The way we used to be

We used to be close
With friendship being built through time.
Against all trials.
But then there came a time
When it went too far
And it caused pain
As the deepest parts of me
Became uncovered,
Revealed,
Until I could not stand the spotlight anymore.

Slowly the girl moved away
From the spotlight
To the backstage
To the exit door
And ran away.
Crying.
Broken.

It took days and weeks
Until the emotion faded somehow.
I went back,
Tried to fix it up.
To restore everything
To the way we used to be.

Probably it is I who built the wall
Unconsciously.
A defense mechanism
Of someone who is afraid of being uncovered,
Revealed.

Probably they were the ones who built it.
I just don't fit in
Since I'm not the one
They are expecting me to be.

Maybe it's time
To accept the change.
If it's impossible to embrace,
Maybe,
At least,
I have to accept it.
Just like that.
Because everything has changed
From the way we used to be.

Trembling Flicker

(a villanelle in reply to Rizal's poem Kundiman)

another PI100 (Rizal) requirement.
because I never thought I would be able to write something like this. :)

***

The trembling flicker radiating so bright.

Generations might have not listened to your song, yet

The dawn will surely come with its light.

Struggle appears then disappears in sight;

For years, your words that people forget –

The trembling flicker radiating so bright.

Silent cries echo with all its might

And your voice was expressing regret.

The dawn will surely come with its light.

Those lives which were lost from this long fight

Will ignite your words that people forget –

The trembling flicker radiating so bright.

The time has come when some have heard what's right.

A day will come when tears will not wet.

The dawn will surely come with its light.

Your love song will be sung by people who unite;

At last, our land will hear it as justice is set.

The trembling flicker radiating so bright.

The dawn will surely come with its light.

Images in Black

Close your eyes.

See the vast image of black.

Then you'll realize

There are lots of things to be seen in almost opaquely dark.

The times that were once yours

The days when what surrounds you was everything

When words were gentle and not deafening like roars

When what is impossible was nothing

Something that your soul yearns to see

Everything that the heart has been telling about

Something that the ear had heard from a shout

Everything that the child inside you wants to be

The times that you wished not to be seen by you

The days when you wished you were sleeping or dead

When colors around you were gray and blue

When the body and the soul were deeply wounded

Close your eyes.

See the vast image of black.

See that the "was", "will be" and "must be" in your mind becoming alive

See that the "must not be" are creeping in the dark

Although the eyes are closed,

The heart still beats.

The face sometimes smiles;

There are times that it cries.

The tears may fall.

They happen.

Close your eyes.

See the vast image of black.

Hear the silence of the night that is dark.

Wait until the thought temporarily dies.

Wait until you fall asleep. 

just to share you a poem... :)

Tonight I Can Write...
Pablo Neruda

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

Write, for example, 'The night is shattered

and the blue stars shiver in the distance.'

The night wind revolves in the sky and sings.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

Through nights like this one I held her in my arms.

I kissed her again and again under the endless sky.

She loved me, and sometimes she loved me too.

How could one not have loved her great still eyes.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her.

To hear the immense night, still more immense without her.

And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture.

What does it matter that my love could not keep her.

The night is shattered and she is not with me.

This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance.

My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

My sight searches for her as though to go to her.

My heart looks for her, and she is not with me.

The same night whitening the same trees.

We, of that time, are no longer the same.

I no longer love her, for certain, but now I loved her.

My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing.

Another's. She will be another's. Like my kisses before.

Her voice. Her bright body. Her infinite eyes.

I no longer love her, that's certain, but maybe I love her.

Love is so short, forgetting is so long. [emphasis added]

Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms

my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer

and these the last lines that I write for her.

***

I first encountered this poem as a reading in our HumI class. What was posted above is a translated version of a poem written originally in Spanish. This poem sounds a bit emo-ish to others; but for me, this is one of the most wonderful sad poems I have ever read. It is beautifully written, although it expresses a sad emotion of heartbreak. And those italicized words make up my favorite line. A perfect metaphor, indeed. I cannot understand Spanish, and just imagine how much more beautiful the original piece of this poem is (You can Google the Spanish version of the poem, btw. ;D).

A Poem Written on a Tissue Paper

Run as if the day won't end.

Although the world can't comprehend,

Let your dreams spread out like light

Like infinity that is far beyond one's sight.

As you travel across the depths and heights,

Never stop moving as long as the track is right.

Move a mountain or rustle the leaves of a tree.

In either way, a difference is what they will see.

10222011

6:52pm

Untitled

They're like songs resonating in my ear,

Songs that lack notes but with music as I hear;

But then, they are simply plain words spoken,

A double-edged sword that strikes on a heart that's broken.

At first I had a regret of giving in

Since it was a life that's tired of losing.

Shameful, without pride, I stood to survive,

Went on like a puppet, waiting for each day to arrive.

Like the usual days, my knees touched the mud on ground.

There's nothing new on the low with my feet on bound.

I didn't care breaking what is already crashed.

Who minds to my dreams burning into ash?

As I look face-to-face with the earth where I fell,

A voice bravely spoken woke me up from hell.

"Will you freeze yourself while time keeps on running?

To listen to the struggling mind that negates faith,

Or to hear the voice of the heart and its dying passion?

Whatever it is, stand. I care."

Suddenly, my eyes opened.

No chains nor dirt as I lie supine on my bed.

From my eyes a drop of tear fell,

It's not a nightmare, though it seems I was dragged from hell.

I tried to sleep to go back to that "dream"

But I failed, for there was neither whisper nor scream.

My soul wants to hear those words again,

And wholeheartedly, to say thanks to him.

11212010

*This was written before To Close a Book. My first attempt after two years.
This is a poem about learning and life. I am so thankful that I was able to meet that person. :)

Nostalgia

Can I modify my past for a while?

Of course no human being can struggle against the waves of time; and all I can do with that memory is to laugh at it.

...at least there is something to laugh at.

I recovered a draft of my old poem at the back of an old high school notebook. I already forgot the title of this. As I was reading the lines, I feel like I want to say "Craaappp...". In reality, I was not able to say anything; only made me smile. Am I really writing this way years back? The good thing is that the other poems are now gone.

To share my young thoughts (or more appropriate to say as my something-to-laugh-at memory), here it is:

For the spark that I saw in the midst of darkness;

For the wave that was moved by the wind of sweetness;

For the star that I wished to achieve from the sky;

For the rain that fell gently from the mildest high;

For the chance that was once with me but lost in the end;

For the bear that gave comfort but went out from my hand.

Shall I finish each statement with a single dot

Or add up another two to say, "Thanks a lot?"

...and I am sorry giving a tangle in your thread

'Cause I can't simply say what's running in my head.

Now that I have lost the small piece that I have hoped for

Will it be back to me in the time of my honor?

I hope that this will be the last time that I'll close my eyes,

For I don't want to be fooled again by thise sweetest lies.

*So yun na. (Sounds so emo-ish.)There is a time written below the poem: 7:30pm. I can't remember the date. This poem had a different fate among the others that were burned. I decided to keep it... for fun. :)

****

Think only of the past as its remembrance gives you pleasure. -Jane Austen

Pasted from <http://twitter.com/#!/elaineloreen>

07282011 (microblog)

I recovered a draft of an old poem in an old high school notebook last summer. :)

I kept it to have something to laugh at when I grow old.

And lately I realized one thing from it: when you are writing at the height of your emotions, expect the weirdest outcomes.

Cypsela

Feel a child's dream

As I hold you close.

Keep the words I want to scream;

But as soon as you grow up, feel free to expose.

I close my eyes

For that's the only way I can say

My wish for a simple prize

And my vow with you beginning this day.

Fly, my little wonder!

The world wants you to depart from me.

Wind will guide you as you wander

Until you land the earth that will love you wholeheartedly.

*Cypsela - (definition from Wiki) an achene-like fruit derived from the individual florets in a capitulum. (i. e. dandelion)

- with hair-like structures as an adaption for "flying" or seed dispersal

I haven't seen a dandelion ever; but when I was a child, I used to say some wishes on cypselas (I do not know the name of the weed, but it is not a dandelion.), then I'll blow them away. Cypsela is the scientific term for that fruit. It may be hard for you to accept that those little flying stuffs are fruits; but that's the truth. THE FRUITY TRUTH. :))

11182010

2nd year, 2nd sem. New life... and hopefully, a better class standing.

I can't believe that I am still alive for more than a year since I entered college. Miracles happen.

So why did I end up posting a blog again in this site (after a long time)? Hhmm... I simply miss posting anything here. Since no one reads this (and I do hope that someone will do, someday), I think I should post more blogs here. >:)

...

I love writing. My campus journalism experience molded this interest of mine since when I was in elementary. In fact, I was a news editor before. It is hard to believe that this blogger, who seemed nothing in the real world, was an editor of her school paper.

What I love the most in writing is poetry. Unlike news articles, essays and commentaries, it is in poetry where I can fully express myself. I write poems way back when I was in high school. They may be not as great as the ones written by famous poets, but I can assure that my poems are expressive. However, none of those poems were existing. You might probably find me crazy, but I burned all of them, deleted in my previous blogs; thus making them all extinct. I made them for certain reasons; and I have no regrets in doing that. It sets me free.

Last month, I made a promise with myself that I will make poems again. I have been busy in the last several months (for more than a year, in fact) doing academic stuffs. College made me a boring person. I simply want to revive this dying passion of mine. This is my way to tell the world that I already moved on from the darkness of the past and constantly changing... No one can put boundaries around and keep me from expressing myself through and between the lines.