Every affair starts with a dare.
And, sometimes, a cold lie.
A warm kiss that gives birth
To a memory,
A moonless night
And a harmless guile.
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Beneath Ortigas Station of MRT
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Riding a motorcycle is like kissing.
You ride from one place to another,
But it is never about reaching the destination.
It is always about the Ride,
That spiritual communion between you and the spirit of the road.
Likewise,
It's not the physical act of kissing ,..
It's the metaphysical part of it ,..
If you kiss somebody ,.
It's like you're inhaling their
Soul.
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Beneath Shaw MRT Station
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Stranger --
I cannot believe the look of accusations in your eyes.
Your penny may roll about and reach me,
Quench my sorrow,
And feed me for the night.
And maybe it might bring
Your distant soul to heaven,
And you, the praise of angels in the sky,
But still,
I cannot believe
The look of accusations in your eyes.
Save me a fisherman's dream
Wrapped in a peaceful night
And shiny seas.
Where the embers of the city
Fades to a purplish hue
And the waves -- calm
Like this night.
Tonight.
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Manila Bay Breakwater, 11/15/09
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street urchins and beggars,
the skyline
cradled by the moon and the sea.
beside gavroche sleeping peacefully
I close my eyes and smell the air.
oil and sea spray.
after all, this is manila.
the thieves and fishermen tell tales
and past stories.
I listened.
somewhere, buried in the noise,
the sound of the hissing air
caught my ears.
and somewhere, where the sea
reflects gold and rainbow --
I am lost in a maze of colors.
breathtaking.
...
come with me.
the world cannot find us here.
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The Manila Bay Breakwater - 11/14/09
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Some dusk are meant for sorrows.
Are we then meant to run?
Can a decade of atonements
Untaint a golden sun?
Once upon a sunset, I fell in love with you.
Once upon a daydream, I heard you say "me too".
Once upon a phantom song, you said you'd bind yourself to me.
Then the daydream ended with me hanging on a tree.
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Taken at Liloan, Cebu.
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the room is
dark while stray lights
take away minutes and hours
of sun from me.
minutes and hours are all I
have. stolen, they
march me away to elysium. I
walk, I think, but
I cannot seem to answer the
questions. what am I
doing here?
minutes and hours. time
and space. I occupy mass
but must I occupy reason?
minutes and hours march.
those answers are a dream away I
know but how many hours
should i have to sleep? Until
balding hair and weary skin
defeats my soul?
minutes and hours.
does time even tick for a reason?
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Taken at Cubao, Quezon City.
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