Lagimlim

Nang may magawa ang mga bitwin

Month: September, 2012

As Far As Cho-Fu-Sa (Mookie Katigbak)

“If you are coming down the narrows of the river Kiang
let me know beforehand and I will come out to meet you
as far as Cho-Fu-Sa.”

-Li Po, translated by Ezra Pound

What I am, ever, is this: composure of stone.
Spare weather visiting the garden, small as the hours
I keep watch by. Beyond this wall

Must be better weathers. This claw of stars
Must constellate somewhere into a bear.
Else names would lie.

Since winter’s thaws, no script from you
Save this: “I travel the river and follow
The white gulls —”

Husband. See me walking the dusty pass
Where loom our prior lives?
Here the years pass that I enshrine

Within these walls, sparing nothing
From the ardors of my stare. Blue plums,
Paired butterflies repeat you

In a walled world. I tell myself
To clear the moss, mend the gate
So long unswayed and caked with dirt,

But nothing moves. Somewhere
You are actual. Happen to me there.

Advertisements

Torpe

If it is true
that our throats are cages,
then my heart is a lonely songbird

and I want to sing you a harmony,
but all my mouth spits out
are feathers.

hipster in love

Di ko alam
kung anong pinagkaiba
ng love songs nina
Bieber at Bon Iver
at bakit mas gusto mo si Bieber
pero baby, baby, baby, ohhh…
ipagpapalit ko ang aking
entire vinyl collection
mahalin mo lang ako.

Ellipsis

What words hide behind the spaces
are better off undiscovered.
This is a chapel of hushed words
where symbols take the place
of what letters fail to express —
it is best not to ruin the sanctity of silence.

But tonight, we excavate.

The first dot, a conclusion, a content resolution
that the stained glasses and statues
will guard us from ourselves.
The space proceeding, a continuation;
a disturbance on normalcy,
a muffled echo within the halls
whose source is aching to be discovered.
The second period implores a contemplation:
search for the ghost that hides
behind the frescoed walls.
The second skip, a realization
that there are secrets buried within our veins.
The third is an opening, a commencement,
a revelation: that deeply underneath
this cathedral of words
are the bones of the things
we have left unsaid.

We could have left it there instead to decay,
but we were stubborn. We dug out
these skeletons; the price: this cathedral
turning to rubble. And beneath the ruins, these
are the only things that remained breathing —

a series of dot, space, dot, space, dot;
breathing in, breathing out —
the exhaling bones, the inhaling pillars.
There is not much to say anymore;
we have resigned to the silence within the dust
that formed tiny ellipses in the air
as if it understood the pain in the spaces
that we have discovered just now
and this is what they told us:

it is best not to ruin the sanctity of silence.