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

Green-eyed

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”

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

  

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


Today,
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
“No”

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

And you told me,
You did.

You loved me.

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