If I bury my poetry
underneath Manila skies...
I'm afraid
that you just might...
We seem like capital cities apart...
Everyone seems to be moving on...
This is a lonely hallway,
but I have walked on this...
My heart prickles in pain
remembering how lonely...
A thousand
cherry blossom petals...
Those orange streetlights
that are illuminating the cars that are parked...
I always thought that fire is the only thing that...
and that roses are blessed for their thorns...
I've heard loud silence of Manila lately,
and it is so sincere that whispers...
Don't hate me,
my poetry...
4 AM and still awake,
having glances with midnight trains...
This ornate road
I used to pass by...