sa likod sa simbahan
misaad siya
gidawat niya ang iyang
saad sama sa bato
ang atubangan sa simbahan
maoy nahatag sa lain

love sometimes
is unrequited, and the best way to respond
to this matter
is to say that it is not love at all,

that this is just pure lust,
and every night that you cannot hold what you love most,
you always go into the labyrinths of
rationalization,
this is not love, it is not love
how can love be like this?
at the end you arrive at the threshold of pain,
where pain is not pain anymore
but a lesson learned,
and you still keep on saying
proving to yourself that you are right
it was love, yes it was the purest of love
felt,
but it was wrong and wrong is wrong
and nothing but wrong,
and you rest your head upon a pillow
beside no one,
declaring yourself as King
as survivor of the greatest misery of all,
love unrequited
as the king of love clapped by the pains
of the majority,
well, you ended it well,
you have a face, a body,
everything in you is intact
nothing diminished, nothing gained,
whole, and
still full of love, despite.

once, i was
a philosopher,
and by chance
i met an ex-disciple
in air
who says
that i was too
cruel to
twist her brain,
but i still
talk to myself
becoming proud
that at least
she still keeps
her brain,

though twisted
in some
sense.

as others work their way
bury themselves in the thick of the
paper forest
(in this place birds have
no place for nests
the ants have no sugar chunks
to carry)

i still find my way on top
to hum a song
to build a castle on the clouds
and drift

a lengthy poem is unfair.

it takes half of my coffee
and a fourth size of my cookie
deprives me of my morning walk
and makes me rush
and gives me shame why i
am late in my office
again

i blame it for my misery
when it could have been short
and yet provide
me for the much needed
ecstasy

you look good in white
more of
likeness to a white
official court paper
thirsty for
our integrity and
hard work,
this morning you are
ablaze in white
and i could have said
something more than
nice
but this is monday and
it is going manic
and it is singing what'
love got to do with it

to see the beauty of a journey
to feel the happiness of every step
one must follow
and think about a chain
of custody of all the relevant and
pertinent happy
artifacts of your life,
where you started you must go towards
a place and carry a memento
in your hand which you must close
from time to time to feel
what is warm and strong in there....

so here i am still thinking more.

if i pay attention to all the details
i will not be where i am now
i would have been stranded in an island
surrounded by sharks

if i repeat every word you say
i would have been stuck on a cave
and i would not have lived
the life i love

you see, i must see the world as a whole
though vague, though far
i must always move towards a horizon
where perhaps i can find both my sun
and moon

i have listened more to the sound of my heart
though i have not followed most of its foolishness
i have restrained myself and fasted happiness
some things sweet shall destroy me
much of the time i have taken the bitter pill
and so here i am still thinking more.

to a swindling distant relative...

the reason why you
come is
my money.

you come limping
like a frog whose
hind foot is bitten
by a snake.

you show a face of
failure.
you lose some teeth.
your hair is becoming
grey.

you have always lied
to me.
But i never tire
giving you what you want.

when you leave this
room
i am relieved.

a thorn is lifted
from my brain.

i am happy
i am not like you.

that lady of judas....

what you do not know
shall not hurt you.

it is I, who know all
these. I am therefore hurt.

I am hurt, and i will
not tell you.

what i will not tell you
does not hurt you.

this is the real
justification for silence.

i never want to hurt you
and so i keep hurting myself.

this is the justification of my
love.

this love that keeps being
hurt.

and i will always be hurt.
and this is the justification of
my christianity.

to the dancing faithfuls of san vicente

i do not really know what was it that made me cry.
I stopped somewhere in the middle of the crowd
who were dancing to the gong beats of
senyor san vicente in olingan.

how can a very disappointing life make you dance?

there were stories of course.

that woman cannot bear a child,
that man had three kids who died in a car accident.
the hunchback of this town has a wish.
the old lady has no place to live.
and so on and so forth

these are all people with lamentations.
i am only knowing things on the surface.
they never allow me to go deeper because if i have
to go deeper
they bleed some more and their drops of blood
become dry on the pavement
which not all can see

meanwhile senyor san vicente keeps spreading its
plaster of paris wings, white with its new paint.

the dances perhaps do not know the story
that he can be in many places at the same hour.

what they know is that this saint is miraculous.
something amazing will happen in their lives
after the saddest sound of their dance steps.

sonorous, monotonous, by analogy it could be like
a scream for help, for justice, for understanding of what
is happening to their lives.

and the eventual acceptance of their fates.

i do not know why i am crying. I really do not know why.

For Janus in Lesbos

She'll make you feel
that you are weak and nothing better
than an empty shell
less the song
of the sea and sand.

You must understand her
Story. She's bitter as a witch
under the curse of her very own
mother who
finally disowned her as she keeps
herself intact
tight and compact
in the world that she created
with Sappho and the rest of the
girls in Lesbos.

Do not dare love her.
She cannot love you in return.

She makes poetry like a spinning
wheel. Threads into silk.
It is beautiful indeed it is.
But there is no place for  you there
and if you come nearer
she'd spit on you.

Keep the thrill. Make your own
pottery.
Your poety to her is pottery.
Do not laugh at yourself. As i see it
in the name of Love you are doing
much better.

It is.And that is a fact.
The only way to love her and yourself
is to move on.
Find Another.

Forge this unrequited Love.
Love has many faces of Janus.
Do not worry.
There is a face suited for you
and do not be shocked.
It looks like  you too.

ON to the FIFTIETH

It is on this day that the count of 50 days to  the Feast of Pentecost begins. The number 30 plus 20 equals 50, which points directly to the Feast of Pentecost. God promised Abraham that if he found only 50 righteous people in Sodom and Gomorrah he would not destroy both cities
There was a penalty in ancient Israel  if an unmarried man had sex with a  virgin who was not engaged to be married.  His penalty was to pay the woman's father 50 shekels of silver  AND he had to marry her King David paid 50 shekels of silver to purchase  the threshing floor where a death angel Fifty also symbolizes deliverance or freedom from a burden.

the way to my heart
she says is through my stomach

for years this will work
but soon it will not anymore

to live this life and never
finding true love

to die with all bitterness
and please the last worm

give the choice i shall choose
to be born again

hoping to find true love
hoping that it is still you

hoping still that i may know
what true love really is.....

you will the language
that i learn
when i speak you
it will only be myself
who shall understand

i fall upon a cliff
and dive upon the
sea
away from the rocks
i must survive

there is beauty here
from where i am lost
and then to where
i shall find
myself without you

the corals sing for me
the fish worship my body
the seaweeds too soft
and comforting
loneliness is a good
companion
together with solitude
mixed
completing me.

in the dream
we touch and i am
free
like rain falling
on everything

it is different
when i wake up
and you are gone

these guilt like
thorns
and i have become
its main rose

the tree is real
stable upon earth
confident of  its
leaves and trunk
rooted
and steady and
mindless
of the seasons
and the
travelers who
stop for a while
and then like you
gone forever.

we are walking up
towards the peak of
an old mountain, where

Papa before his demise
walked with me
to the top and told me
how beautiful life can
be when we are near
the clouds that dress
the trees with its
foggy days,

we have gotten heavy
on the plains and
our feet are not forgiving
us for our lousy days

when we reached the top
my world changed
as i remember what
hurts and having learned
the cause
i breathe life again
like a child.

who wants not
to slim a little
to simply whisper
make a hush
and live in peace?
who wants not to
go back
to a former body
of smooth and
tight skin and strong
arms and
muscled chest?
who wants not
to be beautiful again
and thirsty for love
and have those
dreams of youth
fulfilled?

time is so unforgiving.
fate is uncompromising.
here you are
waiting for the next bus
to your last destination.
you want not to look back.
everything is nice
it is over.

last night she woke up
to an unholy hour
felt my chest
and thought that i was dead
which i played
so willingly to test how she
reacts to said
circumstance

she loves me.