Old Pair of Jeans

They were once as blue as
The sky, its deep hue as
Lazy oceans. Well-pressed,
Smells like factory, right
Fit to draw the curves, straights
And bulge of lanky bargain hunter.

Flexed by days and years, like
Mom’s mission to stretch Dad’s
Undersized pay.
Loosened buttons, wretched ends
And paled skin, these pair of
Jeans found its perfect home:
In the vein of underpaid contractual
Bagger on a cashier’s end.

While the passenger grows,
Horizontally, what can my now
Old pair of jeans but accept
The fact that he needs to
Understand me; be with me,
Grow with me, be patient
With me. Grow old
With me.

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Listen to Me

I opened up,

Listen to me…

Closed.

Done.

Silence.


Type rest of the post here

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Sumpang Isinusumpa

Dinuyan ng pangako ng isang
Lupa ng pulo’t at sagana, habang
Nakatayo sa entabladong puno
Ng lura’y ng banderitas at
Mga nagkakantahang bayaran.

Hingi’y pagtitiwala sa mga
Kasinungalingan tulad ng isang
Salawahang baboy-ramo na
Tinatanggap pa rin ng kanyang
May-bahay.

Pagtapos mong ibigay ang matamis
mong oo at tumanggap ng
pampalubag-loob, patay kang
bata ka, mga hinayupak limot
na ang sumpaaang sinumpa.

Sa gitna ng parang ng kasinungalingan,
Ika’y tatayo na mamalimos ng
Konting pag-asa sa langit, habang
Ang lupa ay tigang at sa bitak
Nilibing ang butil ng bukas.

Ano pa ang kayang gawin sa
Paglapastangan sa bayan, ng
Mga buwayang hayok sa kapangyarihan ?
Ipikit ang mata at kamutin ang sugat ?

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Pusang Gala Ka Gloria!

Gloria, gloria, awit sa pagsamba
Gloria, Gloria, pighati ng maralita.

Sa bansa na ang sinungaling ay
Nagiging presidente; ang magnanakaw
Ay naghahapunan sa hapag ng banyaga;
Ang mandaraya ay nagkakaroon ng
Siyam na buhay tulad ng pusang gala; at
Ang mga mamamatay-tao’y mas malaya
Pa sa mga tapat sa batas
Pusang gala nga naman!

Anong gloria pa ang maasahan?

Mabuti pa ang pusang gala, marunong
Dumila at luminis ng dumi sa katawan,
Gloriang may siyam na buhay ay di
Man lang nakita ang putik ng kanyang
Pandaraya at pagnanakaw sa mga aba.

Mabuti pa ang pusang gala, inaamo ang
Siyang nagbibigay ng pagkain sa kanya,
Gloriang siyam na taon na sa Malakanyang
Inamo ang mga heneral binusog ang
Mga bundat nilang tiyan.

Sana naman, ay hanggang siyam na
Lang talaga ang buhay ng Gloriang ito,
Kundi ay mabuti pang gawin na lang
Siopao na asado ng magka-gloria
Na ang bansang nakuba ng panahon.

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Our Cold Nights

A cold wind blows from
empty lakes, as green and
red lanterns flicker, slow to dance
an the awaited Eve; yes, it is cold.
Cold - on meadows and valleys
pregnant memories, as

tall, darkly draped on the
of silent (and if we could still call them as such).
The raging waters of our collective
excuses for expediency and mentality,
the darkness wailing on far-away blooded hills,
were forcibly weaved within the rhymes our
children's songs.

The wind is cold,
particular month, but who
knows if we will soon
hang silent bamboo lanterns
igloos inside our vaults;
as our shadows are standing
tall and long in front of the thick road.
The cold wind whispers:


this Eve only shines to all
clasp hand towards the bent night,
while the green, red
lanterns still flicker on
our cold night.

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I Got Wet Under the Rain

the rain walks quick from the horizon
miles away over the sleeping hills,
unexpecting its sudden mourning and
crying over my blue face, until i am
all wet, all drowned, all crying.

i tried to wipe all tears with my
white soaked shirt, and it only
added to the hurt - made my
face and eyes all red and wet.

over the horizon i saw the
shimmers of the peering bading sun,
and the mourning of the heavy
sky stopped all sudden;
but my face, my eyes, my shirt
and my all of me were still
soaked in the cold of rain's
afternoon mourning.

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The Silence of Truth

The dust has not yet settled
Off, from the rubles of
Darkness that has fallen from
The eternal sky.

Silence. Hush of truth is
Grappled by the noise of
The shallow conscience of apparent
Arrogance.

Hush. Silence of truth extolled
The greatness proven by no words– embraced
By many, but belied by a few who
Played in the scheming of the just.

The dust has finally settled and
rubles has befallen only on
Those who dared to build the ivory
Tower with playing cards and barefaced lies.

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