Huwag Kang Iiyak

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A.M

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.

Lubid

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.

If I Make It Out Alive

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.

 

 

 

Pa-uwi

Mula sa Inspirasyon na ibinigay ng maikling pelikula ni JP Carpio ” Sang Ga Pakádto Akó”

 

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.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Yellow House

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.

Before We Enter Dusk

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.