№ 821. The Odyssey

rahalarts

 

№ 803. Villanelle

 

 

№ 781. Fear

 

Fear

№ 719. The Cruellest Month

April Fools

April is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
Winter kept us warm, covering
Earth in forgetful snow, feeding
A little life with dried tubers.

--- TS Eliot

№ 709. Do Not Love Half Lovers - Kahlil Gibran

Do Not Love Half Lovers - Kahlil Gibran

Do not love half lovers
Do not entertain half friends
Do not indulge in works of the half talented
Do not live half a life and do not die a half death
If you choose silence, then be silent
When you speak, do so until you are finished
Do not silence yourself to say something
And do not speak to be silent
If you accept, then express it bluntly
Do not mask it
If you refuse then be clear about it
for an ambiguous refusal
is but a weak acceptance
Do not accept half a solution
Do not believe half truths
Do not dream half a dream
Do not fantasize about half hopes
Half a drink will not quench your thirst
Half a meal will not satiate your hunger
Half the way will get you no where
Half an idea will bear you no results
Your other half is not the one you love
It is you in another time yet in the same space
It is you when you are not
Half a life is a life you didn't live,
A word you have not said
A smile you postponed
A love you have not had
A friendship you did not know
To reach and not arrive
Work and not work
Attend only to be absent
What makes you a stranger to them closest to you
and they strangers to you
The half is a mere moment of inability
but you are able for you are not half a being
You are a whole that exists
to live a life not half a life.

№ 690. Kindness

 

№ 683. Pulubi - Rio Alma

Rio Alma

№ 659. Lord Byron

Byron

№ 559. Perhaps the World Ends Here

by Joy Harjo

 

№ 516. Pag-Ibig

"Pag-Ibig" by Apo Hiking Society 

No'ng tangan ng nanay ang munti mong mga kamay 

Ika'y tuwang-tuwa, panatag ang loob 

Sa damdaming ika'y mahal

 

No'ng nakilala mo ang una mong sinta 

Umapaw ang saya at siya'y ibang-iba 

Sinasamsam ang bawat gunita 

 

Hindi mo malimutan kung kailan nagsimulang 

Matuto kung papa'nong magmahal 

At di mo malimutan kung kailan mo natikman 

Ang una mong halik, yakap na napakahigpit 

Pag-ibig na tunay hangang langit 

 

No'ng tayo'y nagkakilala nang hindi sinasadya 

Ikaw lang ang napansin, nahuli sa isang tingin 

At sa pagbati mong napakalambing 

 

Hindi ko malimutan kung kailan nagsimulang 

Matutong ikaw lang ang mahalin 

At di ko malimutan kung kailan ko natikman 

Ang tamis ng iyong halik, yakap na nakapahigpit 

Pag-ibig mong tunay hangang langit

 

Hindi ko malimutan kung kailan nagsimulang 

Matutong ikaw lang ang mahalin 

At di ko malimutan kung kailan ko natikman Ang tamis ng iyong halik, yakap na nakapahigpit 

Pag-ibig mong tunay hangang langit 

 

№ 498. Sorrow into Sustenance

"I read tonight that certain moths drink the tears of sleeping birds, turning sorrow into sustenance." from Wanderer, by Luisa A Igloria.

Pinterest

№ 471. Time

"You would measure time the measureless and the immeasurable.
You would adjust your conduct and even direct the course of your spirit according to hours and seasons.
Of time you would make a stream upon whose bank you would sit and watch its flowing.
Yet the timeless in you is aware of life’s timelessness,
And knows that yesterday is but today’s memory and tomorrow is today’s dream.
And that that which sings and contemplates in you is still dwelling within the bounds of that first moment which scattered the stars into space." --- Kahlil Gibran

№ 459. The Guest House

The Guest House

This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
As an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they're a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.

Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.

---Rumi

№ 458. Manila Extract 2 (ECQ)

Gutenberg

You are rabid.
Fugitives spilled from lockdowns
streaming on my walls.

You are febrile.
A torrid kiss
left by the contagion on my lips

You are Manila.
A hunter kindled by plague
stirring rust in my blood.

№ 442. A Brave and Startling Truth

Understanding Humanism

A BRAVE AND STARTLING TRUTH
Maya Angelou

We, this people, on a small and lonely planet
Traveling through casual space
Past aloof stars, across the way of indifferent suns
To a destination where all signs tell us
It is possible and imperative that we learn
A brave and startling truth

№ 439. The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock

The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock

BY T. S. ELIOT

S’io credesse che mia risposta fosse
A persona che mai tornasse al mondo,
Questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse.
Ma percioche giammai di questo fondo
Non torno vivo alcun, s’i’odo il vero,
Senza tema d’infamia ti rispondo.*

Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherized upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question ...
Oh, do not ask, “What is it?”
Let us go and make our visit.

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.

№ 418. Ad Astra

When we dream about
our future, we plunder scenes,
plots and peoples. Like

mobius loops wrung taut,
we fuse words, knives and prayers.
We build sand castles,

kites plastered on sticks,
and tin men to slay terrors.
Then wake up consumed.


 

№ 396. Freedom

"...freedom, I am told, is nothing but the distance between the hunter and its prey." --- from "On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous", Ocean Vuong

№ 390. V for Vicissitudes 2

№ 388. In Media Res

Poppies
Mary Oliver

The poppies send up their
orange flares; swaying
in the wind, their congregations
are a levitation

of bright dust, of thin
and lacy leaves.
There isn’t a place
in this world that doesn’t

sooner or later drown
in the indigos of darkness,
but now, for a while,
the roughage

shines like a miracle
as it floats above everything
with its yellow hair.
Of course nothing stops the cold,

black, curved blade
from hooking forward—
of course
loss is the great lesson.

But I also say this: that light
is an invitation
to happiness,
and that happiness,

when it’s done right,
is a kind of holiness,
palpable and redemptive.
Inside the bright fields,

touched by their rough and spongy gold,
I am washed and washed
in the river
of earthly delight—

and what are you going to do—
what can you do
about it—
deep, blue night?