Permanence

Our hearts should remain

Fleeting.

Forgive me

Forgive me if the words I've written are those you don't want to hear, forgive me I did not say them, I could not say them anymore. We were talking about our innocent beginnings and the unexpected turn of events that finally brought us together to where we are right now. Life is indeed a mystery and no matter how things seem to remain as they ought to be, the mind is always restless, seeking deeper meanings and significance not only from experiences but also from the positionalities of the actors themselves. For some reason not brought upon (un)intentionally by anyone, the person will find himself misplaced or at least, realizes that he should move on somewhere else. Perhaps that's the reason why I cannot say them anymore, the things you want to hear - the things you will want to hear. I am at the crossroads at this moment and I seem to be heading to the other direction - where you and I have a different meaning and of different significance to one another. Forgive me for my words remain at best, vague, but surely you know what I'm talking about - you are still speaking the language while I gradually lose the ability to do so. But you must know, I have always done my best to (re)learn it, even if most of the time the words I utter in our own language are becoming foreign to me. I always believed, that just like our spoken language, one has to speak ours regularly, to learn more of it and hence get used to using it. But the language of the heart is of a different composition. But it does not simply build up for regularity and coherent integration, not simply on the cognitive level, rather, it arises from the depths of the soul. And if the soul feels that it should learn from other realms, dimensions or other worlds, then it should move to wherever man believes would bring him to his further becoming. I am at that stage right now. I want to explore the other worlds I have yet to know, and regretfully, I cannot take you with me - at least in the language we used to speak.

Please Master

by Allen Ginsberg

Please master can I touch your cheek
please master can I kneel at  your feet
please master can I loosen your blue pants
please master can I gaze at your golden haired belly
please master can I have your thighs bare to my eyes
please master can I take off my clothes below your chair
please master can I can I kiss your ankles and soul
please master can I touch lips to your hard muscle hairless thigh
please master can I lay my ear pressed to your stomach
please master can I wrap my arms around your white ass
please master can I lick your groin gurled with blond soft fur
please master can I touch my tongue to your rosy asshole
please master may I pass my face to your balls,
please master order me down on the floor,
please master tell me to lick your thick shaft
please master put your rough hands on my bald hairy skull
please master press my mouth to your prick-heart
please master press my face into your belly, pull me slowly strong thumbed
till your dumb hardness fills my throat to the base
till I swallow and taste your delicate flesh-hot prick barrel veined Please
Master push my shoulders away and stare in my eyes, & make me bend over
      the table
please master grab my thighs and lift my ass to your waist
please master your hand's rough stroke on my neck your palm down to my
      backside
please master push me, my feet on chairs, till my hole feels the breath of
      your spit and your thumb stroke
please master make my say Please Master Fuck me now Please
Master grease my balls and hairmouth with sweet vaselines
please master stroke your shaft with white creams
please master touch your cock head to my wrinkled self-hole
please master push it in gently, your elbows enwrapped round my breast
your arms passing down to my belly, my penis you touch w/ your fingers
please master shove it in me a little, a little, a little,
please master sink your droor thing down my behind
& please master make me wiggle my rear to eat up the prick trunk
till my asshalfs cuddle your thighs, my back bent over,
till I'm alone sticking out, your sword stuck throbbing in me
please master pull out and slowly roll onto the bottom
please master lunge it again, and withdraw the tip
please please master fuck me again with your self, please fuck me Please
Master drive down till it hurts me the softness the
Softness please master make love to my ass, give body to center, & fuck me
      for good like a girl,
tenderly clasp me please master I take me to thee,
& drive in my belly your selfsame sweet heat-rood
you fingered in solitude Denver or Brooklyn or fucked in a maiden in Paris
      carlots
please master drive me thy vehicle, body of love drops, sweat fuck
body of tenderness, Give me your dogh fuck faster
please master make me go moan on the table
Go moan O please master do fuck me like that
in your rhythm thrill-plunge & pull-back-bounce & push down
till I loosen my asshole a dog on the table yelping with terror delight to be
      loved
Please master call me a dog, an ass beast, a wet asshole,
& fuck me more violent, my eyes hid with your palms round my skull
& plunge down in a brutal hard lash thru soft drip-fish
& throb thru five seconds to spurt out your semen heat
over & over, bamming it in while I cry out your name I do love you
please Master.

                                      May 1968

A view from a window

From afar,
someone attempts to write
the saddest lines of her day,
perhaps from the failure
of leaving an impression
in the mind of her beloved: possibly,
when he and she met at a certain point
and all he could give was the faint hint
of a smile and a quick hello,
not noticing the taut clinging of the dress on her curves,
the subtle exposure of the gentle slope that concealed
him inside her and way down
the milky surface which caught everyone’s eyes
except for his.

From afar,
someone takes off her dress
and everything, possibly,
that reminds her of failure
for the day and maybe,
the days to come. She lets the cool air
of the fan to play with her hair let down
to tickle her back, her only source
of pleasure as her fingers press
the soft keys to write, perhaps,
her saddest lines for the day.

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.

Paghahanda ng hapunan

Ako ang pinagmumulan

ng langis na magbibigay-apoy upang lutuin

ang sinaing, at initin ang ulam

na hindi na inaasam ng mga sikmurang kumakalam.

Kaya ililiko mo ang pihitan pakanan.

Ingat lamang sa pag-ikot, at baka ang katawan ko (at ninyo) ay sumabog.

Simon's selective memory

I do not know him

i. i did not hear his name
iiiclamored by the multitude –
iiiit should be another man
iiithey welcomed merrily
iiion the street with the greenest palms
iiiwaved left to right
iiiby their eager arms

ii. that was the face
iiiiii did not remember
iiiiiof the man to my left
iiiiiwho took bread
iiiiiand a cup of his blood -
iiiiiit must be another man
iiiiiwhose life would be given
iiiiiup for us disciples
iiiiiand mankind

iii. those were not the hands
iiiiithat stretched out
iiiiito catch me on the sea
iiiiiwhen i almost drowned
iiiiibecause of my fear
iiiiiwhen the boisterous winds blew –
iiiiinor was he the one
iiiiiwho came to the docks
iiiiito call forth on his journey
iiiiimaking me his right hand
iiiiiand christening me finally to
iiiiiPeter the Rock

because I have to.

(The cock crows.)

Before she was shattered by my bullets

I could not let such a beauty go to waste.


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Pagtatagpo

Balot ako ng kayumangging roba na tinatakluban
ang buo kong katawan mula sa bumbunan ng aking ulo
hanggang sa mga kuko ng aking dalawang paa.

Nag-uusal ako ng dasal
sa pasilyo ng monasteryo patungo sa aking kuwarto

nang ako ay mapahinto
at muli kang makatagpo
pagkatapos ng matagal na panahon.

Sa ating pagtungo, hindi ang iyong mukha, kung hindi
ang mga daliring nakausli sa iyong manggas ang nagpaalalang

ikaw ang minsan kong nakilala
na hinangad kong maging kaibigan
sa kabila ng aking kagustuhang mapag-isa.

Lingid sa aking kaalaman, iyon din pala ang nais mo –
ang maging monghe, katulad ko.

- mula sa tulang “Salaysay” ni Allan Popa