Words and Invisible Cords

Loneliness, if only you could talk What would you tell me? You are not a person who could say Hi, hello. To talk back to me Is self betrayal But what if you could What would you tell me? Would you tell me to look At the shadows and imagine their real faces? You can shove me all you want But there is no force sealed in a vacuum Only the intensity to frolick In the sound of your silence. But if only you could talk If only you could also listen And capture the spirits Of the tides, of the sun's rays in arrows. But I will have to wait Until you talk back And I will wait even longer Until I grow tired of you Nonetheless You have the perfect memory To remember that I Once asked you to talk back to me. Note: I wrote this after I watched the movie 'Into the Wild'

The Chronicles of Narnia Tells us of Mr. Beaver's honest question: Is Aslan safe? To which the answer was a resounding 'Course he isn't safe. But he's good. He's the King, I tell you. When Lucy Pevensie met Mr.Tumnus at the Lamppost The little pensive girl was told it marked  The beginning of Narnia Chronicles of a vast, unfolding adventure Of turkish delights, and alegories That escape the imagination Find their expression in the subtle sweetness Of a trap.  Chronic pain of tarnished innocence Swells thru the thickest snow Freezing life to numbness. Until Aslan breaks the frigid suffering With his roar that cuts thru the darkest forests He isn't safe But he's good. Chronicles of incessant wanderings Find their respite in that ever so tall Lamppost Ushering the way back When we all need to leave.

Thin, long, black probe In my artificial sleep Tissue in the gut, taken. Under the light, smeared It was focused, zoomed While I waited, long. Shutting my world In silence I filled the hours With busied nothingness, until -- The day I sat in that freezing, quiet room, He pushed the paper, white as his coat The precious word he underlined, 'Benign' - focused, zoomed, magnified And the skies became bluer -- Life, sweeter.

Opposite an upholstered seat Bleeding with aged dust Shy, alone. World map painted on the ceiling They serve the world’s finest coffees But I only had water, fish and chips. ‘On the Wings of Love' Fills most of the free space in the air Muffled by giggles and talks of trade. Fine people, they come here It was once my dream And just like the one who painted the Pacific Ocean on the roof Vision can make the seas Fly To the moon. Note: When I was still a university student, I used to think that Dome Cafe at Shangri La Mall in Mandaluyong City, Manila was a cafe for the rich and the famous. I once saw Piolo Pascual there. I wrote this when I decided to try this cafe during my vacation in July 2018.

Cold, crisp, jovial air Wafts through those marginal spaces The promise of the remains of the night Condensed juvenile giggles. Note: Inspired by a group of students loitering outside the Library at Nex Mall, Singapore on a rainy Friday night. It was a cold night in Singapore. 18 degrees.  

Liquid clouds form  Dancing garbled rainbows Restless, ever moving Taking every bit of space On my spectacles. I sit still oblivious To the black, small ants That wage a war of formic acid Against my calves whose screams Are only manifested in small, red dots. Sunsets, indeed Have their ways Of arresting time, and torment. Note: Inspired by the sunset at home in Mindanao. I just finished my afternoon tea when I wrote this. 

The days are slow The wind blows fast I stand still Time machine. Note: Originally written on a fast food tissue paper some time in 2013.