[Where? Right here. I am. Right here.]
I like for you to be still
It is as though you are absent
And you hear me from far away
And my voice does not touch you
It seems as though your eyes had flown away
And it seems that a kiss had sealed your mouth
As all things are filled with my soul
You emerge from the things
Filled with my soul
You are like my soul
A butterfly of dream
And you are like the word: Melancholy
I like for you to be still
And you seem far away
It sounds as though you are lamenting
A butterfly cooing like a dove
And you hear me from far away
And my voice does not reach you
Let me come to be still in your silence
And let me talk to you with your silence
That is bright as a lamp
Simple, as a ring
You are like the night
With its stillness and constellations
Your silence is that of a star
As remote and candid
I like for you to be still
It is as though you are absent
Distant and full of sorrow
So you would've died
One word then, One smile is enough
And I'm happy;
Happy that it's not true
—"I Like For You To Be Still," Pablo Neruda
[Awhile ago, I had read this at National Bookstore with a wry smile.]
***
Their anger aged
hardening into a creed
having turned away their faces
they took with them our own
—"The Judgment," Lia Lopez-Chua
All my life I have looked
at so many things
have seen so many changes
and have looked for the one thing hidden
but something there is the eye
always misses
and even as I look at you now
a wind have taken something with it
and what is left
is always what is here
always of a sudden
—"Poem for a Child about to Grow"
[She is not a fan of punctuations, and I have, preferably, a different title for the second poem to suit myself. Right now.]
***
What kind of girl, after all, takes any trip on her own? A bold girl? A silly girl? Oh, she wanted to be both, for once.
"The Piazza Barberini," Nicola Barker
[I want to be both, more than once.]
***
What I did in Bathalad Convention: learned, laughed, laughed, laughed, and laughed. With old Bathalads.
***
Pauli ko sa amoa.
