A Priori

by Mahal Ko Kuya Ko   Sep 6, 2025


Lately, I have been remembering
so much of my younger years,
memories unfurling and dragging me
to the soft cadence of those tender days—
glutinous rice, sinigang in guava,
the incoming footsteps of my Mother,
and the way I hurry to make my bed.

It's hard for me to cross a busy street,
but this isn't about that.
I've read so much about Carthage
that it has been stuck in my head
for a month and 2 weeks now—
its lost glory and impermanence,
a ruin echoing my own.

Do you also feel it?
The nostalgia and pain
exclusive only to the rain of Manila—
the scent of wet earth
and the stings of summer.

In the cracked pavements
of this haunting city,
dandelions still grow.

I can't cross this crowded street,
stalled at its cruel edge,
but there you are on the other side—
the second-coming
of my youthful dreams—
reborn yet unreachable.

Yes, this isn't about that,
but I can never reach you.

You are the spaces I can never close.

--- Written for Everlasting's I Have A Dream Contest.

    report violation
1


Did You Like This Poem?

Latest Comments

  • 1 month ago

    by ddavidd

    This is so poetic. It needs no accessory, no external musicality, to reveal its beauty. In free verse, one can easily see the fine line between poetry and prose, as well as between poetry and musical prose. The distinction lies in the way imagination and reality intersect with pure emotion and internal rhythm, forming a beautiful array of expression~where imagery, colours, and verbal painting take the place of logic and premise.
    So I will not go into the context of your poem or attempt an analysis, though I am tempted to do so—for your words need no dissection; they speak for themselves.
    "In the cracked pavements
    of this haunting city,
    dandelions still grow"
    One cannot be more poetical than this: the nostalgic beauty, the love that cannot be walked upon and trampled, the paradox of unreachable rebirth. Manila~the love that does not exaggerate, for it is real.
    I also have thoughts about your other poem, “Muscle Memory,” but perhaps I will share those later.

    The best of the best

    DD

  • 1 month ago

    by ddavidd

    This is so poetic. It needs no accessory, no external musicality, to reveal its beauty. In free verse, one can easily see the fine line between poetry and prose, as well as between poetry and musical prose. The distinction lies in the way imagination and reality intersect with pure emotion and internal rhythm, forming a beautiful array of expression~where imagery, colours, and verbal painting take the place of logic and premise.
    So I will not go into the context of your poem or attempt an analysis, though I am tempted to do so—for your words need no dissection; they speak for themselves.
    "In the cracked pavements
    of this haunting city,
    dandelions still grow"
    One cannot be more poetical than this: the nostalgic beauty, the love that cannot be walked upon and trampled, the paradox of unreachable rebirth. Manila~the love that does not exaggerate, for it is real.
    I also have thoughts about your other poem, “Muscle Memory,” but perhaps I will share those later.

    The best of the best

    DD

More Poems By Mahal Ko Kuya Ko