Ni Minsan

Sabay sa pagpihit ng hangin
ay ang pagtangis mo ng lihim;
lingid sa karamihan, ika’y nalulumbay
sa mga sandaling ‘di mawaglit, ‘di nila kayang ibigay.
Hindi mo lang alam.
Kung alam mo lang. Ika’y di maalis sa’king isip–ni minsan
‘di napagod, kahit na nakikita kita.
Nakikita kitang tumatangis kaiisip sa kanya.
Na kahit pa alam nating dalawa na wala kang halaga sa kanya.
Na kahit pa madalas sa minsan, hindi ka niya naaalala.
Na kahit pa nasasaktan ka na, pinipilit mo pa rin maging masaya.
Tanungin mo ako, ang sagot ko’y ito:
“Hayaan mong abutin ko ang kamay mo,
sana. Sana. Ito’y pakinggan mo;
dahil ni minsan pa’y di mapapagod sa pagsinta sa’yo.”
JKPN 2016

Nang minsan hindi ko pumiling umibig

Pinilit kong kumalawa
sa mga mararahas mong pananalita,
mga labing nagtatanong sa mga matang na katulala;
ako pa ba ay ‘yong magagawa–
magagawang tanggapin ng buo’t may pagsinta?
Hindi man kita lubos na kilala,
walang araw na ika’y nawaglit at nawala,
walang panahon at oras ika’y inalala;
pagka’t di man ito halata,
sa buhay ko’y ika’y mahalaga.
Nanalig ako at naniniwala,
darating ang araw–sana. Sana.
Wag ka sanang mangamba,
marahas man ang iyong mga salita
ay di na makasusugat pa.
Hindi na muling luluha pa.



JKPN 2016

Nine twenty-two

Like droplets of rain
that fall slowly onto the earth:
as I wait, I dream of us together.
Know that I love you
only because
I know this with great certainty.

And even if you shall
say otherwise, I will heed;
take my breath if you must.
take the bread if you must.
But never, I beg of you,
your music that resounds my heart.

I write this letter of hope —
of anxiety — sent to wherever you are.
I will weep as little by little
I will stop myself from loving you.
I do not know how to say it–
my tongue is broken.

But I love you:
like a music box
with a ballerina that only
dances to the tune
she’ll ever hear.
Until then…
my heart aches.


in which the words that I desperately want to utter has choked and has left me gasping for air; I breathe but only to be drowned over and over again. Amdist forced letters and spaces, I still find the solace albeit ephemeral, stolen and candid like a bandit in the wee hours of the night. In the supposition of paying it forward, here’s something to some man who was once–hopes still is–an inspiration. Thank you and happy birthday.


tl;dr: a poem written on the notion of “being in love”, unrequitted love that is. Title read as eleven-eleven P.M. Would love to hear what you guys think and so do chirp in the comments section 🙂



Words will always be just that:

w o r d s

that will never be enough

those three words…

One day, someday

I’ll be over you;

but tonight til


let me love you.

Let me cry in your arms

for I find

peace, just like how





Soon enough


I’m grateful through

the day my eyes close,

through the day

the words still cut

but do not bleed.

Not anymore.


Indak ng mga nota ng panahong nawaglit ka sa aking piling.

kasi ako’y naging biktima ng pagkakataon: isang pangungutya ng pagkakataon. ako’y patawarin, ito’y dinggin.


sa hangin na dumuduyan

sa bawat ugoy

ng mga salitang

p a r i t o ‘ t – p a r o o n

na umukit sa mga bituin

sa langit; iaalay ko’ng lahat

makita ko lamang

ang ngiti

na umiindak

sa’yong matatam-is

na mga labi: bukas,

bukas nang muli

ang mga brasong

sabik na sabik

sa init ng ‘yong pag-ibig.


minsan pa’y

ibabaling ang tingin…





I Gave You

and you’re always in my mind;

the window to your world gives a glimpse

that I selfishly want for me.

I believe you helped me—thus,

I give you my heart. my soul.

and the blood rushes to my cheeks:

the picture of you in your white

wedding dress, etched.

I just want that feeling,

just once more.

Tell me what to do.

I’ll be your man and we’ll fly high.

And even when you’re feeling


know that my wishes have come true.




Wide-eyed frantic stare;

Loomed above the streets below

are busy—

Let’s hope tonight will come.

Eager bodies and restless souls:

Enslaved by their own. On their own.

Vaguely, I only made out

the commons we had.

Wasted time.

Wasted opportunities.

were not.

I bought the wrong ticket.

And you left.

Who am I not to be still


by your beauty?

You eased the pain I’m feeling;

I wish for you to never grow old.

Opened arms and loving smile—

Closed, calm eyes:

I hope for the night to come again.

Curtain Call.

And like the at most end of performances, it’s time for the curtain call.



But maybe, not just yet.


The spotlight’s on us; I take on the mic.


I don’t know if I have manned enough to post my message for you guys. I am, after all, may appear as just another lazy classmate who you once had the doomed chance to be seated with. Or the not-so reliable group mate. Nonetheless, I want to take this opportunity to speak my mind once again.

For once, I never regretted and cried over something I was used to doing. When I thought I have grown up, I never actually did. And thus, the consequences of leaving a group of people I finally came to realize I call friends.  Family. Home. Cliché as it may appear, it was a nice notion. That kind of idea that boils something intangible inside you.

The full two years with you made me realize things. Faith. Desires. Hopes. Goals. And of course Love. These what drive and motivate the young mind of our generation. It’s something worth treasuring and keeping. Those days with you: may it be under an umbrella, or on the chairs and tables of the square canteen, or the shade of the tall, green trees, or; walking and weaving our way through the sea of people.

Yes, the sea of people. As we individually take on our chosen paths, I yearn for our paths to meet. And then, we bow. Flowers are tossed.

Momentarily, the curtain is called. ‘Til we meet again. 



I would love to hate everything about you…

except that your almond eyes speak more than your lovely mouth.

except that your nose isn’t real but it doesn’t get long, way better than real but could lie a thousand years.

except that your pink, plump, luscious lips are always filled of better judgment. For others—always thinking about others.

except that your ears will always yearn for that good music you long to give but has been given by you already, even from the start.

except that your rosy cheeks that contain the lone dimple that discards the abnormality of itself.

except that your beautiful long slender fingers fondle the piano and saxophone so well.

except that your goddamned of a body is perfectly sculptured, it’s inhumanly possible not to be devoured noticed.

except you’re too goddamn of a selfless idiot. I hate every fucking selfish bastards instead.

except that you’re an angel born on a lovely rainy day. Definitely sent from up above.


except that I love you too much that it hurts. I hate myself instead.