streetfood

just walk around.
there are choices.

don't let your mind be clouded,
like the streets you're walking into,
of smoke from grilled food.

grab a burger
then press it really hard.

grab a stick of isaw.
yes, the one from a baboy,
tastier, juicier, and larger
than that of a manok.

again, walk around.
light up a stick with guitar,
i.e., if you know what i mean.

grab a palamig.
but please, not the
mango juice+milk.

for the last time,
walk.
then, lie down.

don't turn that page yet

don't turn that page yet,
you're not even done reading it.

don't skip the lines,
read even the spaces between them.

don't let the torn page fly away,
make sure you put it on the right place.

don't overlook the important details,
highlight it with pink, blue, yellow or green.

don't keep the words you've learned to yourself,
share it to someone who'll understand them too.

bonifacio-rizal (and the two met at the end of the bridge)

you are every poet's dream.
inspiration.

the trail started after the beso
it was dark, but the moon,
oh so full, oh so round
lit the street.

bonifacio must have been lonely:
cars just passed him by,
and people bothered to stop
and stare.

motorcycles passed by.
hitting the mark close
to a hundred.

street lamps,
the piñatas on top of the street,
used their fluorescence to guide
the tipsy drivers.

and i turned left on the corner,
meeting rizal.

stopping the fx,
only to find out,
she'd been left behind.

little boys,
showing off their maturity,
were acting and dressing
like grown-up women.

street lights,
glowing and competing with the moon,
suggested
"hey, you can stop."

and the love ended
at the corner:

"manong, sa may kanto lang."
"ma, para sa tabi."

i won't tell you that i miss you coz

used to be w th you all the t me

i used to ake the same subjec s wi h you
i still emembe going to diffe ent places with you
i am happy everytime i am with yo
in my mind, painted is your smi e
i reall like hanging out with ou

the ark you left to e is per anent
your ntell gent thoughts st ll move me
you eem to make every eme ter really fun
i might have made ome of my preciou poem

o r adventres are trly memorable

i couldn't e ase neithe delete you sent messages
i c uldn't help but always l k at y ur pictures
you are not eated next to me reading thi poem

hello friday

hello friday,

i don't wanna go home
because you made me want to.
why would the rain fall this hard tonight?

hello friday,

are you telling me to stay
here, in mcdo,
alone.

hello friday,

do you know what i have been thinking?

hello friday,

where are you?
where is she?
where am i?

hello friday,

you are about to go
but i don't wanna meet you again.

hello friday,

bye!

hello friday,

tell me to stop
raining, thinking,
assuming and raining.
i am drowned already.

hello friday,

give me peace
tell the rain
to stop

hello friday,

tell me to stop
tell to tell her

hello friday,

are you going to save me
are you helping

goodbye, friday.

i'm gonna leave you.

and if you still don't understand

when you are in the battlefield, you don't just pop your head out, shoot your enemies, and rely mainly on your bullet-proof vest.

you think, and wait for the right timing. then, you shoot.

and shooting is not just pulling the trigger. you aim with your scope, let the target fall on the dead center of the crosshair. and only after that you pull it.

you try to hide at first. not because you're scared but you patiently wait for the timing.

lastly, you don't attack and if nothing happens, you run away or foolishly defend yourself. you first have to protect your head, your arms, your torso.

i see you open, can i just shoot you in the head?

the storm

the winds never cease to blow me away.
from school to work,
it leaves me breathless.

and every time a light would pass
through the mess hurling around
and with me,
stronger gusts would awash me.

this storm, how could i stop?

for i haven't learned the right prayer.
for i haven't seen the inspiration.
for i couldn't understand the hymn.

would this put me into a life
contained,
consumed
by a continuous hurricane?

biking

it was a good thing that
the pedestrian lane wasn't that far.

and horizontals led me
to be constrained on
white with pink and white lines.

i knew i feel much safer in here.

and the new set of lines seemed
to be endless.

or not. because after the bridge,
they would suddenly disappear.

this might be the same feeling,
that they are trying to avoid
when driving alone.

at least i had these cars.
as music to my ears which
supposedly be covered with
earphones.

i couldn't stop thinking
just like how i envisioned
the lines would never cease.

this third set of broken lines
signaled me to take a turn.
and "halt!" said the lines.