loneliness

loneliness is a beast,
a monster i wish would
swallow me, regurgitate
me against a Persian
rug where i can make
a scene like crimes do,
to bear so much loneliness
and splatter it used against
a lavish carpet, a mat
where i cannot wrestle
because i am alone,
mostly, though not in my
dreams where i savour
your company even if
it were just a minute
before we poof into a
galaxy of stars, divided
we are into particles
that comprise the universe
and knowing this i shouldn’t
feel so alone, but I do
because i’m not with you

a secret never was

the world competes for you
once your long held truth
is divulged from within

as though the universe has
been in wait for this secret
to unfold… that never was

a secret but as natural as
bees in colonies cultivating
honey for you and me

water

i think you better in the sands—
no water to taint you, treat
you untreated

so it pains you to drink
the plague they allowed
to stream in your tank

the corrosion of pipes
filling your tongue with
gag instead of words

that may ask, can i please
have another glass of water,
but you think twice about

the matter and you refrain,
keep your silence and disdain,
wait to catch rain, instead

rice

once were we noble among rice fields
with a single grain enough to yield
the masses. banana leaves were plenty;
we placed them over our palms with a
a handful of rice that sustained us
from typhoons, under all that inglorious
rain. the rice was sufficient. sticky.
sweet. we were content. we thought it
was ample. the sacks were endless. still,
poverty wanted more from us. deliberate.
discontent. the hunger dug deeper into the
conscience until soul, spirit sacrificed
to no limits… the rice tasteless in our
mouths. we now know, no rain can wash it down.

i don’t have life

i don’t have life and
yet life makes me,
shapes me into a large,
yellow vegetable if not
a heavy coconut ready
to drop from overhead…
just as i disappointed
you, laid across my
burdens against your
garden… i didn’t
mean to stump your
roses, nor lavender
from coming into
fruition… the drought
i cannot fight off
with water because even
i can’t keep myself
from getting thirsty

make me poet

words pulled from the womb
of my thoughts… have i given
birth to poetry? a poem even,
lacking in such words, how the
book drops against the floor,
sparing the table, sparing
my thoughts from any further
mental injury… shall i read
you a story or sing you to sleep
or abandon you on the table
altogether and give you no milk
or that mush in a bowl you like
so much because you have worried
and disappointed me… our words,
our poems… how can you still
remain so immature when we have
grown the lengths of stanzas
together, from haiku to aimless
soliloquy, our poetry have
stammered, repeated itself
incessantly over and over like
reminders now i cannot remember,
or do i want to… stammer even
further even if all i got is
mediocre? filthy lucre i am not,
but words i know can enrich me,
make me poet if i want to be

stand in the rain

is it the mention of your name
that summons my thoughts from
distraction? hones me where i
cannot be disturbed and only
my self, my life, in this space
i wish to devote (to you); a love
that fills me, lets me breathe…
(i doubt you inspire) but when you
exit my mind, breath seizes and all
my negotiations fold as silence
itself becomes a deafening sound
within… lost as i am unable to
figure your silhouette; the fear
metastasizes and all shadows, those
i welcomed in the dark, no longer
follow me into the night. i’ve been
braver before the onset of such storms,
but without you near, how senseless
the days or the clouds above my head.
if i cannot draw you in, then how much
longer must i stand in the rain?

back to innocence

perhaps what unfolds from this stem
is innocence impatient for spring,
petals that brave winter and with
its tongue tastes coldest rain born
from sullen typhoons barging through
coastal doors, unexpectedly, unwelcome
though there is much need for moisture,
much need for rain… the unnecessary
baptism blesses me, revives me, reminds
me that even if there is a deluge ahead,
in time, the water shall subside and all
grass shall return to its former state,
even flowers restored to my mind’s garden

the melody extinct

the melody extinct
and here i am
searching for
sound under the
remains of echo
subtly resting if
not nagging like
dust upon my heart’s
surface… unmoved,
untouched, barely
used, an organ
whose tireless
pounding behind rib
cages, never once
heard before… still
i strain. i shall
unmake the noise, and
unravel silence from
your core, restore
the truth from where
glances concealed
you far too deep
from my eyes

cannibals will eat more flesh

in a time like rain and eras when
i washed your face, erred your body,
mistakenly, with unadored wounds
flung accidentally from this
inebriated mouth— my madness
dismissed as nothing more than
insecurity unhinged to scorn you
to a distance…. have i succeeded
at inching you along, have i pushed
you out to the ends of the world,
goaded you to erase me from memory?
cannibals will eat more flesh, i’m sure,
and guilt shall always consume me