blots of blood

Blots of blood clot and cling
Upon the leaves of gray grass –
A sea of gun powder scent assaults
My dreams like mad soldiers
Trembling fingers trigger thunders
That burst skulls and splinter hearts
And crush dreams dreams dreams
Of silent seas, of green hills, of kites
Kissing rainbows arching over the hills.

Each morning I awake
The scent of gray grass
And blood tails my nostrils
Breathe deeply says my monk friend
And I do and bullets crisscross
in my chest. Come to me

Taste my blood come
Be with me in my dreams dreams dreams
Kites kiss clouds over the hills
O hills embrace me with your foggy green grain
O sea sing sing sing me a lullaby.

06feb2007/ 2:30pm


elusive death

Buried beneath the crevices of my hand
are million of lost laughter and broken kites
and tattered petals.
I can feel the crying bursting off my veins
popping out of my eyes
louder than the staccato of guns in the mountains.

This war is in my heart,
why can’t I kill you at once?
What prevents me from pulling the trigger?
Why can’t I kill you? What do I fear?

Nothing is sacred,
nothing can’t be traversed,
vengeance are spiky stares,
are barbed wires,
are thorns forced upon my head.

Why is it that when I look at you
I see my ferocious eyes,
I see my cowardice,
I see my sins.

Why do I hear pulse throbbing
each time I aim my gun at you?
Why am I so afraid to kill you/

LIFE HAS NO LIGHT without death.
I just want to spread light
so that we may know life better.

But why is death so elusive, why?

09feb2007/ 9am

i long for a dream

I’m in the middle of the road,
hundreds of cars buses trucks bicycles pass through me.
Thousands of people pass through me,
then I hear thunders from afar,
from Mindanao
and I see blood ,
I see eyes wide open dead.
I smell hatred, I smell bigotry, I feel the trees falling down,
I taste poison in the river once pristine,
once mother to us all, I hear volleys of gunfire,
in their voices I see doves falling, falling, their wings unspread.
I feel the bronze and the nickel bullets piercing through my heart,
I long for a flower that sway at the slightest whistle of wind,
I long for a dream, for a lucid dream in a moonlit night.