I saw a man in white, 
he looked quite a sight.
He was not old, 
but he stood in the cold. 
And when he felt the sun, 
he started to run. 
Who could he be? 
Please answer me. 

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. 

we are getting
older
and we have changed
a lot

at the store we
are not buying anything
at all

the house is full
and there is no place
for another 
furniture

the grasses have 
grown tall and the flowers
are choking
but who cares to weed 
what is evil now? 

it is like we're at
the pre-departure area
leaving for russia

or any place where we
have never been before
we like to feel this
excitement and leave
all the sadness behind

we have changed we cannot
distinguish anymore 
which is which.... 

others may have
come seeking pleasure
others merely
for the unleashing
of a burden
for so many reasons
there will be more
arrivals
and there will be
no more
leavings
no goodbyes
this is the place to
stay
and die....

nature does it best, without much fuss.

the river flows
it is not the way
the rocks want it,

the clouds float
perhaps the air carries
them but they choose
when to disappear

you have no control
for what all these natural
occurrences

everyday you try to
control yourself opting
to do what could have
been right

and then you go astray
and run towards those
mountains trying to figure
out why

and these you take upon
yourself: 

leaving them

i know how to leave
and so 
here i am i have
just arrived

for i have left them.

you know how is it
to be there
it is so stressful
i feel like i am shrinking
my dignity melts
and what i hear is only
their laughter

there is no use staying
there

that place is hell.

nine lives of a cat
eleven shall always be
less than a dozen
nine good people
will always be less
than those ten
devils
nine is never mine
and eleven
shall never be even
it is odd
and odder still to think
that vengeance is
yours and
never God's

once upon a time

the queen of happiness walks in her garden
of love
the flowers of fulfillment bloom
the buds of desire and seeds of hope
the winds of wonder
the bees of believing
the butterflies of betterment
oh! they are all there

the king of dignity regales her with his sword of justice
his crown of authority
his ring of fidelity
his shield of joy

the prince of obedience
the princess of trust
the soldiers of valor
the advisers of compassion and truth

in the kingdom of prosperity
in the length of eternity

there they all live happily ever after

a chicken's life
is measured by its power to scratch
for grains
and then it lays eggs
and feed its chicks
until they all get to be chickens like her
but not all
are bound to follow her cycle
not those
who are better shaped than her
because they are bound
for the knife in the
kitchen

this morning as i walk on the path
leading to the forest land
i see the greatest pearl
hanging on the cirrus sky

the moon still holding to the
arms of morning....

again and again
mornings are always filled with the chatter
of sparrows upon those branches of
almost dead trees,
a cemetery in air, and then what follows
are the clutters of the kitchen,
smell of fried fish and sunny side up
eggs on the table
steamed rice rising to the ceiling,
smoked sausages, and bread,
mornings are better now.

until you arrive and make promises again
that morning will be better now.

i remember you, old lady, when you were
younger, hair flowed freely down to your waist
and you breed children from many men,
and i had none of you, and when we talk you
have become another selfish woman who only
talks about the past,present and future men
of your life and then i start talking about your
house and kids and business and the talk on
that boat had become so endless, i got tire,
as i had always been tired in this lonely journery
to nowhere, and then i start to talk about myself
and you leave me. I am only interesting when
i am interested in you.
First lesson. Keep yourself and do not bother.

we were excited for this trip

another Hongkong this time

when we arrive at the airport

we rested for a while waiting for

our tour guide who shall take us

on the terms of our itinerary

i took some tour pamphlets

looked at the train maps

and tourist attractions

and when i came back to the waiting seat

i realized there are many women seated at the back

one told me that they are domestic helpers

waiting for their employers

she is a computer graduate from the Philippines

who is jobless in her country

and this time she is taking this work

as her family needs money

she is going to send her siblings to school

on the other line of seats are Indonesians

and Pakistanis

still young and with their looks

could serve well their new masters

i could not tell her that i am a tourist in Hongkong

with my wife who shall go shopping again

and enjoy life as much as she could

her employer arrives and i waive my hand at her

as she left carrying her her new luggage and her

handbook as overseas worker

gripped by her left hand.

POETRY is something
that you do
which most of the times
others do not really
share doing, for one thing
for most, it serves no purpose
perhaps, except to baffle

somehow i keep doing it
just like dropping a tiny stone
in that sleepy pond
to make a ripple where ripple
makes more ripples
and then a child begins to
see
and asks
if there is a fish that swims
in it.
then the fish story begins
to be told
until the child has grown up
to be a man
ready for more ripples.

nobody
wants to read and study the law
it if is a scene
it is nothing but snow and a roll
of mountains
roads closed and covered
and people prefer
to stay indoors
drinking coffee or
taking naps
the law does not mind
until something happens to
the numb until someone is
damned
perhaps there is a sudden
death
or a mysterious killing
or someone arrogant just
spit in you and you have no
way of getting even
somehow a rainbow appears
in the sky
after a bloody moon at
night
passed with so much
grieving
then you need the law but
it is too late
the night has come
and you do not know who
is there
on the street running away

noting that the venue
of the december reunion shall
be in Talim Island
(imagine the boat
and the breeze and
the usual cargoes of
basic necessities like
rice and noodles and
salt and sugar and
the chichirikas and

some spaghetti sause
and soap and laddles
and basins, notwithstanding
the underestimation of
the river foams and lilies)
i guess i must have been
spontaneous in saying,
with apologies to Norman,
originality-wise you will
love the smell of your roots
and the taste of old
salt....

how candles
consume themselves
is not really
dramatic, it's normal
for candles to light
themselves
eat themselves
and then
just like that
melt and just be
nobody or
nothing, and

kids pick them up
again
remelted and shaped
into new
entities for sale,
and the buyers
too are like candles
consume themselves
in routine
buy what was
wasted
move on with their
lives
borrow light
and then too
die not in
hopelessness
there's gonna be
eternal life
not just recycling

i wore this
black jacket
and underneath
is the blue
shirt with a hard
collar

and i pose at the
front of the church
and you may say
what is the big fuss?
well, it was taken
in Sofia, Bulgaria
and if you care enough
winter is coming
and the Syrian migrants
are still living
inside their small tents..

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.