Fish crackers, salted
peanuts, chicharon
and Coke in can.
Five peso and fifty cent
fare to a jeepney ride.
I inhale the pungent
breeze of the balmy bay.
As I watch the murky water
when the sun walks away,
its face hiding down.
The lamp post aglow
to your face, a pale moonlight.
Do you remember-
when I cuddle you
on this lonely bench? Together,
neophytes to tender love
leaning into each other, teeth
cracking watermelon seeds,
choc-nut, lukewarm Zesto
in tetra pack.
Do you remember-
Zagu and popsicles,
banana chips and chiz curls.
Love seems a butter
and salt to a popcorn.
A pink sugary cocoon
to a cotton candy. Sweet
melting, artificially
flavoring our infatuation.
Intertwined as alchemy.
The image of your smile,
glossed in tutti-frutti glitters
and sparkles like stars.
My tongue rolling
Halls mint, holding mild
mannered gasps of breath.
And there I was, restless
at your side, wondering.
How this kismet, a make-believe,
our promises, shall we keep?
Fish crackers, salted peanuts,
choc-nut and chicharon,
lukewarm Zesto in tetra pack.
Seven peso and fifty cent
worth of jeepney ride, I came.
Back here in the bench
our memories of love
littered as wrappers.
Such is our promises we left
bobbing and drifting by the bay.
Solitude Amidst the Maddening Crowd
Narrative of the Wounded
Posted in Books, Current Affairs, Film, Literature, Memoirs, Poetry, Politics, Relationships, Religion, Social Commentary, Society, tagged ache, against, backdrop, bandage, bitter, blood, bullets, captive, char, clouds, color, dark, discontent, edge, emotions, fighting, floating, flow, fray, freedom, grafitti, hand, held, hemorrhage, history, hope, house, innocence, lean, logical, loyalty, man, narrative, paint, passages, peace, poem, poetry, rhetoric, ruins, sanity, scar, seasons, soak, spiritual, stop, streams, sunlight, surface, vivid, war, weather, white, winning, within, wood, wounded, wrap on September 20, 2013| 2 Comments »
Wood scars fray the edges of a sanity-
house paint color gave up its loyalty
to the surface weathered by seasons.
I am a man who leans against the backdrop
of grafittis’ with vivid emotions of discontent.
About an aching hand, bloodied by history
wrapped in white bandages soaked
in spiritual rhetoric. It didn’t stop
the bitter flow. This hemorrhage.
While bullets of sunlight streams within
dark passages to freedom fighting,
floating clouds above charred ruins.
The innocence held captive
in the hopes of winning
a logical war for a bitter peace.
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