November Fever

How will I ever heal
When my darling is my cure.
How will I be okay
When I got sick loving her.



Noon ako’y naglalakad araw-araw, pumaparoon, pumaparito. Mabilis ang mga hakbang, at hindi lumilingon-lingon. Ako’y tanging nakatingin sa harap at sa aking nilalakaran. Tanging nakatuon ang isip sa aking patutunguhan.

Ngayon ako’y naglalakad araw-araw, pumaparito’t pumaparoon parin. Subalit mahina na ang mga hakbang, at ‘di na lamang tanging nakatingin sa harapan. Walang nasa isipan kung hindi tamasahin ang byahe, sapagka’t ngayon sa aking tabi, ikaw na ay nariyan.

Araw-araw ay pumaparoon at pumaparito. Ngunit lahat ay nag-iba nung ikaw ay andiyan na. Mas naging masaya ako, alam mo ba?
Bagama’t ako’y naging mabagal,
at hindi na rin makapagpokus sa dapat kong gawin,
at madapa man ako dahil hindi na rin ako makatingin sa aking dinaraanan,
ngayon alam mo na,

Ikaw ang aking kahinaan.


I'm afraid to dive into the ocean of you.

I'm afraid that if I go into the jump, I may not be able to rise back to the surface.

I'm afraid your violent waves would flip me around and drown me.

And if I survive, I'm afraid I'd be lost to wander in an infinitely vast sea.

I'm afraid of your depth and the creatures that may lurk beneath me...

But, I'd try to swim anyway.


Her name resounds throughout the world
So vivid and so colorful, so warm and so blessed
And with her in sight, I’m left without a word
Like a rose in the wild, she is the best.

The roses she loves are the white, red, and pink ones
But for me, she’s worth more than combined the three
Like a delicate rose that blooms under the sun,
She is much more than what your eyes can see.

Like how a rose clings through its thorns and prickles,
She’s difficult to move, hard to be swayed.
But gentle as she is with a touch that soothes and tickles,
Like a rose in the wild, she’s beautiful in every way.

A storm or drought or the winter may come
Like worries and aches and troubles do;
Despite them, my Rose still blooms and stands her ground.
Bruised she may be, but she recovers anew.

Been painted by the masters,
Nature’s most fascinating gift.
Still life of trees and fruits and flowers
Cannot compare to the joy that she can give.

She made the bitter sweet and made gentle the ironclad.
Like what my Rose does to me and make me all feel better.
No more was my heart unfortunate and sad
With her love that feels like ten-thousand love letters.

One that softens hearts and breaks a curse,
Like a rose that breathes through air and moisture and sunshine.
For her, I’d pop my lungs, hide in the dark, and thirst
To give all that she needs, so long as she would be fine.

“Oh, she loves me, she loves me not”,
I rosily utter as I peel every petal;
But unlike those flowers that deceive, crumble, and rot,
My Rose is ever true and eternal.

And now all the roses picked from the fields have withered today,
Except for my rose so extant and so alive.
Ephemeral are the others that barely even stayed,
Between me and my Rose is lasting love that binds.

And I am not afraid for a little bit
Even though with her thorns, I will bleed.
Everything is all worth it;
I will endure because she is all I need.


A Word w/ Your Photographs

Your photographs told me you’re sweet and fun, flawless but human…

Your photographs told me you’re sweet and fun, flawless but human.

In life, you showed me you’re moody sometimes; well, you’re still a woman.

Your photographs say you love to angle the left side of your face.

Then I see you today and showed me that every angle of you is beautifully just the same.

Your photographs show me sweet smiles of teeth you always deprive;

But whenever I see you boldly laugh, I couldn’t be more alive.

Your photographs surely never fail to show the sheen and sparkle of your hair;

But how it actually sways in life and how it smells of a lavender field is truly beyond compare.

Your photographs reveal to me a closet of your clothes so dandy and chic;

But modest as you are, the cute plain dresses are the ones you always pick.

Your photographs flaunted the fairest skin that, well, you undisputably have;

But I could not believe that with those uncalloused hands, you could be so hands-on to the things that you love.

Your photographs deem you the prettiest – and I agree, without a doubt.

But it’s your beautiful character and your being which I love best and always dream more about.

The Saddest Word

This is my piece that has been published on Asymptotes – A collection of almosts, the 2016 literary folio of The Collegiate Immaculate.

It may be the saddest word ever created
How often do I pray to encounter it less,
But if I do, I ask, am I really fated,
To wait for my time and accept I’m second best?

The bitter taste of a love we thought would endure,
Falling short to an endeavor we’ve given our all,
To some other moments we thought we were so sure
But “Almost” always surprises, and then we fall.

How’d a word so sad as it is be even made?
A word so simple but complicates everything,
As if I’m indebted to life and it’s been paid
I thought I paid it all; still, it left me seething.