so unruly
waiting to eat the white cat on the
ceiling.

you have chosen sleep.
i take the black raincoat
open the door and heads
towards my favorite hang-out.
the soup is ready and she hates
dog like myself.

have no fear
you did not kill that chicken
i will witness
it was already dead
when you
overran it with your
wobbling truck

he says he could have done that
better than you
but by then you have already done it
himself
he is far away from you and shouts at
the top of his voice
he says he could have been the best person
for that
but you have done it yourself and so
you have become the winner since you are the doer
and he is just, as always, the wanna be.

how to be useful can be
tragic
maybe at the middle part
we are the steering wheels of this
vehicle

or the secret contraption that makes
everything so easy to move
or destroy, for sometimes we are
the happy tools of destruction
we claim to be the pillars and the
pillagers
someday after all these, we surrender
our heads to our executioners
but they will not do it for us
they will not take the honor
we are those who wait by the road
for the last trip towards home
we are useless now but we are
proud with our hopes
they will take us, they will take us
they promised to take us back home.

an isolated island
has only pebbles and sand
for its love
all affections are settled only
on the foams of the sea

the caressed hair of the wind
the simplicity of the plain
if the world is in chaos it professes
its innocence
if the world ends tomorrow in a nuclear
bombilation
it hears nothing but the buzz of the bee
the hush of the butterfly's flutter
it does not disregard its beliefs
it is an island and it knows not how this world
shall end.

it is its day today
the night outside my window
moves with its darkness
under the moon
dressed in the coldness of
its fabric
it makes the sounds of
the midnight cat and the owl and
the wolf,

it is its day, and i am enclosed
in this room
filled with light and comfort
and courage
between us
is a belief that the best thing
that must happen is this bold separation
this unkindness
this kindness in mutual cruelty
this life and death
that we both have to choose
and accept

the fugitive

a fugitive
finds a shell

goes inside the
labyrinths without
a string

a fugitive loses
himself
and he likes it

for no law shall
find him

the genuine loss
is when

you, yourself
cannot even find you

and that is what
fugitives like

always uncaught.

dawn

dawn is a good
investment

i invest so much time
in it

some memories
scruples that i never get
over with

much time is spent
remembering and trying to
learn

how to avoid the same
mess
how to rise above a
drowning

how to redraw the route
of a great escape

from what? from whom?
these are no longer
the mysteries of my own
faith

dawn is a friend
it talks back and i sometimes feel
that i am

an undesirable kid, the one who should
be blamed
for broken toys

dawn is my own paper
where i write all my sins of
omissions

if you begin to read what
i have written
in that dusky sheet
perhaps you will not like me
forever

dawn is a bosom
and i make love with it
as usual

i feel this comfort when you are
no longer with me


the days will judge me
but dawn i know, in deep understanding
shall acquit me.

memory lane

lately, he has been talking about separations
how painful the process can be at the start
just like a wound with a pus
but somehow when that infected thing
bursts and the cause is removed
the relief that is felt justifies all the
fears and anxieties

she likes it too
the way she dismembers a wing from the
body of a bee
how its sting has to be extricated so that
it cannot penetrate another flesh
and cause inflammation

he too remembers how he once disassembled
the toy robot that Papa once bought him during
his 5th birthday
when Mama went away packing all her things
and took the bus to ozamis

things repeat themselves and they all know that
and some people despite this knowledge allow these things to happen

not because it is painful but because it finds at the end
the reliefs they are seeking.

a rainy day

that day the rain falls heavily on the roof.
the leak has been managed.
the doormat is replaced with a new one.
the dogs are inside the house and they
are everywhere. The biggest one stares
at me on the dining table.
i stop sipping my coffee.
The smallest one, coy and secretive,
sleeps beside you in bed.
the other three are so unruly
waiting to eat the white cat on the
ceiling.

you have chosen sleep.
i take the black raincoat
open the door and heads
towards my favorite hang-out.

the soup is ready and she hates
dog like myself.