The Sky and the Sea
Never coalesce like milk and tea
Lover to both
Ethereal heaven and vehement broth

I am the Wind.

Despite the years of defeaning silence, the horrors of violence, the mangled bodies and the blood and the gore, staring death through the barrel of a rifle, a child’s last breath and a mother’s incomprehensible overflowing. Horrors I dared not speak nor utter a syllable, instead grounded them down to their simplest constitution(wordless and pure), my most basic truths to fill-in my blanks and spaces suspended between my two eternities.

When I was younger, I happened upon a narrative, “Scarred people are beautiful.” Here it is:

MAN SPEAKS:

I think I know what you mean, Lord, I’ve met people like that…
and knowing them gives me courage.
The great people are those who continue to love with their scars…
I like scarred people, Lord – They are beautiful..

Regardless of our ironies and insecurities and other ignorable facts of who we are as a people. WE ARE BEAUTIFUL.

Salugsog ng alaalang nakakaakit
Ulila sa liwanag wala nang bait
Sukdulan na ang hirap at kamatayan
Pikit-mata pinalaya and katimpian

Ngayo’y malaya na sa selda
Ngunit hindi pa sa pangangapa
Natarok din ang inampalayang kataksilan
Hinubaran ko na ang katimpian

Nakararahuyong pangako ng mga pulitiko
Buksan ang mga mata, pakiramdaman ang tukso
Bawat himaymay ay himayin at suriin
Masangkot sa masanghayang tungkulin

The Idealist’s Quest

Dear Jim,

Ninoy was a very conscientious man, very passionate, a free spirit with the burden of love for his country, he was a shooting star, and in a blinding flash he’s gone. Ever since that day at the tarmac, a lot of Filipinos (living and dead, in the limelight and among the masses) broke bread, drank his wine and carried on the burden of conscience for our beloved country. You are one them Jim. It is easy to lose hope as our country faces a crisis (not of the financial nature) of morality.

We cannot alienate ourselves from RESPONSIBILITY from current state of affairs. Every filipino is accountable, not just for the things that we have done, but also for the ones we didn’t. It is easier to lay blame and excuse ourselves and say, “what could I have done?”

We are filipinos, we’re not just bystanders, we must take part, pick up roles, inspire and be inspired, sing and write, whatever it takes, whatever that takes hold, cry and bleed for it. Only then can we count ourselves worthy, worthy of Ninoy’s sacrifice, worthy to call ourselves FILIPINO.

As a people, we have become dysenteric cynics. Are we to believe that?!? Are we as sallow-faced as our politicians? Can we live without hope? Can we live without conscience and morality (because it burdens us so)?
Let’s take heart, that as vile, evil and as inhumane a human heart can be. Kindness and love also has it’s viral qualities. Let us be infected and be feverish about it.

I cannot help but cry
I cannot help but burn
Sorrow knows no border
Succumbs to a hearts murmur

Love is love. We are our parent’s love incarnate, born to bear, to weather and endure, to testify and to be, to discover and know itself. We have within ourselves the universe encapsulated. All that is outside is also within us. The turmoil and the peace, the beauty and the gross, the goodness and the wickedness that inhabit this world, inhabits us as well. We are who we are not. The dualities that rips this universe also rips us. Mini-blackholes survey the endless expanse of our minds and hearts, leaving a trail of destruction in its wake. It’s been discovered that within the center of our galaxy, the Milkyway, there’s no milk, but a super black hole, drawing everything towards it, suns, solar systems and yes even black holes, that gets caught in its path, thereby giving the galaxy its eerie swirling countenance. We have observe the similitude of the biggest and the smallest our minds can conceive. The process of creation and destruction we rouse, with the simplest decision, the slightest action and faintest memories. "Should I stay or should I go?" "Damned if I stay, damned if I go." Linger in the void and the inert or the majestic beauty of a maelstrom? "I’d rather be magnificent and blinding than torpid and safe." says he who is not.

I’m not an expert, I’m just like you, as they say.."We’re on the same boat.." I’m a father of three, a husband and a friend. All my life, I have always considered myself to be a poet. A poet with no words. A dreamer, a dreaming poet! For a long time, I have struggle with my words. The computer keyboard keys are worn, but of all the keys, none of them are smoother or shinier than my backspace and delete keys. Isn’t that just tragic? I have thoroughly enjoyed other people’s words, their songs, their stories, and I even enjoy their lies. My life is like any other life, I blend well and I am wretched for it. I’m a poet with no words, I suffer for my words. I have for a long time struggled to reign the wild horses in my mind. Put into words the color of my joys. Compose the song of my life. Paint into canvass the wretchedness and flood it with my misery. If I were to try stone sculpting, it would be a heap of Piccasso pieces of rubble. My teacher would cry and breakdown for the love of his art. Isn’t that tragic? I am tragic, have always been. My cup is filled, and must let flow, no matter how twisted or demented. When I chatted with an old friend. I mentioned to him about the wild horses. He told me I should be a cowboy to tame them. I forgot to tell him about the crap the wild horses leave. So I thought, I should be a cowboy and a good shit handler at the same time. And out of the blue, I begin to think about the riches of this world and how none of it is mine. And how I was not moved to rupture when my children were born. This world is many things. How could I have even thought of bringing them here? They’re such angels, so pure, so delightful. I can only think what this world will do to them. "Angels get their wings clipped here". I thought, it is tragic! I feel a profound sadness, realizing what I have done, because angels belong in heaven. Though I revel in the miseries of this world, surviving one way or another, This world is not for them. “There’s a hole in the sky!… for Christ sake!” I’d rather be the one who burns when the sun reaches in and scorch the earth.

Tragedy I classify into three,..garden-variety melancholy, damning kind, and my favorite, the loving type. I’m sure you out there have your own label. Then, to each his own! Of the three I only possess two kinds, and the damning one is not it. But in love, I am damned. Damned for an endless string of eternities. 

It’s late at night
I take the moonlight ride
starlight paves the way of the soul
The heart beats to the distant hum of a lover’s breath
Crossing the sea, an ember of the old flame to soothe and warm
A soul’s weary journey home