Tuesday, September 3, 2013

To our Syrian children

You heard the bells,
And soon
Your tiny hands and tiny chin
Met the ground

And then you said,
Words beyond your grasp
Uttered in generations and
Generations passed

Echoes in the city
Echoes of words

You cannot grasp

Your tiny lips
That makes your sky wide smile
You whisper words you cannot grasp

Then a sound
More of a roar
Much louder than the bells
The booms and blasts,
And bellows heard throughout

You cannot grasp
And soon the air
Is thin, so thin
You cannot breathe
Your lungs they burn
                A colored dream
                Of red and ash
But you’re wide awake
                You’re standing there

You wail
You cry
Your eyes are swollen
Those big blue piercing eyes
Are bloodshot now

And one by one
No, by tens perhaps
Bodies drop
                On dirt and dust

And as you twitch
And lie with them
Those you played with
On rare calm morns

Their tiny hand you held
Their tiny lips you sang with

You twitched
And twitched
And twitched with them
                As if a dance

And when the pain
Cannot be bore
When you cry
But with tears no more
                The air escaped one final time
                You cannot hear the wails, you cannot feel the sore

You cannot hear no more
The words you cannot grasp

And they who killed you
They’ll fall on ground again
And say the words you haven’t grasped
                They have heard those words too much perhaps
                But they did not want to really grasped

Your blood was the price

Of blood owed by generations passed

Thursday, August 22, 2013


I am a curly haired boy
He has straight hair that the wind loves to comb thru

I am stout
He’s not overweight
Like the porridge Goldilocks engorged

I know it
 I do
You like the boy
I saw it
I watched
                                But not too long
Just enough to see

the way you gaze at his fresh young body,
his youth
                That I once had, the one I rid myself of to fit your circle

You touch him a bit too long
You look at him a bit too earnest
And it’s fine, I’m fine

Fine: an old linen aging, browning, and turning in to rag
                                                At the slightest useful
Fine: a wall thawing from winter’s cloak, cracking silently, unnoticeably
                                                Still stable

I’m fine

I just wait and sigh, wait and sigh

wait and sigh

From the trenches of a cliff inside my chest,

I exhaled,
It echoed perhaps prayed,

                                   “He’ll come home with me”

Wednesday, August 14, 2013

Tomorrow, Today, Death

Tomorrow, he buries him
Bury with him the letters he wrote
            Poems and prose, limericks and sonnets
                        Of passion, of jealousy,
                        Of doubts, of anger,
                        Of sweet-nothings, of bodies tangled up last night
He wouldn’t write back
He wants to write more

The mist was thick and the pavement, wet
            yes, wet with their liquids
                        yes, liquids of love
He wore his scarf. He wore his jacket
The pavements won’t remember
That they were who they were
But he would,
                        Every step he’ll make,
                        On the same wet pavement,
                        On a day overpowered by mist,
He’ll let out a sigh

That fated day, he wanted to see him
But the storm is unquenchable, unforgiving, relentless
He never knew. They never knew
He was the one to make a final blow
                        It would scar him
And, he can never wound him back.

                        A few inches separate them
                        The space between his face and the glass was a few inches
                        His face was on the glass

No one was to blame.
All but timing - malevolent, insidious, cunning

                   Tomorrow, he buries him
                                    the unspoken words
                                    the unwritten prose
                                    the unknown songs
                                    Clothes unreturned

                                                                              Today, he grieves

Sunday, August 4, 2013

At Daybreak

A poem for PV

At daybreak, you became cold

Your warmth vanished like darkness at dawn
I was left longing for the guy who was seating beside me
Last night

Your eyes weren't meeting mine
You were silent

Our silence
Widens this 3 inch space between us
As I stood there
Trying to break this distance

Wordless cruelty, inaudible cries

I cant bear it

So, I asked
“Do you still want to be with me”

Gazing at the ground
Not looking for anything
You said

Last night, you held my hand
And you kissed me
Under the naked night sky

And you told me,
You did.

You loved me.

Saturday, January 5, 2013

Work related stuff

I’m always told that my looks is not my greatest asset. I agree… Even my mom told me so in a conversation after watching late night TV. I’ve asked, “Mom, I’m handsome, right?” She replied nonchalantly “Don’t worry, dear… You’re smart anyway.” OUCH >_<

I’ve gotten a new job in a call center somewhere in QC. I’ve fancied this boy here.

I met him during my interview for the same company. I didn’t think that we would be in the same account. He’s well mannered, cultured, fluent in English (well he came from a school notorious for being wersh-wersh if you know what I mean). On top of that… He’s hot, chinito with a flawless skin and did I mention soooo hot?

He was one of my call training buddy (someone you observe while he takes calls). I was flustered sitting beside him (wishing I’m seating on him… hehe). He made my day and every time I see him it’s like all the stress floats away.

Cutting the story short. He’s straight and recently had this a girlfriend who’s in the same team with him. So faggots zero – girls one point.

I was so interested in him that time that one else compares. Then there was this guy we’ll call Z. 

He’s chinito, cute, fun to talk with and has a great sense of humor. Z is my smoking buddy. And ever since I’ve started smoking, I realized that nicer conversation arise when you have something to puff on. We became close. But I’m not really eyeing on Z since he’s also straight. I consider him one of my barkada boys.
He went to work one morning not being his normal self. He’s a bit quiet that morning. After work, he was looking for something to do. I told him that we can go to my place, drink and swim at the pool. He said it’s ok.

We bought 1 litre of Soju and since we were only the one drinking, we we’re drunk by the time we finished it. In the middle of drinking, he told me his insecurities, his sadness. Z let me in and introduced me to the little boy inside him.Gave him some things to think about on how to approach his problems (primarily Wittgenstein's doctrines, Berkeley's esse est percipi, Bentham's utilitarianism and other philosophical doctrines that I am interested on)

We took a swim for a few minutes just to sober up a bit and that's how I realized the his lean with chiseled abs. We went back to the condo for shower; we did it together with only our briefs on. Haha

After that, he was drying up and was removing his briefs. Then his phone rang. He answered it with nothing on but the towel he was holding between his legs knowing that I’m looking at his abs. I guess that was my go signal. Teased him a bit. And just like spaghetti in hot water, the straight boy bent. Let’s just say he was a treat, a big treat. Haha (faggots 1 - girls 1)

The great thing about Z is that we weren’t awkward with each other at all after that. We were still smoking buddies, jokes around during break time and have clean drinking sessions every now and then. Though, recently he had a girlfriend. But that didn’t stop things from happening but that’s a different story (faggots 2 - girls 1hehe).

What was memorable is this…

After doing the deed with Z, he said as I smelled alcohol in his breath, “You know it’s not your looks, it’s your mind that’s just… you know… like … wow”.

I guess my mom had it right. haha

Wednesday, November 14, 2012

Maxim 1.1.1

It dawned on me. The essential difference between commitment and ownership in relationships is this. Commitment is a covenant to the self that one will honor the terms of the relationship. The sacrifices, time and effort one will willingly invest for that relationship to prosper is commitment. Ownership is asking someone to invest or sacrifice his time, effort or at times dreams for the relationship.

Commitment in a relationship should come voluntarily from a person to give and take for the benefit of the relationship. He should be willing to reply to messages, and set aside time from his busy schedule for the relationship. It is a conscious effort of oneself that he does with happiness and freedom.

Ownership is asking someone to “honor their commitment” in terms that is acceptable for themselves. It is asking their partners to reply at every “Good Morning”, “Where are you”, “Have you had lunch” text messages that they sent. Ownership is expressed in a way that it holds the relationship as a ransom or implying that if he won’t do it, then he doesn’t love her anymore. 

When you are committed, you actually made a commitment to yourself. That you will honor your words and, you will give time. You are not proving anything to your lover  because love requires no proof but is a proof itself. 

Ownership is usually masked with “You should do this because you love me”. Commitment is “I will do this because I love you.” Commitment is quintessentially “I will”. Ownership, “You will”.

(And this is why I don't like girls... . Girls thinks they own your every waking moment)

Sunday, October 7, 2012

Trophy Boyfriend

Love is not the face that could launch a thousand ships
It is his laughter that makes him lose poise
When I crack a joke that only we understand

Love is not the flawless skin that shimmers like diamonds under the sun
It is his caress on cold nights
Breaking my guard and giving me warmth

Love is not godlike visage that turns head on a busy street
It is his unadorned face while he sleeps soundly
Dreaming, fleeing from this earth

Love is not the smile that weakens the knees
It is his wisdom that gets me thru my mess

Love is not what is seen;
It is what is not.