A few years ago (2004 I think), I saw a lady in Ayala. She was talking to this guy (or a gay friend I suppose) and I just stared at her, I was so impressed with the way she talked, it was as if she was singing. Her mouth and lips looked so beautiful when she was conversing, that while the moment lasted, I wrote something for her (In my cellphone). This was it:

I like the way your lips form the words you utter ...

Or the way they came out, elegant and hypnotic ...

Or the way your iris reflects the radiance

Of your words,

Spoken,

And echoing into oblivion,

In the halls of Ayala. 

Last year, October of 2005 (Oktoberfest), me and my ex went to SM and saw the performance of many bands ,... I was impressed with a very particular band, the band of Zarah Smith.

She was beautiful, but more than that, I liked their music and her style. But there was this thing about her, she looked more familiar to me than she should have been.

So I heard about this place called Handuraw where she performs and went there frequently. After seeing her perform many times, I still have that feeling, the feeling of seeing her somewhere, unrelated to her band, or singing,...

Then a few months ago, while in the middle of the ocean aboard Gothong lines to Cebu, I was reviewing my notes in my cellphone,.. snippets of poetry I wrote while in Bantayan, snippets of wordplays I loved,... then I saw the note above ... and remembered that moment many years ago. It was Zarah Smith I saw, the lady I wrote the snippet for.

Now I know why she was familiar even if it was my first time watching her perform.

And last night, I decided to blog this.

Thursday

The half light strayed into the room.
Like invited visitors,
They play with your body
Like water on peebles in the shore,
Embracing,
And tracing the curves,
Feeling the softness,
Like my fingers
On the shoreline of your skin.

I searched for words in the half darkness,
But I found none.
The bedsheet is crumpled.
And our clothes are on the floor.
Yet somewhere in the mess lies a play of words
That I can only write while asleep.
Or when I am rubbing my body
Against ur embrace.
The lights dimmed.
The doors closed.
Two bodies interlock in an embrace.

And somewhere in my mind
A poem begins to write itself.

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A friend once told me that desire is a very dangerous thing.

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An Ode To A Lonely King

Moonlights chasing
A ship going somewhere,
To a place where the sun dies
Everyday.

I frozed in awe.
I sat where
The ocean -- a mirror,
Reflects
The hovering moon above,
Pinned on a royal blue sky
Like a proud king,
Alone on his throne,
Begging a stranger's eye,
To notice his silver shadow
Silently chasing a Cebu ferry,
Across a vast expanse
Of black, dancing waters.

He bears the grief
Of a proud king,
Alone on his throne,
Envying two sweet lovers
Sitting beside a
Speechless soul,
Who writes in verses,
What his tongue
Could not

Utter.

Tonight

I will walk tonight beneath the moon.
The trees will walk with me.
In the darkness, when they start whispering,
I will sniff and smell the scent of the cold air blowing.
And beside me, the grasses will bow down their heads
In reverence to the full moon high above.
I will then listen to the songs of the taxis,
The hum of the jeepneys and the cry of the snakes.
Every inch of the road I tread upon will feel my weight
And make a sound to worship the goddess of the night.
And beside me and beyond,
The darkness will embrace the earth,
The winds will wrap it in cold blanket,
And the rain tonight will atone for the
Tears spent in the playgrounds
By a weeping child.

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No polishing,.. no edits,.. just free verse flowing from the soul. 

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