Galang

If We Were A Genre of Music

we would be jazz—
smooth, mellow,
soul-damning.

burning with slow passion

or running and stumbling with joyous laughter.
no matter where we go—
up or down,
fast or slow,
we’d hit all the right notes,
replete with trills and runs,
bringing us to both highs and lows,
making beautiful melodies.

though sometimes
we seem to be out of sync,
it does not discount
from the beauty
that is us.

nothing subtracts.

there is only harmony,

no cacophony.
simplicity or complexity,
staccato or legato,
we will always be
jazz.

 Galang
Movements

To me,
You are a tsunami
Shaking me
Tearing me apart
Moving every molecule

I feel you move through my being,

Sending tremors through my body
down to my very soul.
You bring to shore everything
I try so hard to conceal.
You devastate me completely,
leaving nothing standing.

To you,
I am but a ripple—
Barely reaching the surface
 Galang
Christopher Robin

I’ve got you stored, hidden

In the vault that is my head.
The deepest, darkest cavity
where no light ever shines.
A prison,
to keep you in
and others out.

When I’m alone in the darkness—

I peer into the vault,
fully knowing
that I will see you.

Just a peek
can tear me to shreds
as memories of you,
of our friends,
of our special place,
try to burst out.

But I notice—
these memories fade.
Your face
no longer brings me to tears;
your voice
no longer sends chills down my spine.

I’m probably going to have to

open
the vault
and let you go.

But not today.

 Morales
Aim High

When they say shoot for the stars,

They forget to mention
We need to use a massive cannon
That works in space.

And when we miss our mark

They'll tell us to try again
Even when we're low on oxygen
Without any real target practice

Or maybe they'll just say

That we''ll land on the moon
Without knowing that to do that
We'd have to float a long way

And as a last resort we'll think

The only way to actually reach a star
Is by getting sucked into a black hole
That somehow leads to getting burned by the sun
 Morales
A Few Months Into Living Alone

A few months into living alone,

And I feel like a kid in a candy store.

I've eaten almost all the sweets

And I've run out of change.

My stomach feels a little sick,

And I still can't find my parents.
 Morales
Deciduous

Trees don't always have leaves

For the same reason that
all of my untitled aspirations
are so out of reach.

They need to let go

of what their branches carry
So that when winter comes,
They won't feel too heavy.

But this means working hard

All year 'round
Just to regrow the leaves
That will fall to the ground

And not a single tree

would ever question this cycle
The same way a girl can get tired
Of running around in a circle.
 Leung

My pen is tired of singing.

I used to think
my poetry had to be soft,
in love,
brokenhearted,
wanting,
aching,
longing,
haunting.

I used to think
I could only write about holding on to a moonbeam lover,
clasping my hands in supplication,
delicate arms dancing through the night,
fingers poised to play a symphony.

I used to think
I had no right to write anger,
clench my hands into fists,
turn my words into knives,
be the hurricane.

I used to think
I had to sit down and smile,
until the day my hands learned how to scream.
 Leung
Muscle

Being a dreamer is difficult even

when it seems as though it should
come as naturally as breathing.
Because opening this heart is difficult
when I forget how to forgive;
if you get what you give,
well, then I will stand here
palms upturned and empty.
A lot of things should come as
naturally as breathing, but don't.

Even breathing.

My heart feels like it doesn't want

to beat but it has to keep going because
my heart is an involuntary muscle
that means that even if I want to stop
I cannot, even if I want to stop, I do not
want to go, I do not ever want to go.
I want to stay forever, never leave
Neverland, Peter Pan staying young,
staying free in a kind of nostalgic dance.
And if I stay here, if I just stay and stop
will you stay with me or will you leave?

Maybe I don't want to know the answer.

Leave me with some hope that I know
your reply will be exactly the words I
want to hear; the scenes in my mind
are more fantasy than reality, but they're
more beautiful than real-life. Maybe that
makes them true, more three-dimensional.

Also math is really beautiful because

it just makes sense and there is always
an answer, even when real-life problems
only ever leave me with unsatisfactory
guesses. And you solve problems no one
else wants to and I think that maybe
it's the noblest thing in the world. And fractals
and Fibonacci numbers and infinity and zero
sound more like a religion than a science
sometimes. But maybe it's beautiful because
it's both a science and a religion and
more beautiful than reality and yet perfectly
true, and somehow more than it is and
exactly as it always has been and
wow.

Maybe I've always dreamed that

one day everything will just make
sense, everything will just add up.
All of a sudden, this life will just
be right. Like a perfectly solved
equation, eternally true in the
shifting sands of life changing.
 Leung

I have big dreams but little hands

and my palms cannot even stretch
to hold enough water to keep me alive.
How do I reach for the stars when
I cannot attain escape velocity and
the nearest stars are lightyears away
and even if I reach the sun all I will
do is burn up to a crisp? It just doesn't
make any sense to carry on with living
when all the math says I am dead wrong
to keep on hoping for impossibilities.

Dreaming is flawed.

Dreaming is an error in an otherwise

perfect proof – it scares me and this
is why. But I can't help but do it anyway
because a dream is a wish your heart
makes and my heart is an involuntary
muscle, and i never chose to keep dreaming
like how my heart is still beating after all
this time and my mind is still racing,
still looking for problems to solve,
when all I want it to do is just stop.
 Leung
Juxtapose

I was

a drop in the ocean

You were

the first drop of rain in the desert

In another life we might have been the same

But people only thirst for you 


 Leung
Desire

I, girl, may like you, boy.

But between the two of us,
we have a pair of hearts more
scarred than still beating, and four
hands reaching out desperately
for the ghosts of love slipping
through these fingertips.
We both know the meaning
of the word longing far more than
we should. And desire is just another
crack, another break in our already
crumbling ribcages. You and I
both know that desire comes
from the Latin, sidus. That means
star. To desire means awaiting what
the stars will bring. But you and I both
know that winning the objects of our
desire has the same likelihood of
happening as staying up all
night and urging the stars down
to earth. You and I call out other names
in our sleep; neither of us is looking for love,
just someone to hold through the night.
You, boy, may love me, girl; or maybe
it’s just your smile. In the darkness,
it’s hard to tell the difference.

 Leung
(maybe)

“the total amount of matter and energy in a closed system is constant.”

–the principle of conservation of matter-energy

that is to say, there is a finite amount of matter in the universe.

that is to say, these atoms of mine have been around since the beginning of time.
that is, god said, “let there be light” (maybe). that is, the big bang (maybe).
whatever it is you believe in, that means there was nothing
and then there was everything in just one moment,
and then expansion. that is to say, all of creation started moving
away from everything else and it hasn’t stopped since.
that is to say, one day galaxies will move apart
and (maybe) expansion will overcome the attraction of atoms
and then there will still be everything, just farther apart.
don’t worry. it will be a while yet.
we’ve got time. between the beginning and the end, well,
there is everything there ever was, is, will be—
an infinite (maybe) number of combinations of particles.
that is to say, you and i are made out of the same electrons and protons
that have been around since the beginning and
these bodies are just stops along the way to the end.
that is to say, out of all the infinite (maybe) possibilities,
the universe came up with you and i. that is to say, love,
we were a minor miracle.
you told me once you don’t believe in miracles. or the afterlife. or god.
but i do believe in reincarnation. i believe in quantum entanglement—
that is to say, two atoms can be somehow connected, no matter how far apart they are.
that is, (maybe) your atoms and mine are linked.
or (maybe) i’m just a stop on the way to your destination—
who knows?
i’ll never find out for sure.
just like how we’ll never really know how the universe will end.
but i do know that it’ll still be the same atoms floating around in space.
just a bit more disorderly. entropy, my dear—
that is to say, the universe tends towards brokenness.
that is to say, miracles don’t last forever.
that is to say, these atoms of mine will touch the ends of the universe
one day, even though i won’t be there to see it.
but for now, i can reach out and touch your hand.
and that will be enough (maybe).
 Leung
Those You Leave Behind

We do not know the meaning of the word easy. Only perseverance. Only tenacity. Only pick yourself up and
try again tomorrow. Try harder. Fight harder. This has never been easy.

We only know this: the taste of dirt in our mouths once we have been pushed to the ground so many times
our knees forget how to lock and our skin forgets anything but this soil. Dirt from dirt. Ashes from ashes.

We might not be phoenixes but try to light us on fire and we will scream until our lungs run out of air, and
when they run out of air we will scream even louder. We will not try to calm the flames. Instead, we will place
our hands on yours and embrace you. Not because we love you, but because we would see this whole city
burn down before we stop this battle. Arson is a crime, but this — this is a protest. A silent revolution. No, not
silent. We will never be a silent revolution.

We might not be sirens but you cannot drown us. Because the moment you try to hold us beneath the waves,
we will start to sprout gills. Our flesh will tear. It will be painful. But the first breath of water filling our lungs
will feel like the sea saying hello after an eternity of being away. These cells were not made for the ocean, but
that does not matter. We have sat through lifetimes of being told that the things we wanted were not meant
for us. That does not matter. We will take them anyway.

We might not be angels but we’ll fly if we want to. Don’t give us your horror stories about Icarus flying too
close to the sun. Everyone forgets that while Icarus did fall, he also soared. And if we’re going to fall anyway,
we might as well fly first. We will strap the wings onto our backs and melt the candle wax into our own skin
and we will jump out of this labyrinth. We will defeat your prisons. In the millisecond between jumping and
flying we will be terrified, but soon the wind will catch us and we will soar.

We will come kicking, biting, screaming, and we will fight every inch of the way. We do not know the
meaning of the word easy. We only know how to stand up after you have kicked us to the curb. Our legs will
wobble. Our eyes will be swollen. But we will stand up and we will fight back.

We do not know easy. We only know struggle.

So that is all we ever do.

 Arevalo
We were together before we were us.

When the Big Bang

created infinity
and splattered the nebulae
into the void,
with it also drifted
all the little bits of the universe
that ended up as
you and me.

And I like that thought:

of us being cut
from the very same cloth
as the eternity we could have,

of us being together
even before the chaos
of the beginning of time.
 Arevalo
Thoughts at 5 am while I dress for school

Is school supposed to make me feel like this?

Because that’s exactly how I feel:
tossed into the mouth of the system,
chewed and chewed by sharp yellow teeth—
by mountains of requirements,
by endless nights with the words of the dead on our laps,
by letters and numbers carved into my skin
as they try to define my taste—
until I’m ground into a messy lump
barely distinguishable from the rest
as I fall
fall
f al
l
f
a (these 7 seconds last forever)
l
l
into the stomach
to be churned by hydrochloric acid
for the system to digest and absorb
(they take what they need)
until I slide through the sphincter
into the intestines
to be broken down by the enzymes—
peptidase, protease, lipase, nuclease, amylase
-ase, -ase, -in, -ide—
so that they get the most out of every bit
(they take everything away from me).
By this time I’m already excrement
(though I’ve felt that way for so much longer)
traveling through the mazes of the gut,
thrown around and compacted and
broken
until they’re satisfied enough
with the dried out husk
to throw me out.
Is school supposed to make me feel like shit,
or have I just been up for far too long?

 Arevalo
My voice has died, but heaven needs songs.

My throat burns
as I lie in bed
crumpling into myself
with every cough
that rips through my lungs

but I sing,

my voice crunching like gravel

in the tunnel of my neck
as it struggles to pave the way
for half-melodic sounds
and drowned hymns.

I can barely give a meager croak

much less the velvet of church choirs
offering odes to the heavens of prismatic glass
that dappled light into their cage
filled with watching saints.

But they watch me as well,

offering their ceramic gazes
to the devoted kneeling in supplication,
“You must keep going.”
Their angelic smiles write the same melody
over and over into the crowds.
“You must keep singing.”
They acclaim to the raw throats
and collapsed lungs
of those crippled in the pews.

So I sing.

My throat burns like hell

and I still try to reach the high notes.
 Mendiola
Absence.

The night is heavy.

The darkness is palpable
and I am swimming in the void.

The night air feels cold.

The frigid breeze kisses my lips;
I taste the melancholy in the air.

The night is dark and she is not with me.

There are no lights to guide me home;
no Northern star to show me the way.

The night sky is only blackness,

a mass of dark velvet.
Smooth, unwrinkled, mesmerising.

Where have all the stars gone?

They were so distant before
but now they are farther than ever.

There is much absence tonight,

no stars, no warmth, no light, not even her.
I am left here, hoping for their return.
 Mendiola
Ghost.

She was
a faraway dream
a wave tumbling in the ocean
a moment between breaths.

On days like this

where the wisps of her memory
are as palpable as the ground I walk on
I wonder if
she was there at all
or if she was just
a faraway memory
that feels more like a dream
a ship slowly sinking
into the depths of my mind
a ghost haunting me
from a past that never was.
 Mendiola
Please Bear With Me For Just A Moment.

Amazingly,
this moment found me.

Never did I even dream of this chance,

this opportunity

and yet,
here it is now
seizing me,
embracing me,
giving itself to me.

So this is me,
taking my thirty seconds of courage

of overwhelming unabashed bravery,

to finally let these words make their way
past my mouth and find their way to you.

For a long time now,

— two months to be exact —
have I been searching for the right words to say.

I’m not even sure

if in this moment now
that the words I found are the right ones

and though uncertainty

still plagues me
if these words
are the right ones or not,

right now I’ve got something

and that’s a lot more than I’ve had in a while.
Often before it was just my thoughts blanketed in silence.

Understand that,
all those moments spent in quiet
were only because I was looking for the right words to say.

I don’t like to waste my words, you see

words are precious to me.
They are the vessels that carry our meanings
across the vast oceans of dialogue and conversation.

Zigzag, they might

and lose their way, they will. They often do
but I know they will
eventually find their way to you
after exhausting themselves in my other poems.
So…

Pardon my ramblings; I was never good at this.

But believe me when I tell you these
because never have my words carried
 Mendiola
as much meaning and truth as they do now
because there are no metaphors or hyperboles for this.

I loved you.
I love you.
I will love you.

Always.

 Chua
I Wish We Had Gone to Med School

scalpels
are sharp;
they create neat incisions
to open you up,
lacerating, mutilating
ruthlessly, mercilessly;

it is an act of love;

soft edges
blunted blades;
harmless to the touch
and never fatal;
not at all;

they are the best instrument of torture;

with enough force behind them

they can tear your skin
and leave it jagged, broken, scarred.
they agonize

blurred lines hurt

far worse than razor verdicts.

 Chua
On the Sea of Digital Dreams

That dot of green atop your shore

Which you had nightly shined before—
I look for it from day to day,
As I myself flash my own ray.

I long to dock at my own harbor—

Take down my sails, end my labor,
But still against the storms I war
To chance a glimpse of this single star.

This single star, oh yes I know

No matter what will never glow
Not in my eyes, while I’m at sea,
Never again; least not for me.

(And slowly, surely, thankfully, I might

be starting to disbelieve in the green light)

I close my eyes, I taste the salt

Deliberately, blindly, without a fault.
I wait until the skies unclear
I reach out for my hope and fear.

 Chua
I Like My Love the Way I Like My Coffee

Black as hell.
Strong as death.
Sweet as sin.

I want it to start my day—

to lure me into the world of wakefulness.
Its scent should send my heart jolting.
Its fire, my tongue scalding.
Its harshness, my spirit burning.

It must be the god that raises the sun.

I want it to pass my afternoons—

to give me thoughts to ponder on.
Its blend should puzzle me.
Its complexity, amaze me.
Its scathing bite, repulse me.

It must stain the white of my days.

I want it to keep me up at night—

to halt my dreary descent into dreams,
to sustain my sinful struggle against sleep,
to lift my weary will into wakefulness,
to last me into the bleary edge of tomorrow.

(maybe then I'll witness the stars)


 Chua
Desperate

I will burn.

All for you.

Every second, every waking breath,
I will burn as bright as the moment
when you and I crashed and ignited a spark.

Baptize me with every ounce of gasoline

and set me ablaze with a single touch;
I will rise out of the abyss
and crackle and roar and flare and sputter.

For that single second,

I will be invincible.

Then I will suffer;

every speck of tinder, every particle
will scream in perfect agony
until they all have been reduced to ashes

and it will be glorious;

For how else in this desolate void

where everything is nothing
where nothing is everything
where there is only the illusory gaze
of the cold dead stars to accompany me,

how else will I find warmth?



 Martinez

Dream

A willow tree beside a stream,

Where we would kiss,
Among other things I wish,
But this can only be a dream.

We’d be together, someday

When the winds of change blow;
When the river of time decides to ebb and flow,
But that day is not today.

Whatever drives us apart,

Brings our us closer together,
This should make me weaker,
But this only strengthens my heart.

I want to see you and me,

But I don’t know how it’ll go,
When God and man decides it not so,
And I’ll do anything, so we’ll just be.

So if we ever see once again,

I’ll know what to do,
I’ll confess my love to you,
And that you’ll take away the pain.

 Martinez
What Dylan Thomas’ Father said shortly after

For what I did

And did not do
And do without
In my old age
or rather
my current age
All I can do is
Rue, not rage
Against that night;
Rue, not rage
against the
dying of the light.
Frail hands cannot
do anything but
grasp into the night.
Old eyes, nearly blind
cannot see anything
but that dying light
My old body is worn,
bones brittle and cracked,
it cannot be but gentle
going into the night

Before I die—
can you be so kind—
and sit me underneath
the shade of an
old oak or pine
So I can have
a last glance
at the sky,
the stars,
the light.

 Martinez
Dinner thoughts, during our Pearl anniversary

A lily, a perfect flower,

will die if plucked in an hour;
Ebony on our piano’s keys,
used to be part of a forest of trees;
The large steak upon my plate,
that was a cow, of greater weight;
These clean white table cloths,
will one day be eaten by moths,
The clock that ticks on the wall;
will shatter if it were to fall;
the violin which plays its noise,
will one day lose its voice;
The candles keeping this room lit,
will die without their wick;
and as we sit here at home,
I feel a chill to the bone

 Hilomen
"do not forget about all this"

I am the way the wind blows / how the waves peak / and how the clouds move // but do not forget that I
am nature / a destructive force / unexpected at every turn // I will destroy you / in the most beautiful way /
and you will thank me for it // I will create storms / earthquakes / landslides / eruptions / that you can
never handle // you will willingly go through it all / over and over again / though I have warned you as
much // then when all is done / and I have finished my work / you will love the roses / but fear the
thorns //
 Hilomen
“you are an idiot”

i said over the call

mister, you are the biggest idiot i know

mister, you are the fly buzzing around my head when i want to concentrate
and yet also the one i choose to concentrate on

you are the difficult math questions i can never get my head around
but mister, i also know you like the back of my hand

you are the walls protecting me from harm,

but i want to tell you, mister, that sometimes you are the cause of it

mister i hate you for asking me the very things i ask you,
but i will not hesitate to answer your questions

you have been with me through my hardest times,

so often that you are the only one who knows about the words i only dare utter in between breaths

mister, we have shed tears and made faces in front of each other so often that i memorize how you look at
your ugliest and weakest
but mister, i can not help but tell you that i have also seen you at your most beautiful and strongest

you have taught me how to turn words into poetry

and you have moved something in me no one else has

mister, i don’t know where i was going with this but i am going to go on anyway

mister, you are the biggest idiot i know, and i have told you over and over again
but, mister, you are also the most intelligent that i know

you can make me cry and laugh and feel like i can conquer the world
and i want you to be with me when i do

because mister, you are the robin to my batman

the john lennon to my paul mccartney

mister, for you i will brave through storms and flood waters
just as how you braved them for me

and mister, i will hold your hand when you are about to fall
because heck, if i can not help you i will at least follow you down

so thank you for the tears, and the laughs, and the endless in-betweens
but mister, i think it is time we said good night.

 Pascual
glass

a broken shard of glass

its corners, sharp and thin
shines as brightly in the light
as deep as it cuts skin

hold me in the palms of your hands

i ask you not to let go
fragile and missing pieces
but yearning, even so

dare to fix my brokenness

risk bleeding from my touch
i wish only to be mended
i know i ask for much

numb my edges with your lips

sand my sharpness to the core
melt my corners with your warmth
i may be broken but i am yours
 Pascual
abyssopelagic (ah-BIS-so-pah-lah-jik)

My love for you was the ocean,

Too big, too deep, too much
You were the waves that kissed the shore,
Seeking land when you had the water
But an ocean is nothing without its waves

And so all I can do is love you

As far as my depths will allow
 Pascual
Senses.

Missing you felt like

A thousand miles below sea level
Darkness and pressure
Lungs full of water
Slowly sinking down

Missing you looked like

Outer space
Galaxies apart
Mindlessly floating
Utter darkness for miles and miles

Missing you sounded like

A broken clock
Hands unmoving
Given up ticking
The echoes of alarms
Faintly ringing in the
Distance

Missing you smelled like

Dust on a bookshelf
Slowly piling up
Unmoving, untouched
Swirling around in the air
Old stories, slowly forgotten

Missing you tasted like

Laughter on the lips
Slowly turning to sadness
Alcohol burning
On my tongue
In my throat
Through my veins

Missing you
Was the loneliest of sensations
But I have made myself numb
So I don't have to miss you
Anymore

 Galace
Raindrops

Like raindrops
Falling from the sky
We started oh-so-high
Soaring through the wind

Falling together
Towards infinity
Side-by-side
You-and-I

But

Like raindrops
Falling from the sky
Starting oh-so-high
Fated were we to crash

Falling apart
Towards oblivion
Separated
You and I
 Galace
We Were A Flightless Bird

Born from great descent

Of the finest in the flock
Destined by the heavens
But damned by fate

Graced a sea of feathers

Of infinite colors
A silken touch
August to behold

Beak strong
For gathering prey
Strikes as lightning with
The pounding of thunder

Eyes for everything

Missing on nothing
Sharper even than
The pointer on its face

But cursed without

On either of its sides
Where wings should be
Were only feathers

We were a flightless bird

Born for great descent
Destined by the heavens
But damned by fate
 Singson
Unverified Youth

it's like I'm in the dark

a blind eye groping for light
slivers of yellow slicing milky irises
how do you begin to look for something you've never seen?
like a baby being borne out of lotus and jasmine
determination pulsing through delicate veins and transparent skin
I search the universe, continually reaching up
expecting to scrunch the blanket of stars and space in my tiny hands
and wring the galaxies for liquid moonlight
I am trying to find a place to call home and a passion to call my own
looking left and right at the marks people have left behind
I am looking for a clean surface
pristine and untouched
but fear clouds my optimism
leaving condensation marks on a glass half-empty
pride blurs my visions red,
always trying to be the best
slowly crumbling under the weight of pressure I put upon myself
I suffocate
slowly
never once thinking that
maybe the universe wasn't built for me to conquer

 Singson
In fine omnes soli sumus

Brothers and sisters, let us all stand

Take the hand of the person next to you
Hold it tight and understand
that you are
alone
Hallelujah, hallelujah!
Dark windows loom above
Casting a shadow over the chosen people
This is the church of the lonely
The ones gifted with the knowledge that
humans
are like marbles
Meant to bump and slide along
Touching others, but never truly sticking to anything
Running along the pre-made track
Education, job, marriage, kids
— not necessarily in that order
Now let us all kneel
and sing together a hymn of praise
Hmmm…mmmhmmm….hmmmhmmmm….
Nothing.
This is the church of the lonely
The crumbling walls of the jaded soul
My body is the temple,
the spirit is my thought
Standing like a tower of glass
in isolated
dogmatism
These people beside me are vapid constructions
used to fill the existential void
Wrapped around the lingering sanity
Squeezing tightly, suffocating
At the same time binding I to me
and me to myself
For better or for worse
In sickness and in health
Till death do us part
Still nothing.
Welcome to the church of the lonely
The religion of my mind

 Mirabueno
I Used to Have An Oral Fixation

Time slows down.

I slowly slip my thumb between

the metal blades. My right hand shivers.

I have not done this in a while. Self-injury,

they say it is unhealthy. I do this for my own sake.

The strength of my fingers upon the lever arms push.

There is resistance. It permeates throughout my palms,

into my arm, fighting the urge to hurt myself, my body.

A little more, and my right hand betrays my left,

falling, a cut nail.


 Mirabueno
She asked me why I like the dorm.

because back home

chirps and howls and rustles
i cannot hear myself think
let your mind and body
breathe
muscles are springs
swing your blade
spd
efcncy
leaves spiralling
d
o
w
n
d
o
w
n
u
p
up
up up
the flames climb
waste no heat, no energy
PE=KE
let the arrow loose
fourteen meters of air, fly without wings
but do not use a
bow.
assert dominance; dogs
respect the master
lower your pistol
|
/
—
fire.
 Mirabueno
Infatuation is said to only last three months.

Some neuro-chemical cocktail your brain gets addicted to.

They all say she's different now.
I know they're right; a year can do so much.
Like a drug, you build tolerance against the high.
Like a memory, it fades.

Do you still dream of her?

Of your feelings being more than just a rush of phenylethylamine?

 Mirabueno
Area 2

Distance to food stall = 17.3m

Adjusting velocity to –
> PAUSE PROCESS

>NEW INPUT
Light received. Interpreting data...
Subject match confirmed.
Reviewing encounters...
Highest-rated encounter selected. Reviewing parameters...

>NEW PROCESS
Adjusting velocity = 0.5 m/s, direction = 39 o

>NEW INPUT
Eye contact engaged. Interpreting data...
ERROR. File not found. Dilation of pupils normal.

>NEW INPUT
Smile received. Interpreting data...
ERROR. File not found. Neurotransmitter activity normal.
Adrenaline levels stable.
Heart rate normal.
Breathing normal.

>NEW INPUT
"Hi." received. Interpreting data.
Preparing reply...

>NEW OUTPUT
"Hi."
ERROR. Love not found.

 Silva
Bridges

You and I,
we are not unlike them.

Such magnificence and splendor

in these structures of wood and stone
across rivers, streams, cliffs, and valleys.

And yet with the curse of time

these pillars of stone
these beams of wood
rot and weather
crumble and decay
fall apart and

c se.
o ap
l l
 Silva
Mamihlapinatapai

A fleeting glance,
a pensive look,
and I feel the words
clawing their way
across my throat.

And yet my lips,

they do not open,
they do not move,
and my tongue
stubbornly refuses
to release the words.

If our love is sin,

then let me burn
in your embrace,
for what of salvation
in surviving an eternity
with nothing to live for?

If our love is folly

then let us be fools,
for what of wisdom
in solving a puzzle
with no fitting pieces?

 Hilario
Life of a leaf

Green.

It hangs from mother’s arms,

Pulsing with life.
So vibrant and alive,
Giving sunlight to mother
And nutrients to its brothers.
Day in, day out it fulfills its duty
Happily,
Contently,
It could go on forever,
But all children must leave the nest someday.

Orange.

It clings to home for a while,

.
.
.
and then lets go.
Colorful,
Vibrant,
But most of all, free;
Like a gypsy it travels the world,
Enjoying its newfound independence,
Every breath of wind spurring it further from home.
Eager to see the world.

and then.
eventually.
finally.

Brown.

so peaceful and still,

resting crisply with the earth,
it has fulfilled mother’s happiness
and throughout the years, its own.

though not as vibrant as before,

it is freer than ever
as it lies quietly in the rough,

a happy leaf whose job is finished,

its duty done,
its life complete,
one last sound is heard by those lucky enough to hear
as color flows back to the earth.

Exhale
.
.
.

Green.
 Hilario
The Real Work Starts at 2AM

It's almost 2AM

And I haven't done a thing for tomorrow — I mean later.

But it's crunch time!

Things are going to change, I can feel it!
The world snores through the hours
But I know better!
We shouldn't be wasting this opportunity by sleeping
Psh!
We should be thinking! creating!
Not wasting our lives on REM sleep!

What did I have to do again? Nevermind, that can wait.

I have a soliloquy to make.

Owls do their best work at night,

so that's what I'll be. An owl.
(Hoot hoot)
Swooping through my work,
Like a boxer.
Left,
Right,
Straight,
Hook,
Bam knockout!

Then I'll be victorious

Then I'll get my well-deserved A
Then graduate
Then marry someoneandlivehappilye verafter.

I just need to finish this work for tomorrow — I mean later.

Is that the sun?

Well screw it.
Whatever I had to do probably wasn't worth the work anyway.
 Golong
A Reunion With an Old Friend

Today is the day

I meet her again.
The girl who could liven
Even the gravest of men.
In my mind, she has not changed.

Her hair is black silk.

Her lips are rose petals.
Her eyes are gleaming pearls
Adorning a face of fine china.

Her smile could brighten up a day;

Her laugh could light up a month.
Her face is fit for a queen,
But her soul is not royalty.
In my mind, she has not changed.

She was a shepherd when I was a sheep

Lost in a dark forest.
Unknowingly, she found me
And brought me back to the herd.

Years have passed since we last met.

She has gone to places I never knew;
But she is still young.
She is still the shepherd.
In my mind, she has not changed.

A woman walks through the door.

Her hair is black silk.
Her lips are rose petals.
Her eyes are black pearls
Adorning a face of fine china.

She sits in front of me.

Her smile could brighten up a day;
Her laugh could light up a month.
She orders her favorite dish.

I knew who she was,

Yet I am having lunch with a stranger.
 Golong
My Sweet Valentine

Your skin white as snow,

Your kiss sweet as honey.
Sparkling like the stars,
Even your tears are beautiful.
Although you can be cold,
I will still love you.

Others call you plain,

Saying that there are many better,
That there are more for me to taste,
That I should not stop with you.
But I will not listen,
Because they do not know you.

Don't listen to them either,

Because they do not know what they say.
You are the most perfect of them all.
No other can come close to you.
They say you are too plain,
But the others are merely tainted.

I admit I have been unfaithful.

I have tasted others as well.
They were too smooth, then too rough.
They said it was to add to the excitement,
That it was to add flavor to the experience,
But I will never choose them over you again.

No, please do not shed your tears,

I will not speak much longer.
My intention was never to make you cry,
But to profess my undying love.
So brush off their baseless accusations.
Their words mean nothing to me, unlike you.

Let us continue then in this love.

Let me kiss you and enjoy your taste.
I will not leave you untouched any longer.
I will roll my tongue on your smooth skin,
And though it is moist and cold with your sweat,
I will continue having you until you are finished,
My one and only vanilla ice cream.

 Soliven
Strangers

I wonder how strange it would be

If the stranger right next to me
Were to suddenly speak freely
Giving her story completely.

She'd talk about her childhood or her past

Or those days she thought would certainly last.
She'd talk about the boy from junior class
Or about that day no other could surpass.

She may talk about her comforts, and what it had cost
Or of all the opportunities she had tossed.
Maybe she'd just talk of long summers and winter frost
Or recount the things she had unfortunately lost.

I might have known her hopes and fears

And all the things she holds so dear.
With another life laid out clear
What wonders that I just might hear.

Although, I guess I'll never know

As I silently watch her go.
 Soliven
An Ode to Cafes

Inside the cafe I quietly sit

With a hot cup of coffee
And a dainty little biscuit.

Outside, people are walking by

Their minds as busy as bee hives
And drowned in the city's cry.

Around me the voices are low

And the lights are soft and warm
In here, time is leisurely slow.

My friends, I think, are out and about

While I sit here in my solitude
But I am happy without a doubt.

Here there is comfort and peace,

a temporary haven
To put my tired soul at ease.

Outside the world can turn without me

Cause it's here in this quiet cafe,
That my mind and my soul need to be. 

 Santos
The Eternal

What feels the heartless heart?

Searching, searching
For the foundless unfound.
Uprooted she looks
Flame in hand, the dragon lamp
A glow on path and soul.
The void of final sleep awaits
Yearned for, elusive,
Eternally sought.
Only what lives may die
Only what dies may live
What is there
For she who neither lives
Nor dies?
Searching, searching
For the foundless, unfound heart.

 Santos

Morning Alarms

Tick.
Little pieces of brass and copper
Always hand in hand

Tock.
Two hands, a face.
Round and round, around.

Tick.
Around, the bits go
Pushing each other forward

Tock.
Ever forward, never ceasing
Pieces in harmony.

RIIIIIIIIIIIIIING!

Harmoniously shattering peace

I hate clocks.
 Cortes

Travel Ad

Cast your cares away

Into the sky, under the light of day
Come dance with the stars
Even sing on Mars
Anytime, anywhere
Here you may stop, and stare

Slay a dragon, save the day

Cast a spell, join the fray
Leave behind the day to day
It’s black and white, you may say
But color is born in the mind’s eye
Should you choose to stay

So book now, the offer stands

Caress my cover, with gentle hands
Pick me up, we’ll begin our venture
Turn my pages, and begin your adventure

 Azanza
Swoon, Swoon, Swoon

You are brunch on a Sunday,

A glass of sangria on a Tuesday afternoon.
You walk into class,
I swoon, swoon, swoon.
Stars, there are many,
But none as bright as the moon.
You look over at me,
I swoon, swoon, swoon.
Awaiting dad at the airport
He'll be in my arms by noon.
But when it comes to you
All I can do is pray,
Soon, soon, soon.
 Ledesma
A Journey From Both Ends

The journey to morning begins.

As the moon fell over the town,

dimming the once lit sky
I shut my eyes
As I reminisce about times past.

Darkness begins to surround me, nothing else.

Fears, doubts, regrets appear.

As they invade my very soul,
I tremble.
All strength leaves me.

Midnight approaches.

The world falls to sleep.

I reach out desperately.

Grasping at shadows in futility.
I lose my way.
A deluge of anguish.

Darkness

To

Light

A glint in this sea of sorrows

I find my way to it.
To repel the unbearable gloom
I hold the light close to myself.

The world came to life.

The dawn has arrived.

Light remained.
Glistening in the depths of the heart
Shining its brilliance on my very soul.
Hope, determination, and happiness appear.

The warmth of light surrounds me.

As I put my hopes on a brighter tomorrow,

I open my eyes.
illuminating the once dark sky
As the sun rose over the town,

The journey to evening begins.

 Palabrica
For the Sake of Art

Perfect, delicate little steps

Done on dainty feet with graceful arches
Such beauty and grace and poise
Done with a smile on the face
Satin encases that elegant foot
Twirling and kicking and dancing
The audience stares in open mouthed admiration
At the beauty wrought by the satin
And yet that satin encases a harsher truth
Blood and bruises lurk underneath its surface
Unending pain and agony
All hidden under the beauty of satin

 Palabrica
Today I Have The Worst Fever

Today I have the worst fever

Today my body was possessed by Vulcan
My flesh burned up like Rome did while Nero fiddled
And for a moment, I was in Pompeii

Today I have the worst fever

Today gladiators fought in the coliseum of my head
The screams of the crowd throbbed against my brain.
While blades clashed against my skull

Today I have the worst fever

Today my throat was a dusty Roman market
Donkey driven carts drove over my esophagus
Leaving a dust clogging the roads

Today I have the worst fever

Today Aesculapius has abandoned me
But tonight I merely lay my head down and pray
That tomorrow, I may incur his favor once again
 Palabrica
My Mind is an Open Empty Field

My mind is an open empty field

Vast and still, silent and dead
The wind blows through it
Stirring the grass in all directions

It is wild, uninhabited
No life, no fauna, empty as can be

And yet behold!

On this cold, rainy night
A hare hops by
Stirring the field
And disrupting the peace

I scamper after it
Such life on this field is never to be seen
It runs, jumps, twists and turns
Like Alice I chase it madly
And yet it eludes me
Wriggling from my grasp
Until it dives away
And all I see is the tip of its cottontail
As it disappears from sight.
 Palabrica
Eternal

I lost my father.
‘Tis but a scratch

I lost my rights.
‘Tis but a bruise

I lost my welfare.
‘Tis but a flesh wound

And yet I’m alive,

Not because of some god,

But because of my King.

My King had a dream,

A dream for us,

Upon the red hills.

And yet, till now

My King’s war rages on.

As his war goes on,

His soldiers stay eternal.
 Sy
True Pairing

Is it the lyrics or the melody,

That makes a song incredible?
Is it the place or the company,
That makes a trip incomparable?
Is it the book or the movie,
That makes a story unforgettable?

I like to think both is the answer,

One is naught without the other.
Just like how people work better,
When they are helping each other.
Similar to a pen and a piece of paper,
Useless alone but practical together.

It’s the lyrics and the melody,

That create the perfect harmonies.
It’s the place and the company,
That make the best memories.
It’s the book and the movie,
That preserve the greatest stories.
 Sy
Love is Chocolate

There's something about chocolate

That makes sure my day will be great.
Mixed with fruits and nuts or just plain,
A whole bar's enough to keep me sane.

Like air conditioning on a hot day,

Like a comedian in a tragic play.
As long as chocolate is here,
I know a silver lining will appear.

Hard candies and caramels can’t compare,

To the diversity chocolate bars bear.
With chocolate, one will always make
Delicious cookies, brownies, and cakes.

Dark, milk, or white,

Nothing compares to the sight,
Of everyone's favorite treat,
Chocolate, the beast of sweets.

 Lacson
Sentai (せんたい)

For the earth they will fight

For the earth they would die
To sacrifice all in battle
Is a true Ranger’s pride.
Against aliens big and small,
A true Ranger does not treat it as a chore,
Dropping whatever they are doing
To combat the threat once more.
But as in all wars,
Sacrifices must be made
And this fight is no different,
As seen at the end of the day:
Injuries treated elsewhere
To protect who they are,
Loved ones kept at a distance,
So that to enemies, they are far.
It is thankless work,
But one that must be done,
And for that the public cheers them,
That they stand proud and never run.
Their masks deny their identity
Their tombs forever unknown
They continue to fight the good fight
And to the rest of the world, that is all they’ve ever known.
 Lacson
The Legend Begins

From the humblest of villages, from the smallest of towns,

There the spark is born, as the sun makes its rounds.
It is sometimes a child, sometimes a farmhand,
Sometimes a foreigner, from a distant land.
The hero starts ordinary, as they are wont to do,
But his destiny shall change, and experience shape him anew.
It starts with a princess kidnapped: a maiden dressed in purple and white,
By a dark-skinned, orange-haired demon-man, on his hand a blinding light.
And so the hero journeys, to save the princess and the day
Not typically by choice, but by the triangles of fate.
The Hero of Courage travels all across the land,
Adventuring in dungeons and gathering a merry band.
On his way he discovers secrets, and many items he gains,
The boomerang, the hookshot, and even the Blade of Evil’s Bane.
Finally he is ready to face the mighty Lord of Evil.
He cannot suffer a loss; ‘tis for the land in major upheaval.
The battle between demon and hero, is as fierce as people foretold.
Many steps, many strikes, all their actions are quite bold.
But in the end, the hero triumphs, and banishes the evil to its tomb,
And clutching his injuries, he exits the final room.
The kingdom rejoices, for the land has been saved.
The Goddesses bless their people, for Hyrule has not been enslaved.
And thus ends one Legend, one so similar to the rest.
Wherein a hero rises, and is then put to the test.
But that is not the end. In fact, far from it.
For so long as the Triforce exists, it never ends with the final hit.
And once again the evil shall rise; once again it will try to win;
Once again will a hero combat it; and once again shall the Legend begin.
 Lacson
Seatbelt

I enter the car and start it up,

Fixing my seatbelt before I go.
Have to make sure I’m safe.
She told me that it will keep me attached.

Traffic jam on the highway.

Cars keep honking at each other.
Everything is still; hardly anything’s moving.
She told me that patience is good.

The book falls from the passenger seat,

So I pick it up and put it back.
It’s about the rekindling of an old romance.
She told me that it was romantic.

Finally at the end of the road,

I play with the seatbelt while waiting.
Just waiting for her to come out.
She told me that she always would.

And she never did.

I think I’ll try again tomorrow.
 Lacson
bang

It’s not easy. It’s never easy. The feeling encompasses me once again, and I have no choice but to let it wash
over me, otherwise I’d just collapse, never finishing the job. I stare at the back of my hands, at the veins
popping against my skin. I look back up at the man with the bag over his head. It needs to be done. The
Fuhrer demands that it be done. I think of the man
and his role in all of
this. I think how he is
an officer of the Allied forces. I
think of the
life he lead,
the sacrifice
he is making.
I think of it all.
I pull the trigger.

 Lacson
I look at myself in the mirror

I am fat and ugly I am fit and healthy.

I am slouched and weary. I am tall and excited.
I have an unkempt beard. I have well-groomed hair.
I hold the latest failed long test. I hold a spotless midterm.
I’m gross in dirty house clothes. I’m dashing in suit and tie.
I frown at myself. I grin at myself.
I go back inside my room. He steps outside the front door.

 Cedaña
From: a candle
To: a windchime

My life consisted of sitting here all day

As I watched everyone else simply pass my way
Nowhere to move; Nothing to do
No purpose to rekindle me anew

Stuck, fastened, and jaded had I been

Embedded and adhered to a life so uninteresting
I was simply a tool for using and abusing;
Lifeless and still; my color fading

But then the wind had brought you to me

An entity so beautiful, so free
Your dance stirs the world, and makes the moon sway
Your song, your voice, God, it takes my breath away

Now with a passion, I ask you, please

Take me into your arms and off my knees
With your wings, my angel, my heart will take flight
It is your tinkle, your shine, that has brought me my light

 Cedaña
When I'm far away from home

I lay myself down here

Staring at the big city lights
Outside, cars honk and beep
In gridlock it's pointless.

The stars I used to wish on

Are obscured by the lights
I wear a mask to cover my face
The smoke is thick and hazy.
I want your touch
Yet I don't feel it—
I can't feel it
When I'm so far from home.

A lot of nights I lay down

Thinking of rice fields,
Lying on the roof,
Looking at constellations
Dance and prance,
Leo, Capricorn and
Sagittarius.
And all I see now is smog.
Stars are there
But hidden—
Hidden deep, and so are my wishes.
I can't see them,
But they're there.
Knowing that
You are there.

 Fajardo
#TheDress

they look at me
and all they see
is white and gold.
why is it so hard
for anyone to see
that i am blue and black
all over?

 Fajardo
Invitation

you are as a fine vessel

built for adventure and not for the docks
yet you sit, so anchored, on the harbor
as older ships do
i am as a sail
built for steering, for direction
and i cannot help feeling
i am here naught but for you
other boats and their sails are out at sea
while the wind is whispering a melody
"this fine day does not last forever
would you not rather be dancing?"
the waters beneath you
thrash ever so gently
patiently awaiting your footfalls
await you gliding through them
you could brave this sea
and tame the waters wild
and if you will it, i will give your course
and be your guide
now the wind is singing; the music's beginning
so will you dance with me?
 Fajardo
Cenosillicaphobia

The first drink was vodka

And it blew him off his feet
The sensation of it trickling down his throat
Was like nothing he'd ever experienced
It brought him to the tip of an iceberg
In the Arctic Ocean;
To the ashes of Mt. Vesuvius,
Still fresh from its eruption;
To the blizzards of the Himalayas;
To the deserts of the Sahara

The second drink was beer

And so was the third,
And the fourth. And the fifth.
He could not understand why
He kept shoving it down his throat
A peculiar addiction
To this vile concoction
Beer took him nowhere
But to the bottomless pit
Of his own empty glass
It threatened to swallow him
And drown him
And consume him

A strange fear it was—

His fear of running out;
To avoid falling into that pit,
That void, that emptiness,
He let himself drown instead;
Drowned in this horrible refreshment
Drowned in the thought of chasing a shadow;
A dream; that one day
It will bring him back to the tip of an iceberg
In the Arctic Ocean;
To the ashes of Mt. Vesuvius,
Still fresh from its eruption;
To the blizzards of the Himalayas;
To the desserts of the Sahara;
All the while doomed to realize
After his drunkenness, his delirium; that

Nothing will ever quite taste like the first.