Luhang nagbabanta,
huwag mong ipakita ang
mukha ng pagsuko,
ang pisngi ay hindi labasan
ng pighati,
ang mata ay bintana ng
kaluluwa, ngunit
wala kayong karapatan
para kumawala
mga anak ng mga salitang,
hindi maibigkas,
sa gitna ng mga buntong-
hininga, at sa bigat
ng dibdib na pasan ang
mundo,
bumalik ka.
Ito ay isang giyera na hindi
ka pwedeng tumakbo.
at kahit bumigay ka ay unti-
unti ka ring mauubos,
dahil kilala ka sa pagtakas,
at kilala ako sa pananatili.
-J
I promised myself six months ago that I will never lie again.
1. Of lies
let’s play a game called
truth or lies,
I will say two statements
and you will determine
which statement is true
and which one is made
up
you ready?
1st:
I’ve never tasted-loved-had a boyfriend.
2nd:
my first (ex)boyfriend and I
went to second base at a
friend’s despedida party.
He told me I was
delicious,
but I was disgusted
with myself as I
smiled in between
his caresses
(this is not you)
2. Of fear
I am afraid
that one day,
people won’t
need me
anymore.
3. Of truth
It is painful to remember
her 17th birthday.
A day before that
her aunt Bing died.
She didn’t had an
ounce of remorse
in her body.
She didn’t care.
4. Of forgetting
He cannot remember a
time he called her
daughters to ask if
they are still alive.
5. Of promises
That day as she was
leaving palma hall,
she left her heart on
the stairs, shattered
with the grief of
rejection,
she hurried to cross
the road and reach her
stolen car when a
jeepney was speeding
and almost ran her down,
she can never cross a
road again.
She promised herself that
the moment she can
cross the road,
is the moment he
has finally left her
soul in peace.
She can cross roads
again.
six months have passed, and the
only lie she has ever said was
she wanted to die.
Sa kalamnan ng mga oras
kung saan ikaw lang
ang nasa isip,
Sa tahimik na pag-inog
ng mundo,
Sa dalawang kaluluwang
iisa ang pangako,
ikaw at ako,
ako at ikaw,
sumasalamin ng dalawang
dulo ng buhay,
isang lubid na may
simula at hangganan,
isang patutunguhan,
isang langit na matatamasa,
alaalang dumaragsa,
patuloy sa paghabi ng
mga larawan ng
mga sugat na iniwan
ng kahapon
Ang oras ay tumatakbo,
ngunit para sa atin
ito ay huminto,
tumitig,
huminga,
lumuha,
nagmahal,
naglaho.
I would be nothing like the last time you
remember me.
Seconds were lifetimes of questions passed
hiding underneath sacred sheets and
below room temperature musings.
And in those moments I’ve changed
twelve times in all different forms of
my self-loathing, four of those
because of your abandonment.
“You didn’t get the hint for the past month”
Like besides the words hurled between
us, and a phone call receiver reply of
apologies,
a comfort and decay of
the familiar,
I still have to find the spots where
the sun decides to give
some clarity,
that I still have to search for
the red flags you
discreetly waved.
“She’s exactly like you.”
So in those two weeks of
coffee crumble,
I heard nothing of your sweet
exchange that’s bitter to
the taste of our mundane-ness;
The facade was still the same,
I was just like her you said.
But better.
Better folds, better breasts,
better leg openings and thighs
that you’ve caressed.
I wonder if she smelled like me
too,
but how would you know?
“I love her.”
I had never heard the night
so quiet,
its voice was lost in the
abyss,
and everything suspended
from all the things that
I had known about you
rumbled like an avalanche.
The stars choked on its
own and is consumed
seconds after the death
of the pyre.
“She’ll leave him for me.”
And you left me for her.
Ayala Station
Namamanata ako sa diyos ng paglakbay,
isang oras at kalahati na pagtayo at isang timbang
butil ng pawis ang iaalay,
makauwi lamang kasama ang mga buhay na bangkay
na pilit nagpapalamon sa halimaw na
maghahatid sa paroroonan ng walang halaga
at mga oras na hindi na maibabalik.
pakinggan sana ako at madama
ng poon ang mga binting masaya na nangangawit
at mga pawising kamay na mariing kumakapit
sa mga bituka ng halimaw habang ito ay mabagal
na nagpapahila sa mga alon na bakal,
sa gitna ng mga alipin ng komportableng impyerno
sa dagat ng usok at ilaw na pula.
Sa aking mahinang dasal na sana ay hindi humalik
sa mga pader na isusuka ako sa kawalan,
ako ay makauwi ng isa lang ang katawan.
Boni Station
Sa mga sandaling iyon ay walang namagitan sa atin.
Sa tagal ng ating pakikipaglaban sa mga gabing
lungkot ang laot ng ating bangka ay
ngayon lang tayo pinagdampi ng hirap.
Walang binigkas na salita,
ang iyong pisngi sa aking leeg,
tila ito ay iniadya para maging sandalan
mo, habang hindi iniinda ang init at sikip
at balat ng mga kaluluwang
kinalyo na sa kakahintay–
tayo ay dalawang multo sa dagat ng
siglu-siglong kasaysayan,
na takot pa rin bigkasin ang mga salitang
tutuldok sa atin.
Cubao Station, Cubao
Nakilala ko sila sa sandaling pinagsamahan
namin sa naghihingalong tren.
Sa bawat sambit ng sumpa ay alam kong
may bagong binhi ang aanihin,
sa likod ng bawat mukhang hindi maipinta ay
ang banas na sisindi sa mga natuyong
pangarap sa lupaing kinakapos na sa pag-asa.
I
The ink that was used
To write your postmortem
was barely drying when I
realized the storm had died down.
And no gardens dared to bloom
on your hospital bed as
you searched
across the glass wall
a familiar face,
your babes,
nowhere to be seen in the
sea of beeps and
daffodils–
but you brave through it all,
wide-eyed, facing death
in a manner in which it
was humbled;
The dying was not graceful,
You knew it never was,
but death could never raise
its chin and look you in
the eye
without marvelling at
the temple it
had conquered.
II
And all that’s left of you
is this house.
A rotting cheese in between
Cracks,
squeezed among the
talking walls.
III
He never stepped foot
inside your shared room.
Only once, when he
imagined you’re in
the bathroom
shunning your monsters
asked for your clothes-
He opened the drawers that
was full of you, your
veins, overlapping at the
seams.
A tight grip squeezed
what’s left of regrets;
reciting your
dreams over and over
won’t ever bring
you back.
IV
It was at 4pm when I heard
the news;
the sunlight lends its rays
to the two souls
breaking.
The crowded room seemed
To sleep in the whispers
of the cooled room,
the whirr
Enveloping the needle
that fell in the vast
nothingness of time.
She’s gone.
V
I never tasted tears
with heavy bitterness
when it comes to her;
Only feathered
comfort,
on cold cement.
I will be silent,
So as not to disturb
Life,
Being busy
With the sun,
The changing
Seasons,
Being furious.
I will tiptoe my
Way to
To steal moments,
Hiding behind
Countertops
And cookbooks,
I’d look at your
Handwriting and
I’d remember how
Afternoons
Taste like;
It was never night.
It was never something
Loud.
