Shelter

I can feel the heat of the sun but where is the warmth of love?
I can hear the birds chirping but where is the sound of joy?
People all around wear their widest smiles but where is my happiness?

How can I stretch my lips to feign a smile when it is my mind that is stiff?
How can I be in a crowd, intermixing shadows, but feel so alone?
Why from all the mobile calls  I only get busy tones

when all I need is someone to wrap their arms around me,
and shelter me from this loneliness?

Umbrella-less

When I have walked this long, this far, in my life
I was like testing a string attached to mom
to see how far the string goes before it breaks and anxiety
like a sudden downpour caught me umbrella-less,
in a street full of cars,

with strangers rushing to find shelter from the rain,
and I can't see my mom anywhere, anymore in the crowd,
with an empty pocket, not even a centavo of a coin
and the tension made me hungry and cold.

I have walked farther in this life mommy-less
resigned to get wet in the rain for days I am umbrella-less
with no space in the sidewalk to find shelter for myself
I just have to be wiser not be sucked into some hole
without a string to life to keep me from drifting farther

and be plucked out from deep waters life-less, umbrella-less.
An umbrella once kept a girl alive, or so I heard,
because she held on to it while falling into a man-made hole.
I should have known better than be umbrella-less.

It is the next best thing when everything else,
everyone else do not have strings attached.

Pisara at Tisa

Dati-rati tumitig ang aking musmos na isip sa pisara ng buhay, 

sinundan ang pagguhit ng tisa ng mga titik, bilang at iba pa

mula sa daliri ng maraming guro na tumayo, bumigkas, at nagkumpas

sa harap nito, sa umaga o hapon, sa init o ginaw ng tag-ulan. 

Sumulong ang mga araw ng aking buhay. Ilang ulit kong inakyat

ang mga hakbang ng mga hagdan tungo sa ikatlong palapag ng pagsisikap,

kung minsan humihinto at sinisilip ang mga iniwang hakbang,

at pagkatapos tinipon ang lakas upang pumasok sa bago at di-kilalang silid

Na marahil ay may kinukubling hamon. Makikipagtuos ba ang aking isip at lakas,

O susubok ba upang bumuo ng mga bagong ugnayan, harapin ang mga bagong atas

na iuuwi sa tahanan, mga bagong aklat na ang mga pahina ay parang

mga lansangan na ngayon ko pa lang kikilalanin? 

Sa kinabukasan, lahat ay iguguhit muli sa mga pisarang magbibigay liwanag

sa mga kaisipang nasakluban ng kulimlim, sinalat sa unawa at karunungan,

nguni't salamat sa matiyagang mga kamay na humawak ng tisa

at humawi sa kulambong ng isip upang doo’y sumilay ang liwanag.

Sa ngayon, naroon pa rin ang mga pisara sa kanilang mga dingding,

nguni't nagbagong anyo na ang paligid. Wala na ang mga guro 

na sa aking kabataa'y naging pangal'wang magulang. 

Iba na ang ingay ng paligid, ibang tinig ng hiyawan at saya. 

Para sa akin panglabas na anyo lamang ang nawala.

Ito pa rin ang Republic Institute ng aking ala-ala. 

Cold Bed

Despite the promise to make me comfy in this cold bed,
the first time I laid down on it I asked
please put me into deep sleep, so deep even if death stole me
from lawyers who could not bring me back,
only my body would convulse
against the error of a machine mis-configured,
or against a surgeon who mis-heard or mis-read
or whatever else he missed,
but not my wakeful thoughts strapped in it-
to record the tensed voices,
to actively compute the pain,
to calculate how many minutes more are left,
to feel the dread of the last breath
until it is gone.

I prefer to go into a deep sleep in this cold bed.
I already have a blanket.
Just pull it up to my head when done.

Held

Looking forward to write the right poem, 
not because of my distance from the left, 
for they are not that fart apart.
Is it not injustice being detained,
all my thoughts within the walls of my brain?
But the sprain in my fingers, the pen is long
held, a millimeter away from paper.
How bad is it to discover, it has no ink?
Wink, wink, wink.

Imagine the Time

Imagine the time when
Mankind's future was lost,
All there will be are heartache,
Misery, pain and death
And the next questions were
What now and what next.

God was slapped in the face
By the greatest lie and slander.
Facing no sadder moment
In the universe before angels,
Can God trust humans again,
To live under His reign?

Jehovah chose to offer peace
To those who will yield,
Forgiveness to the humble,
Hope for the distraught,
Love for the abandoned.

In Nisan 14, God displayed His love
On the torture stake,
While the earth shook,
The sky darkened,
So we can rise from despair
And stand on new found faith.

Imagine the time
When misery and heartache
Will be a distant memory
And every day instead
Jehovah will cheer us
with rain showers.

White Hot

I want to write a hot love poem
hot like a coffee cup's steam piercing your nose,
so hot, you have to pull away from it,
letting go cup, coffee, and steam on the concrete.

I want to write a hot love poem
that does not care to learn,
is not afraid to jump to the next
line, re-creating, re-parsing, re-trying.

I want to write a hot love poem
and show my burns, my scalds.
So white hot it erases memories,
the poem getting reborn again.

The Shaking

The ground moved and shook

until its surface ripped open as if by a knife.

Above, the dark clouds came in haste

dragging the sun away from viewing

the blood and water streaming from a wound

into the nervous air which failed to catch it,

spreading out onto the dirt, rock and wood.

But the torture stake stood its ground

as the dead remained fastened on it, 

unaware of eyes who looked at

the ribbons of flesh hanging off the body,

of voices with their quiet grief,

while some heavy curtain was torn in two

exposing a hidden golden ark.

A New Morning

The first rays of sunlight broke through the window
just when you turned to me.  I  see
the beach, white sands, and blue-green waters from here.
The waters glisten, as your lips met mine.
I find comfort from your body’s warmth even while the breeze 
keeps pushing these curtains, white as foam of waves, 
off the window frame.
I don't need a cup of coffee now
if you won't let go of your warm and tight embrace. 
In this bluish morning, as the coolness lingers here,
let your eyes be the sun of my sky.