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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The rise and retreat of the sun and airports are two different things preaching the same gospel: that of leaving and that of arriving. And somehow, they are intertwined.

Imagine this: In a hospital somewhere, an old man is dying, his life draining as he struggles to hold on to his dear memories. Of love? I do not know. But it is said that at the moment of death, the memories of your love are the ones that will struggle most to survive and will fight to be remembered, until your very last breath.

Now imagine that somewhere in the maternity room, a woman is giving birth. A child is being brought into this universe.

How hard is it to believe that in that time in between the old man's soul departing and a new child's soul arriving, that they somehow met in soul-space and had coffee, a little conversation and perhaps, the departing soul giving an advice or two.

How hard is it to believe that somehow, we are all connected like a circle, where all souls departing imparts a part of themselves to all those new souls arriving.

Maybe that kid she was holding had coffee with your lolo before he was born and moments after he died.

Strange, strange thoughts.

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Taken at the Mactan International Airport, Mactan, Cebu.

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