The tragedy of commons

Infinity is just mere finite the mind cannot conquer.

They wanted to surpass death, so they took the pen
and called themselves writers and wrote

everything their mind wanted conveyed, also,
what their fingers could endure (the hands respond slowly to impulse).

Little did they know, they died a thousand deaths,
noble and abominable, nevertheless, slow and cruel.

When she talks on the phone

It is eight in the morning.
She dials a number on the good ol’ telephone
to talk to somebody, presumably
a bestfriend from highschool or
somebody close enough to understand
or tolerate.

A monologue comes from her mouth:
iiiiihow she anticipates the reprimand
iiiiiof her obsessively compulsive cousin
iiiiito my cousin when the latter allegedly
iiiiialtered the computer’s settings so that
iiiiithe former could not access the internet,

something they believe could have been done
by a girl who only knew of
virtual restaurants and pet care,
the closest thing to tinkering is the
turning on and shutting down of the computer.

It does not matter,
iiiii(she could really have done it anyway, after all, she used to pinch my sister when they were kids)
except

A vicious sneer accompanies the words spoken,
a conviction to the claim not because of its truth,
but by wanting it to be true,
thereby implicating she who may be innocent,
or in bleak terms, not yet a suspect.

But because she knows best (as I was told),
I believed in everything good
and its practice

despite the evil She hangs up the phone and plants a wet kiss on my cheek to bid goodbye.

Sometimes, I wish she is not my mother.

You,

a discovery
discovered again and again,

you, the flesh
of your words that found their way
into parchment

that I read,
savor,
as how one would masticate
the meat of the sinigang
his mother has cooked for him
after a long journey
without a full meal

Only, it does not end
at the act of swallowing;
it leaves a remnant
not on the tongue

but in the mind that has already begun searching
for the next wave of the same flavor,
only to be continually replaced upon its arrival
with the fresh sensation currently
lingering on the tongue -

the superposition of zests tasted

-

Those intangibly palpable entities
you have given birth to
that turn my mind into a cinema
which flashes not only
the images they paint,
also,

You

So that in the founding of a treasure behind your words,
I always find you.