April 22, 2007
Sunday
8:44 am – 9:42 am
Sometimes people see only one side of love. Without my presence, without my existence known to them I am but a name. But it’s alright; it is her love that I want the whole world to know. How deep, how beautiful, how amazing, how intense, how powerful. To her closest friends, to her family and to all her acquaintances I am someone who just got lucky; someone bathing in the benefits of her love. And that anyone would love to take my place for a day.
I never ask of glory from love, all I wanted, needed was her. I don’t care if no one knows how much I love her; how deep, how beautiful, how amazing, how intense, how powerful. Knowing, understanding and believing what I have for her are enough. And if I have to be the only one to know, to understand, to believe I’d still go on. The thought of an existing love, returned or not, is what keeps me alive. I celebrate it alone; no need for compliments from friends or anyone how blessed she was to have me. Alone I rejoice because I have learned to love again.
I will never speak to the world of my love for her and no one will. But the wind, the moon and stars, the endless sky, the earth I walk upon, the sun, the birds they were all witnesses and I don’t know how to keep them quiet. My bed, pillows and sheets heard me a hundred times murmuring her name before I sleep at night, well maybe I could always wash them but what if my voice and my thought had become it’s threads that made it soft and warm at night? Then it’s hopeless. I almost forgot my shoes. Yes they know a certain road that I love to take. It’s the path that leads to her home. They know the way and they know how my feet, my heart dances with anticipation as I start my journey to home--- her arms, her smile, her kisses, her thoughts, her dreams, her love. Should I burn them to keep them shut?
In the end it is love that matters, not really the people that had become instruments of its existence. It is a circle that keeps us all in its center. No matter what kind, it is of one root and it had kept me nourished, alive and had kept my own world breathing.
Saturday, July 19, 2008
The pen is mightier than my memory
April 18, 2007
Wednesday
6:24 pm – 6:51pm
I’ve forgotten how to write a letter or perhaps I’ve been refusing myself to do so. There was a lot to say for the past few months. My heart, my hands are burning to write but a part of me would always say it’s not yet time. A part of me would always say to wait for the perfect time and the perfect place (probably far away from where I am now; far away from everyone). But when? Where?
The pages and spaces of my Starbucks journal is not enough. Every time I write I have to fabricate a day’s memory into it’s simplest from. The best and most beautiful details are gone and emotions are usually held back to avoid downpour of words. This is very unfortunate for me. Writing is the only way I know to preserve what I treasure, my memories.
Since childhood, among us three daughters, I’ve always had the poorest memory; always the slowest to learn. I probably passed scholarship grants back in college not because of good memory handy for remembering lessons from tons of textbooks but maybe because of simple hard work and a bit of guts.
Only through writing would I know how I’ve lived my life. I know it’s quite odd but I always have this feeling that I’ll lose my memory at a very early age, probably between my 40s or 50s. Fear of the unknown, of things I’m not even sure that will happen in the future. I was thinking too much of the anesthesia that was used to me before during dental operations, and of that time when I tried to overdose myself with memory enhancers to make sure that I pass the next scholarship evaluation. Maybe these things have affected my memory. There were lots of times back in college when I would bang my head to the wall because of unbearable headache. That may have caused my poor memory as well.
I know that the people around me would always remind me of how I’ve lived my life regardless if they cared for me or not. But the details of how beautiful life was; how life was presented with life; how life found reasons and meaning --- I guess it’s only me who can tell. This should be one good reason why I should write.
Wednesday
6:24 pm – 6:51pm
I’ve forgotten how to write a letter or perhaps I’ve been refusing myself to do so. There was a lot to say for the past few months. My heart, my hands are burning to write but a part of me would always say it’s not yet time. A part of me would always say to wait for the perfect time and the perfect place (probably far away from where I am now; far away from everyone). But when? Where?
The pages and spaces of my Starbucks journal is not enough. Every time I write I have to fabricate a day’s memory into it’s simplest from. The best and most beautiful details are gone and emotions are usually held back to avoid downpour of words. This is very unfortunate for me. Writing is the only way I know to preserve what I treasure, my memories.
Since childhood, among us three daughters, I’ve always had the poorest memory; always the slowest to learn. I probably passed scholarship grants back in college not because of good memory handy for remembering lessons from tons of textbooks but maybe because of simple hard work and a bit of guts.
Only through writing would I know how I’ve lived my life. I know it’s quite odd but I always have this feeling that I’ll lose my memory at a very early age, probably between my 40s or 50s. Fear of the unknown, of things I’m not even sure that will happen in the future. I was thinking too much of the anesthesia that was used to me before during dental operations, and of that time when I tried to overdose myself with memory enhancers to make sure that I pass the next scholarship evaluation. Maybe these things have affected my memory. There were lots of times back in college when I would bang my head to the wall because of unbearable headache. That may have caused my poor memory as well.
I know that the people around me would always remind me of how I’ve lived my life regardless if they cared for me or not. But the details of how beautiful life was; how life was presented with life; how life found reasons and meaning --- I guess it’s only me who can tell. This should be one good reason why I should write.
To Forgive is to...
April 22, 2007
Sunday
10:56 am – 11:42 am
Why is it so hard to forgive sometimes?
Maybe because we know we’ve committed mistakes less than others, than the person who have done us wrong. We think highly of ourselves.
Maybe because we know we have given so much for something or someone and it makes us look seem so perfect that we are bathing in our own rightfulness. Our generosity, our kindness becomes an excuse. It becomes a banner on our heads to let everyone know that we don’t deserve such pain.
Maybe we’re afraid to be abused. After giving chances we might receive more of this pain that we try to avoid.
Maybe we want the other person to suffer first with the waiting we make, making them beg to death.
Maybe being unforgiving is revenge itself and it’s the only way we know how to get back.
Maybe the silence that unforgiveness makes is a weapon, a knife that slashes the soul of a weeping repent.
Forgiving is what helped mankind survive through ages. For if we do not forgive we would all perish in the hands of hatred, of revenge. We forgive not to delight and pass the soul of the one who repents but we forgive for our own sake. For when it is our turn to repent it is not only the ears but the heart that listens, that understands, that forgives.
Today I ask for forgiveness. First from myself. I have denied myself of freedom to change and to embrace chances. I have built a cell around me that will forever tell me that I don’t deserve such good things in life; that I am only second to anyone; that I am limited; I am only embraced by this world but not life itself; that I am sin itself.
In order to forgive myself I have to realize that I am made out of love and of love and that I am capable of multiplying myself and the love that I have in me. Love itself is the hand of forgiveness that extends to every corner, to every soul.
It is the thought of being abused that blocks the courage to forgive. But we never realize that we become instruments of survival. Because mistakes are daggers of the soul and the cut it makes can only be healed by forgiveness. Left unhealed, it becomes fatal and the body dies but the soul wanders weeping through the banks of life.
Today I survived forgiven by others so that I may help others to survive by forgiving them.
Sunday
10:56 am – 11:42 am
Why is it so hard to forgive sometimes?
Maybe because we know we’ve committed mistakes less than others, than the person who have done us wrong. We think highly of ourselves.
Maybe because we know we have given so much for something or someone and it makes us look seem so perfect that we are bathing in our own rightfulness. Our generosity, our kindness becomes an excuse. It becomes a banner on our heads to let everyone know that we don’t deserve such pain.
Maybe we’re afraid to be abused. After giving chances we might receive more of this pain that we try to avoid.
Maybe we want the other person to suffer first with the waiting we make, making them beg to death.
Maybe being unforgiving is revenge itself and it’s the only way we know how to get back.
Maybe the silence that unforgiveness makes is a weapon, a knife that slashes the soul of a weeping repent.
Forgiving is what helped mankind survive through ages. For if we do not forgive we would all perish in the hands of hatred, of revenge. We forgive not to delight and pass the soul of the one who repents but we forgive for our own sake. For when it is our turn to repent it is not only the ears but the heart that listens, that understands, that forgives.
Today I ask for forgiveness. First from myself. I have denied myself of freedom to change and to embrace chances. I have built a cell around me that will forever tell me that I don’t deserve such good things in life; that I am only second to anyone; that I am limited; I am only embraced by this world but not life itself; that I am sin itself.
In order to forgive myself I have to realize that I am made out of love and of love and that I am capable of multiplying myself and the love that I have in me. Love itself is the hand of forgiveness that extends to every corner, to every soul.
It is the thought of being abused that blocks the courage to forgive. But we never realize that we become instruments of survival. Because mistakes are daggers of the soul and the cut it makes can only be healed by forgiveness. Left unhealed, it becomes fatal and the body dies but the soul wanders weeping through the banks of life.
Today I survived forgiven by others so that I may help others to survive by forgiving them.
Friday, July 18, 2008
Note from the first flowers sent
I sent you these flowers
to make them see
that their beauty
is but a fading one
once they see yours
to make them see
that their beauty
is but a fading one
once they see yours
Sleeping with the enemy
The habit of dwelling in the arms of a foe
in time of loneliness
Only when I permit a visit that I am envelope
by its stares
And my soul shaken and shivered
by its fingers
Why do I ever listen to its knock?
After that I am left naked in my bed
Raped by its unforgiving words
01.03.08
in time of loneliness
Only when I permit a visit that I am envelope
by its stares
And my soul shaken and shivered
by its fingers
Why do I ever listen to its knock?
After that I am left naked in my bed
Raped by its unforgiving words
01.03.08
Silent Battles
My battles often happen in silence
It is when the chariots of fear are clearly heard
The banners of sorrow visible from afar
And once I hear the horn
I know it's nearly coming
The arrows of pain are soon to rain my heart
I see myself standing in the middle of the battlefield
Choosing to be still
And battle silence with silence
01.02.08
It is when the chariots of fear are clearly heard
The banners of sorrow visible from afar
And once I hear the horn
I know it's nearly coming
The arrows of pain are soon to rain my heart
I see myself standing in the middle of the battlefield
Choosing to be still
And battle silence with silence
01.02.08
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
Falling Up
Suspended in lightness, highness
Almost touching the clouds
Gliding the air with feathery companions
My hands can play the forest canopy
My shadow floats on every body of waters
But I have never set foot on the ground
Not even close enough to feel the ants' heads
I have stayed in this state for the longest time
Since I've met you.
Almost touching the clouds
Gliding the air with feathery companions
My hands can play the forest canopy
My shadow floats on every body of waters
But I have never set foot on the ground
Not even close enough to feel the ants' heads
I have stayed in this state for the longest time
Since I've met you.
Sunday, July 13, 2008
Office Break
Today I seek for new things to explore
‘Bout the world beneath my feet
‘Bout the opportunities under my fingertips
And I found how greatly chances were missed
The moment I stop to look for more
I realized that when the dreaming stops
Slowly, unconsciously I become
A part the earth ready to be blown by the wind
Or drowned by the rain
I decompose (Slowly, unconsciously)
Become a matter of insignificance
A particle of non-existence
And so I dream
August 29, 2007
8:40am, Office
Your laughter
Like little bubbly brooks
Tickling the back of my head
Carving tiny bends on my soft banks
Whistling like the Nightingale
Your laughter
Like long tailed shooting stars
Shattering all loneliness
Filling the abyss of my soul
Firing light to my sleeping darkness
Your laughter
Like a treasure box
Where I keep all the good things I want
Where I find everything that I need
Where I draw all that completes me
Anne's laughter
August 21, 2007
Office
In the heart of a storm
I see your eyes
I hold on to its brightness
And I stood still
I feel the weight of your stare
Holding me, pulling me
Back to the ground
The wind rages and yet
Your words filter the sand
That whirls to blind my eyes.
Storm
August 23, 2007
10:00am, Office
A different poetry,
I’d like to write.
Its words are painless for the senses to absorb.
And the song it composes, for the soul is effortless to sway with.
And the depth and height are within reach of reality.
No towering words and no riddling rhymes
Just plain poetry to ease one’s heart and mind.
A different poetry.
November 11, 2007
1:00 am, Office
I'm counting the hours, minutes, seconds...
At the end of this day
I don't want to be anywhere else but in your arms.
Aching to feel your warmth, to thaw my frozen skin and to thrust my numbed heart.
(For longingness have caused this numbness)
Hungry to feel your touch, to ripen my barren soul.
I am lost without your presence, like a wandering dead bush in the desert.
My clock tells me
In a few, I’ll be with you
Long wait will be over
And I will be real again…
Tasting, seeing, hearing, feeling
Love and You.
Body Clock
December 1, 2007
8:45 am
Office
Traces
Could be road trails
Could be broken branches or leaves
Could be tiny puddles
Could be mist or fog
Could be footprints
Could be laugh lines
Could be wrinkles
Could be scars
Could be cobwebs
Could be empty rooms
Could be bed unmade
Could be lipstick marks
Could be finger prints
Could be fallen hair
Could be unfinished writings
Could be hanging words
Could be silence
Could be a lot of endless lists
All created by ideas, intentions, moods, inspiration, and all that pushes us to move, to feel.
All leading to an end or continuance of an existence.
Traces
December 1, 2007
12:40 pm
Office
The icy, salty water sliding down your cheeks,
It freezes my heart until it’s numb, until it stops.
Undated.
Looking at you I see
Ember dying
Soul searching
Heart losing its way
Come to me my love, my life.
Let me rescue you
Stay close to me and let me smolder that lost love for I have never lost my fire to desire you, adore you, cherish you all my life_____ constantly burning because of you, for you and only you.
If your soul is searching, let me be the one to hold your hand.
Let me be the one you see in your dreams whom you’re walking with hand in hand through fields, mountains, valleys, hills, and all roads. We will not stop ‘til we find what will make your heart delighted, contented, fulfilled.
I will come with you because what makes my heart delighted, contented, fulfilled is you.
Look at me and follow with your heart the path that my eyes will lead you for it only sees one door ______ a door that will lead you and me back to us.
Come to me my love, my life
Falter but don’t let go
Take your time but don’t take too long
Our love is bigger, stronger than us
Draw your strength and hopes from it
Tower your faith and trust on its foundation ____ of which our hands and hearts have built from the very beginning.
We are not perfect but the love born of our imperfections thriving to grow together, filling each others’ gaps _____ that is perfect.
There is no other way to love you but this.
I have said what I’ve said because
I have dreamt of living and dying in your arms
And I intend to make it real.
Relight
December 24, 2007
8:00 AM
Office
I choose to surrender and not fight at all because I choose to fall in your arms and lay at your feet.
Defeat Me.
The fall
December 28, 2007
9:15am
Office
Tracing your face and remembering your grace
I saw my self rained on with thousands of words to portray you
Soft, tickling raindrops almost never ending
Rain
March 12, 2008
8:44 pm
Office
Saturday, July 12, 2008
Tagpuan
Sa iyong mga mata
Nagtatagpo ng lihim
Ang buwan at ang araw
Dahan-dahan, unti-unti
Naglalaho ang ulap
Upang hubdan ang kalangitan
12.07.08
Nagtatagpo ng lihim
Ang buwan at ang araw
Dahan-dahan, unti-unti
Naglalaho ang ulap
Upang hubdan ang kalangitan
12.07.08
Winter End Haiku
Afternoon sinking
Looking forward to my rest
Sadly without you
27.12.08
Caught myself waiting
Flying thoughts, floating feelings
Coming home to you
27.12.07
A puddle of gloom
Broken branches of yearning
Gray skies of anguish
28.12.07
Last days of the month
Squeezing the juice of good times
Forget not the learned
28.12.07
I aim to be there
And you will be my last stop
Where all my roads end
29.12.07
Seasons change the leaves
And so does time changes people
Nothing stays the same
29.12.07
Dark clouds hovering
My heart left outside in cold
Nothing I can do
29.12.07
I need to see now
How your fire can burn me slow
Almost into ashes
29.12.07
It's through and by love
That faith and hope thrives in grace
Blossoms even on snow
30.12.07
To forgive others
An advance decompense for
An err awaiting
30.12.07
Holding you close now
I only felt a cold soul
Seeking for the light
30.12.07
New galaxy born
In her eyes I see it moves
Each time I touch her
01.01.08
Like virgin snow
Your skin, i would love to ski
Leave trails of desire
03.01.08
Heart wild in yearning
Even if pain palpitates
Forever in veins
17.01.08
Like cracks on my wall
Memories of faith and love
Left traces last year
20.01.08
Looking forward to my rest
Sadly without you
27.12.08
Caught myself waiting
Flying thoughts, floating feelings
Coming home to you
27.12.07
A puddle of gloom
Broken branches of yearning
Gray skies of anguish
28.12.07
Last days of the month
Squeezing the juice of good times
Forget not the learned
28.12.07
I aim to be there
And you will be my last stop
Where all my roads end
29.12.07
Seasons change the leaves
And so does time changes people
Nothing stays the same
29.12.07
Dark clouds hovering
My heart left outside in cold
Nothing I can do
29.12.07
I need to see now
How your fire can burn me slow
Almost into ashes
29.12.07
It's through and by love
That faith and hope thrives in grace
Blossoms even on snow
30.12.07
To forgive others
An advance decompense for
An err awaiting
30.12.07
Holding you close now
I only felt a cold soul
Seeking for the light
30.12.07
New galaxy born
In her eyes I see it moves
Each time I touch her
01.01.08
Like virgin snow
Your skin, i would love to ski
Leave trails of desire
03.01.08
Heart wild in yearning
Even if pain palpitates
Forever in veins
17.01.08
Like cracks on my wall
Memories of faith and love
Left traces last year
20.01.08
Ode to Imani
Daugther of fire & faith
Disciple of passion & poetry
Cradled by the hands of beauty & nobility
You are muse who walks this earth
with unchanging form.
A glimpse of your promethean hands
and roses spring even in winter.
Let me walk your hidden temple
and let my life be an incense
burning at your presence
rising and fading in your heavenly loft
while my ember forever burning at your feet.
29.12.07
Disciple of passion & poetry
Cradled by the hands of beauty & nobility
You are muse who walks this earth
with unchanging form.
A glimpse of your promethean hands
and roses spring even in winter.
Let me walk your hidden temple
and let my life be an incense
burning at your presence
rising and fading in your heavenly loft
while my ember forever burning at your feet.
29.12.07
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