Lagimlim

Nang may magawa ang mga bitwin

Month: May, 2013

In Transit

Nakahilig ang iyong mukha
Sa salaming bintana
Ng iyong sasakyan,
Ninanakawan ng sulyap
Ang dinaraanan
At ako namang nagdaraan
At nadaraanan
Ng iyong sasakyan
Ninanakawan ng sulyap
Ang nakahilig mong mukha
Sa salaming bintana.

Nilulunod
Ng dagat
Ng salita
Sa kalawakan
Ang buwan
Ang hininga
Ikaw

Elehiya

Natuto akong umusad. Hindi ito ang mga bagay
Na magpapaalala sa akin sa iyo, kung pipipliin kong
Huwag itatak ang pangalan mo sa anumang
Hinuhubog ng kung anong liwanag. Anino lang
Ang huling alaala. Ito pa rin ang lungsod
At hindi ito aalis. Madilim pa rin ang ilog
Sa kakahuyan. Bughaw pa rin
Ang bughaw ng langit. Ang puno ay mananatiling
Puno. Ang pinto ay mananatiling pinto,
Ikaw man ang huling lumabas dito. Wala na
Ang anino mo ng dapithapong iyon. Nabasag na rin
Ang katahimikang bumusal sa ating lalamunan.
Salita lang ang salita. Walang bigat ang ‘Paalam’
Kung pipiliin kong huwag itong ipanangan
Sa likod ng aking dila. Kung dito ako uupo
Kung saan tayo umuupo dati, doon pa rin
Tatama ang anino ng akasya. Dito pa rin
Ang mga tangkay. Doon pa rin ang mga panalangin,
Nakasulat sa mga nilamukos na liham
Sa ilalim ng aking kama. Nais kong magsimula uli.
Kinalimutan ko na ang dapat kalimutan.
Walang bagay na nananatili. Napapaknit
Kahit ang gunita. Gagalaw pa rin ang ulap sa langit
Bumalik ka man o hindi.

Spaces

Long ago in an old lot, a house
Once stood. After a storm passed,
Only a wall remained standing,

Albeit not really standing, but inclined
In such a way so that it catches
Sunlight as it touches its cracked surface

Perfectly, wholly, enveloping it
In warmth. Rainy days came
In between summers. Then moss

Found home in the cracks. I make it
A point to pass every morning by
The wall, touch it with my palms

Like a pilgrimage. I utter a prayer
And tuck it on its fissures. My fingers
Crawl its cold crevices

Now moss-filled, dirty. Nothing is
Ever empty. There is no such thing
As space. Always there is something

In between them. We can try walking
Through a room that once was
But not anymore, let our heels pass

A hall now only bordered
By sunlight while raindrops run
On the things that remain. In my heart

Where once stood a house now stood
A wall. I walk through its rooms
Every night in my sleep, catching light

Where none is found, and I find you there
Sitting, like the storm that you are.

In the subatomic level
The truth is at most
We are ninety per cent space

And we held each other as if
There is a pressing need
To fill them up.

Archeology

There is much discovery in dismantling.
A city deprived of its light reveals only
Star-studded skies. A violin is only as loud
As the number of people in the room,
Or rather the lack of it. A body stripped off
Of muscles reveals bones. If you take apart
The face of the clock, the cogs you will see
Has more beauty than time itself. But time
We discover is not a device to dismantle, but
One that dismantles. We saw ancient cities
Crumble to rubble and buried beneath
Ashes and dirt, dust. Strings can only pluck
Until it breaks. Cogs can only turn until time
Turns the work to rust. This remains hidden
As long as we do not learn the art of
Disassembly. The body is only a body insofar
As it is whole. We are only what we are
When we are together. We had our times.
And now it is time to dismantle. Lay down
The evidences on the table. Look at the
Artifacts. Do not enumerate them. Instead,
Ask: how long has it been since? What caused
This? How to tear the objects piece by piece
Without inciting decay? We have tried carefully
To take us apart, as if we are archeologists
Digging each other’s ruins. Dismantling
Ourselves from the other. Cautious
Of the impending collapse. Trying, for once,
To discover.

Clock

The 90-year-old clock
Shattered when father

Stormed out of the house
And knocked down

Everything that got in
His way. Mother cried

As the sound of breaking
Glass filled the house

Looming with silence
For some time now.

It was unfortunate.

That clock was the only thing
Working in this household.

Eksena sa Hapag-Kainan

Bumbilyang nakasabit sa alangaang. Hanging
Nakasuspinde sa agiw. Liwanag na nabitag
Sa hibla ng sapot. Bitak sa kisame.
Sebong naninigang sa plato. Nakatambak
Sa lababo. Mga kamay na hindi
Gumagalaw. Mga langaw na lang
Ang nananatiling humihinga.

*

Masdan: may mga matang
Di natutong tumingin. Mga daliring
Di natutong sumalat. Mga labing
Nakalimutang mangusap. Sa sulok,
Isang walis tambong di natutong
Maglinis.

*

Alaala ng mga nalabi sa digmaan:
Buto ng manok. Butil ng kanin.
Mga lamok sa paligid ng katol.
Katol na naupos. Abo na nag-ipon
Sa ashtray. Usok. Ang sigarilyong
Naubusan na ng pasensyang
Magsunog.