Memories

I remember.
I tried to resist, yet
it comes back to me like surging water
strongly and mightily returning,
like the ocean waves I saw that night.

I remember
those times when you rest your head
and then your arms in my shoulder,
when your bright eyes
shimmer like the stars
I saw those nights.

Until now I can remember
how your beautiful
eyelashes
danced and swayed its way
towards my heart,
towards my mind.

And then the days we ate together are here
with me, again.
I looked at you, with your each scoop,
each bite, every time you
wipe your lovely lips.
And as I sip my coffee
I still looked at you.
And my day is bright again.

And then I remembered those days
when we walked together.
You did not notice,
that every time you are not looking
I looked at you,
fearing that each look would be the last
and that something that is so sweet
might be so fleeting
as other sweet things had been
in my life.

And just as I had expected,
the sweetness had been abrupt,
shortened by intricate acts of destiny
which until now I cannot bring myself
to comprehend.

And so I just reminded myself of these things.

- James Miraflor (01.24.06)

Hamburger

Ba't di ka mawala sa isip ko?
Nandito ako, nakaupo,
nakaupo sa upuan sa harap ng
komputyer na puti, napupuwing sa
alikabok ng aming bentilador.
Pero di ka pa rin mawala.
Hindi ko nga alam eh. Ewan ko
ba, para kasing meron tutubi sa utak
ko naglalaro ng boksing
tapos imbis na "Pacquio! Pacquio!"
yung sinisigaw nung mga ipis
(oo ipis yung audience), sinisigaw
nila pangalan mo. Sabi nila,
"_____! _____"!
Pero me biglang sumigaw na
lamok "Lodyes! Lodyes!". Nagulat
tuloy ako, kala ko sabong.
Pero meron namang lumapit sa
akin, sabi nya, ano ka ba gumising ka
nga. Pero sabi ko di ko kaya.
Kasi di ka pa rin mawala.

Di ko nga alam e. Actually marami akong
di alam. Di ko alam kung paano
humingi ng sori sayo
dahil di mo naman ako
pinapansin. Di ako marunong magluto
ng adobo. Di rin ako marunong
mag-bike (pero marunong akong lumangoy).
Pero alam ko naman na kung
susubukan kong lumapit sayo
para humingi ng sori, di mo
naman ako sasagutin.
Alam ko rin na lalo ka lang
mas magagalit sa akin.
Tapos lalo mo kong di papansinin.
Tapos haharap na naman
ako sa puting kompyuter,
magta-type ng tulang jologs,
mapupuwing na naman sa
alikabok ng bentilador na di
ko pa rin nalilinis.

Pero di ka pa rin mawawala.

- James Miraflor (01.30.06)

End

I'm afraid of the end,
for I know not where to begin again.

The sun knows to rise in the east
after setting in the west.
The wind that the sea steals at night
is returned as a gift of love
to the coast each morning.
The water gathered by the heavens
knows when to return to the earth
as rain. Or sometimes snow.
Tempest. Storm.

But I
know not where to begin
after you ended me.

Rather,
like ashes of a burned love letter,
I had been scattered by the four winds
to the endless sky.

Like a purpose ended, fulfilled,
I am nothing anymore,
nothing without you.

- James Miraflor (03.09.06)

Incision

This is the end.

I am aware, that I had suffered
long enough, and thus,
this time I shall fight.
I shall choose to resist;
when the waves of
desire begin to rise again,
I shall vanquish it;

And when my eyes will
again look for you,
I shall gouge it,
and squeeze it, until it bleeds,
until it can no longer
see anything but my blood,
red with my detestation
of you.

And when my ears will
again crave for your voice,
I shall cut it, and then I shall
push sticks and wood
and dirt unto it,
until my eardrums squeal
in throbbing pain,
in stinging silence.

And when my tongue begins
to speak of you again,
I shall slice it in
half, so it can never speak
of anything about you or
your beautiful eyes.

And when my mind
begins to generate images
of you, I shall bang my head
unto the wall until it
cracks, and then I shall get
a knife and cut you off
my brain. Then you'll no longer
be of the past, nor of the future.

I shall do so again and
again until you are no longer
with me.

- James Miraflor (03.17.06)

Bukas, wala ka na

Mayroon pa ring kaunting natitira.
Hindi ko maalis ang aking pagsinta.
Pinilit ko giliw, na kalimutan ka.
Pero nandyan ka pa rin,
nandyan ka.

Sinubakang iwasan, ang lahat tungkol sa'yo.
Ngunit di ko magawang, utusan ang puso ko.
Dahil sa pagbukas hanggang sa
pagsara ng aking mata,
nandyan ka.

Sinubukan ring hayaan, ang puso'y magmahal
umaasang pag-ibig ko'y, siya ring mapapagal,
mapapagod, magsasawa sa kaiibig sa iyo.
Ngunit nalaman sa huli, nagkamali ako
at ngayon napopoot, punong puno ng galit
dahil kahit anong gawin hindi ka mawaglit
dahil sa bawat sandali, sa bawat saglit
nandyan ka.

Nais kitang kalimutan, sa gayo’y walang pag-aalinlanga’y
ako’y gigising, kinabukasan ng umaga,
Maghahanap ako, na tila ba may nawawala
at maiisip ko na lang, na oo nga pala,
wala ka na.

Sana bukas wala ka na.

- James Miraflor (02.19.06)

Comment: I really don't do non-free-verse poems, so this is just an experiment. It sounds so mushy, which is so not me. But I really do think it would be good as lyrics in a song or something.

Hate

Comments: This took me a while to finish, about five months, I think.

----------------------------

I

We are connected by hate;
anger, seeping from the innards
of our souls, dissipating only
in the presence of civility,
only to return in the moments
of silence, of solitude,
when we are together,
the hate is back.

You look at me with
indifference. You intend to tell me,
I will not have an ounce
of aversion, no pint
of attention. You'll deprive
me the hospitality of
an enemy. I will have nothing but
artificial, ornate
cordiality.

But there is no cordiality when
we're alone, only the air
of discomfort thickening between
us, choking us into silence,
drowning us into cold,
uneasy calm.

II

Your eyes betray your
seething scorn, laced by your
usual sardonic smile. I remember
your eyes, then, full of innocent
charity, now bereft of any
amiability, now awashed with
distaste.

And no one can see our hate.
People, seeing us in casual
encounters, moments of meeting and
quick trysts, can only hear
the silence of our hearts.

III

And I cannot sleep, for my
eyes are perpetually irradiated by
your bitter memory, blinding
me everytime I try to end my
sordid wakefulness.

My hate of you, too personal,
too consuming that it is intimate,
too absolute that I fear that
my hate is nothing more but a
strange parody of love.

For everytime you smile your
sardonic smile, everytime your
hate connects to mine, everytime
contempt is as real as my flesh
touching yours, my affection becomes
as real as the silence
of your heart.

IV

I will hate you till
I love you
no more.

- James Miraflor (07.26.2007)

Destiny

If I had been enough,
I would have tried to have
you.

Maybe,
there is a reason why
princesses are only meant
for princes, why a commoner
are meant only for
commoners (or sometimes, for
no one), why grasses grow
only in pastures and
not in bricks, why morning
dews are only for highland flowers
and leaves and trees and not
for carcasses of dessert
hyenas.

I, an agent of
the proleratarian revolt, should've
rejected this. The politics
of my class commands me to assert,
in a deafening cry, that you
can love me as much as
I can love you.

But no. Flowers indeed would
look awkward growing
on street bricks, and dead hyenas
can only be wet by the vulture's
spit.

- James Miraflor (09.28.2006)

Change

They say people change,
that you are not who
you used to be yesterday,
that you will not be who
you are today.
Then I realized its not true.
For how come that I,
after loving you yesterday,
still love you today?
How come I know that
I will love you tomorrow
still?

Then I realized,
people do change afterall.

For I know that I love you
more today than I had loved you
the days before that,
and less than I will love
you the next day.

- James Miraflor (05.13.06)

Iwanan mo na ako

Iwanan mo na ako.
Iwanan mo na ako.
Iwanan mo na ako.
Iwanan mo na ako.
Iwanan mo na ako.
Iwanan mo na ako.
Iwanan mo na ako.
Iwanan mo na ako.

- James Miraflor (03.21.06)

Receptacle

0 1 2 6 15 31 56 92 141 205 286 386
0 1 4 9 16 25 36 49 64 81 100
1 3 5 7 9 11 13 15 17 19
2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2
0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0
0 0 0 0 0 0 0
0 0 0 0 0 0
0 0 0 0 0
0 0 0 0
0 0 0
0 0
0

- James Miraflor (03.21.06)

Vow

I watch you fade away
slowly, in my mind.
Memories of you, slipping
away as the earth sucks down
the sands of the hourglass.

Then I watch you fade away.
Again. I've seen this before - you
fading away from my mind,
only to return with as
much strength as when I first
loved you.

How many times did I love you?
How many times did I un-love you?

I can't remember now.

Then I watch you,
gone. Again. Though this time,
I expected you to return -
the scars in my heart,
caused by your occasional reappearances,
reminding me of your unspoken vow
to come back,
and hurt me again.

- James Miraflor (03.07.06)

Three hours

Three long hours,
I waited. I waited for my consciousness
to pass out from the
fatigue of the day's work.
I tried to put myself to sleep,
reading a book to bore my mind
and tire my eyes, thinking
that that'll do the job.

Three long hours,
I struggled. I struggled to fixate
my mind to things I thought
would be less painful or bothersome
to think about. And then I struggled to
blank my mind of
things, thinking
that that'll do the job.

And in that three long hours,
I failed. I failed in my effort
to forget you,
to forget that I still love you,
to forget that until now
you hate me.

Three long hours
of waiting.
Three long hours
of regret.

At last, I am asleep.

- James Miraflor (02.21.06)

Cold

The night had been cold.
I wondered, if you are here,
could it have been warm?

- James Miraflor (01.27.06)

Elegy for a pig

That afternoon,
I watched as my comrade, forced by fear,
expelled his excrements
in the streets.

He did it, as his would-be
executioner dragged him, towards the
pedicab that would bring him
to that dark and grimy slaughterhouse.

I, for so long now,
had been called by my comrade’s name,
his name evoking shame, self-disgust,
and hatred, his name representing
people’s eternal abhorrence
of corpulence.

Then I saw my comrade that fateful afternoon.
Though his sinews are tightening, his
abdomen painfully contracting, his
limbs almost collapsing from
the weight of his own fear – my comrade,
his eyes, projecting silent courage, his
tranquility, demonstrating acceptance,
in calm defiance, with firm resolve,
he faced his executioner in the
most resolute manner,
understanding that his death is simply
the fulfillment of his purpose.

He did not struggle.
Yes, his body seemed that it wants
to flinch and lurch in terror.
But he had enough dignity,
to show that he did not intend to reveal it,
to show that he wants my last memory
of him to be a portrait of
humble self-respect.

That afternoon, I said to myself,

I would no longer wear my comrade's name
with shame.

- James Miraflor (01.27.06)

My Poems

I hate my poems.

They do not sound as beautiful
or mysterious or passionate
as great poets' poems.

Instead, they look ridiculous,
sound amateur, appear
sloppy.

They don't rhyme, nor do they have
rhythm. They do not use words
that can sway feelings.

They show no creative
streak, no flash of genius, no
shade of inspiration.

My poems, are nothing
but my shattered thoughts, veiled by
poor attempts to impose
literary intent.

And as I struggle to
compose each verse, each line
for my deficient poems, I realized
how futile it is to draw out
beauty from me when
there is none.

And thus, my pathetic efforts to
write poems and amuse my
readers, remain fruitless.

Instead, clouded by ambivalence
and contradiction,
my poems annoy everyone
who reads them.

And they cannot but hate my poems,
as it is natural for one to hate
which one cannot love.

I hate my poems. I
hate my poems. I hate
my poems.

- James Miraflor (01.27.06)