Saturday, October 11, 2008

Deliberate Stuff


A Poem of 55 Lines and a Thousand Unwritten Others(of an unhappy 87 days of a hush-hush affair, of the love that never came to be)

I like for you to be still when you read this
And for once forget about those dull and dead theorists
That populated your thoughts
For I have no regard for them
As I am of myself and with what I have written now
Although it seem to you I wrote in perfect ease,
granting each word a perfect release
I am not at all quieted inside
for I fight a foretrembling storm of losing you
My Beloved, Langga, crowned owner, ever dumper, ex-lover,
I will miss you, us, and the perfect tableaux
Of a misbegotten affair
I will miss that strange excitement of having you around
The thrill of the forbidden and the dangerous
but most of all
I will miss the smell of your breath in the morning
the sight of your jaded face
your feline eyes
you’re aquiline nose
your fragrant and bushy armpits
I will miss your beauty in the dark
Your naked shadow clinging unto me
Those invaluable stretch marks that
adorn your lovely bottoms
Your crenulated hips
I will miss north and south of your body
The vast stretch of skin bedecked with moles
I will miss those areas foreign to my tongue

I will miss those times
When the room would reek of the kitchen
Of vegetables chopped and steamed
The shared plate next to your bed
The false connubial ceremony when
I took the fork and you the spoon
And together we renounce: I do’s
Like bastard lovers on the loose
Feeding on a sacred meal
Followed by a sacred fuck that stopped time
I will miss you
My fellow culprit
My fellow Dharma Bum in bed
I will miss everything that happened between sex & meals
I will miss the flight at dawn and the Indian gibberish
the very late trips aboard flight 1695
that white car that never stopped to sleep only to cough
in the dead of the night
the neighbors who knew of our crime
I will miss the house and the labyrinthine way to your door
I will miss the musical snap of underwear
the ageing bed that creaks at dawn
and how it never tires
how I wish we didn’t tire of each other
how I wish we understood better
how I wish I knew this language so well
that I would finally make sense
strangers we were once and strangers we are again
this story although written ten times or more
is never told
never heard
for it never was
never-evermore.

September 21, 2008
painting by: Jean-Michel Basquiat

Sunday, June 22, 2008

creative suffering



Sunday, home by 5:43 that time of day when dusk slowly shelters the earth with its dimming rays like dark hands reaching into great lengths over mountains, making fearsome shadows out of trees and monoliths and of other things that breathe, live and skulk in broad daylight, transforming everything into diabolical creatures that stood like humungous guardians of darkness. In this lurid interval, the night beckons like a sinister guest, clutched tightly in her arms are dreams that shaped your book and peopled your thoughts, but not a word! not a word lest they unravel the riddle! Let the wind blow like a soothing lullaby to those weary ilks that creeps by day and soothes everything to a rest and shelter them into a dark quietude of a nocturnal suite until the earth in utter exhaustion lets out a yawn and resumes its subtle spin, but pray tell not a living soul. At night shadows sink all shapes into an infinite color big, fat and black, the ominous rain is a rough matter gnashing into surface and you are metamorphosed into something, something with a name, a name you know you do not deserve. So like those things around you that are shaped by darkness, you with a hungry heart behaved of those anthropomorphic beasts that grew wings and haunt like greedy vultures and succumb to a nocturnal wretchedness, licking words on paper and wrote and wrote and wrote as if the world is forever cold and sad and dark. This is how you wander the night. And then by day, you shall be well again. Should one fear the night for the shapes it took or should one delight in darkness and the things it conceal?


June 22, 2008

pic taken by me at Panaga December 07, 2009

Saturday, May 24, 2008