that sad symphony

I regret that night:

when your splendor was clear to

my eyes, but I failed to sing the

song befitting you. Now the nocturnal

rhythm is playing that sad melody

of unproclaimed love. It started with the

gust of cold wind. Could have been

warmed by your presence – melting

my frozen heart. Then the dogs howled,

a crescendo-decrescendo summon for

company. There were the creeps of the

invisible. Shadows of the unlived moments.

How I wish it were the sweet

reverberation of the violin. Playing

our song. Then a moment of silence

disturbed my thought. And little by little

I heard the sound of my lonely heart.

A sad symphony calling you.

rooted

I sat under the shadow of this tree;
and pondered about life –

Where the river of fate will lead me:
to the plateau of abundance, or the
vast sea of mystery; could be
the desert of oblivion.

Then I asked: where I be,
will this old tree where I take refuge
stand forever?

immortal city

There are cities that never die.

And where my weary feet lie I see one.

Once sanctuary to natural wonders: of
towering luscious trees like narra and
acacia. The canopy of which shades
little insects – red fiery ants, bugs, praying
mantis, butterflies of rainbow hues. Where
birds of different feathers nestle. Plants and
flowers scatter. Blooming to color the ground
as canvass painted with pastel. Native.
And appealing. Fresh and refreshing.

When time passes. There are still trees
and shades – now made of metals. Almost
touching the skies. They hide people – dyed
with different traits. Some sweats in their field.
Some trades flesh for life. There are
saints; hypocrites. Indeed, they are colorful.
Above are birds: giants carrying people
to places. Below are similar oversize bugs.
The grounds are flourishing with colorful grass
and vegetation. But the texture and smell,
they differ. Plastics, rubbers, steels, papers.
Stinking like hell. Polluting the world.

This is a city that never dies.

Because it lives without a heart.

a red tulip

My eyes fixed at this wonderful
flora that ever graced this terrain.

Don in crimson dress, inviting,
and beaming with refined beauty.

At times I felt its stare at me.
With the sweetest smile on its face.

But I just could not decipher reality.
Fantasy was toying with emotion.

Then –
a strong instinct to pluck it.

Except I hesitated, was unsure. Afraid.
It might only wilt in my hands.

dream

Pardon my doubt on your
existence, but you pain me
when light opens my eyes.
In verge of despair.
You give false impression –
that I am encased in a
warm embrace. Of a beloved.
Only to realize that illusion.
I shiver in darkness. My bare hands
hugging my body. Cold.
Desolated in the shadows.
At times you affirm this loneliness.
With another loneliness.
Devastating. Please! I am hopeful:
don’t make my day an eternal night
of storms. Shine light in my darkness.
Make me fly when all else are in the sky.

in solitude

Tonight I write a poem for the lonely
for I am one – trapped in a cozy room
where the only light emanates from a
dying lamp; I hear the sound of silence:
it is deafening. But it reminds me I am alive,
for in this unholy hour past midnight, nothing lives
except me. The moon and the stars shine
brightly at the dark sky, they would not confess,
but loneliness overpowers their being. Like me.
As we live distance apart a single touch is
impossible. I want to shout to arouse the stillness
but I recognize the futility, no one will be awaken
except enemies. In this time, I am alone;
my mind though kept wandering, traveling
through time – past, present, future. Yesterday
I had the company of loving beings,
this minute I exist in solitude; will tomorrow
be the same, I ask. No one is certain, but me.
If I persist, paradise is a hand away.
So tonight I end this solitude,
tomorrow I will sow company.