Natulog

mayroon bang makakabatid

sa lumbay na dulot ng mahal

na lumisan na sa daigdig

na hindi na magagamot

ang pangungulilang manantiling mapait?

ilang luha ba ang aagos

sa mukha upang alisin ang waring tabak

na nakabaon sa dibdib

na nagbura ng mga pangarap

parang tubig dagat sa mga naukit sa buhangin?

anong magagawa ng pagtaghoy

sa araw o gabi

ngayong wala ka na sa piling

may kaaliwan ba sa iyong ala-ala

di ba lalo lamang umiigting?

kay daming pagsinta sana'y nabigkas

at narinig ng iyong tainga

at sa iyong puso'y nanahan

nguni't ang mga awit ko't tula

sino na ang makikinig?

Tagulan

"Charlie, it’s over." 

Bakit ka nagpaalam at nanlamig 

ngayong tagulan man din 

Sa buwan ng Mayo na laging 

basa ng ulan ang lansangan 

Dito pa sa Paseo Starbucks 

Kung saan kitang-kita ng lahat 

Ang aking pagbabagong-anyo 

Pati capuccinong mainit sa kamay 

Pumaso pa? 

 "Charlie, I'm sori, got to go na." 

Tumayo ka na at ako'y iniwan 

Ano pa bang masasabi 

Di ako type na pumipigil? 

Bumuhos na naman ang ulan 

Sa salamin ay sumilip 

Di makita dyipni, bus, at tao sa labas 

Humahampas ang hangin (Nainis sa sarili, 

ang aking payong kung bakit ko iniwan) 

Si Bamboo umaawit sa aking tainga. 

Bakit naninikip ang dibdib at 

Nagbabaga ang mga mata? Buntong-hininga, 

Isa pa, isa pang muli baka guminhawa. 

Tumahimik na ang tugtog sa tainga. 

Di ko malay kung sa akin 

Ay may tumitingin ba 

Napako yata ako sa silya 

Kung ilang oras di ko natantiya 

Madilim na, nagsindi na mga ilaw 

Sa mga poste ng Paseo 

Tumigil na pala ang ulan 

Masikip pa rin ang lansangan 

Parang dibdib na naulila sa sinta.

Another Work Week

It's 7:30am on the digital clock.

It does not do the sound of tick-tock

but the lack of urgency is in my mind.

The charts are magnetized 

on the board like decorations 

and art works of letters and colors.

This new routine is pre-programmed,

unlike an AI machine learning 

from the data of the daily grind. 

What happens next

is predictably sequential,

but each one consequential.

Play 'Hotel California'

on the Bluetooth audio 

from Spotify's playlist,

play it loud like in a concert,

while all the tasks are screaming 

to get started.

A good bath could wash away 

the distractions of last night's

Netflix multi-episode viewing.

Like a countdown,

I sip my cup of decaf

with Maalox pills on standby.

First, I will remove all things 

from the book shelf,

as if packing up again, 

Drop all in a box.

But this is a different work week,

I just put them back again.

My checklist looks like a recipe

but I am not cooking 

any thoughts today.

I just fed the day 

like yesterday. Repeat

with the same to-do list.

'China Grove' is playing

and I feel alive,

feeding the tasks their meat. 

 

 

Not Enough

These are boxes where all

of one's memory 

is unfit to store.

I saw men with paint brushes, 

hammer, chisel, and some garment,

placed inside the box.

I saw rows of boxes 

all painted white, with curves,

shaped like flowers on wood.

They affixed handles, 

some of plain wood, 

others of gold.

No matter the finish,

the curves, and the shine

of silver or gold

The box is not enough to fit

for all the memories to store. 

Most Cheerful Day

 

It is time to leave this place and retreat back to one’s self.

Pack up the items – the coffee cup, the slippers, or

the books, thanking every one for their support.

 

Spend the next days in the best way possible?

If able still, and manage the pain in the heart

More than the agony in the flesh, not even

 

The apparent bright days ahead can create cheer.

It is the best possible ending-

Stay patient while counting days as the strength

 

Drains away like water from the lungs. It may

No longer matter who is around when deep sleep comes,

to never wake up again.

 

But we will all be here to welcome you back,

To give you the warmest hug on a most cheerful day.

Reconstitution

A constitution is a set of fundamental principles, 

Forming a legal basis of a polity. But are principals

Expected to follow principles? Or is it related to

Reconstitution, ammunition, or diminution?

Does constipation follow certain prescribed 

Operational principles leading to holding off

Or delaying what should be exposed, witnessed,

Or preferably just trashed?

But it is unlike the laws of science, or its

Fundamental principles. You jump off a cliff,

For certainty, it will be difficult to reconstitute

Whatever is left after the fall. 

Over There

 

A bond paper on the desk, full of being white,

Is a young man that has not figured out,

And so empty of thoughts or ink, in a blink,

Uncertain of cadences leading to where or nowhere.

 

Unknown where things could be, or should they be,

Picks up and crumples paper, with vigor,

Marching path forward to the trash bin,

Securing a trashed future over there.