The Fifteenth of a Dozen Verses

The Vitruvian Man: The Italian Renaissance man Leonardo da Vinci (1452–1519) made this famous drawing in one of his journals. It illustrates a naked male figure in two superimposed positions with his arms apart and simultaneously inscribed in a circle and square. According to the notes, the Vitruvian Man, also called the Canon of Proportions, was made as a study of the proportions of the (male) human body as described in a treatise by the Ancient Roman architect Vitruvius.

April 20, Wednesday
*Zest for Living*

Enwrapped in the morn's deaf'ning silence,
I contemplate:
........I can hear the fish-tank water, rippling.
........I can feel my heartbeat, pounding.
........I can sense my stomach, grumbling.

Enraged by this seeming pestilence,
I hibernate:
........I can't do anything self-fulfilling.
........I can't stop myself from crying.
........I can't keep myself from yearning.

Encapsulate me, O Persistence!
I suffer—Fate!
O Death, I'm not yet ready for dying.
Life, recharge my zest for living.

April 21, Thursday
*Empty Nest*

Insomnia is an ally of restlessness;
While trauma, a result of feeling helpless.

Trapped between two evils—what a dilemma!
How I wish for temporary amnesia.

Believe me, I didn't pray for idleness,
Which only aggravates my being hopeless.

I long to see a host of gumamela
In a backyard with an old, tall acacia.

When will I ever make love with happiness?
I'm very tired of wallowing in sadness.

Belovèd, I need your taste and aroma;
Save me from turning into an amoeba.

I'm dying nightly because of emptiness!
I'm living in a house, but I am homeless.

April 22, Friday
*Home, I'm Coming*

On my homecoming I'd surely cry;
I'd hug my loved ones, no questions why.
That day would be filled with tears—
Tears of joy, tears of relief.
Oh, the smell of Philippine air!
The kiss of humid breeze on my skin—
A celebratory banishment of my fears!
My freedom regained, as well as my self-belief.
Back to my circle, where all is fair.
I hope, in the end, I would win.

The thought of my coming home makes me cry.
To this hell hole I could then say goodbye.
Oh how I long for my homecoming;
This early I'm already crying.

April 23, Saturday
*Never in My Life*

I've never been so robbed
........Of my dignity.
I've never been so robbed
........Of my self-esteem.
I've never been so robbed
........Of my confidence.
I've never been so robbed
........Of my freedom.
I've never been so robbed
........Of my ability to decide.
I've never been so robbed
........Of my ability to reason out.

Never in my life
Have I been so unloved!

April 24, Sunday
*Bare-naked Identity*

' spread my appendages like the Vitruvian man.
I'm as bare and naked as I can ever be.
I'll fly away when everything has all been done.
I'd be reborn the same butterfly, soaring free.

When will I ever hear the flutes and reeds of Pan,
Celebrating the return of my dignity?
I welcome the blazing rays of the brilliant sun;
They do remind me of my belovèd country.

' spread my wings and flap them, I am your butterfly;
With you on my back, to the skies I'll bravely fly;
I will free your mind, and you will open my heart.
To me, my Belovèd, you are a work of art!

Everyone, spread yourself like the Vitruvian man;
Bask bare-naked, be proud of your identity!

April 25, Monday
*Life in Monorhyme*

Reading books is my favorite pastime;
Lost in the pages—divine, sublime.
I listen to music all the time;
My life is a seeming pantomime.
I'll write until I run out of rhyme,
But this wouldn't rock my paradigm.
I feel like I committed a crime.
When will I ever have a bedtime?
I hate sleeping this way in this clime!
I live my life on nickel and dime,
But I'll persevere amidst this grime.
Sacrifice with me for the meantime;
The sun'll shine come summertime.
Love like ours comes once in a lifetime.

April 26, Tuesday
*Mukashi no Koto ni Sayonara*

Try to keep your old flames
As your present candles,
To remind you who you are,
To cast you light when it's dark.

Retire from your old games;
Farewell to past moonspells;
Repair your remaining scar;
' past is but a previous spark.

Life's course should be linear;
There's no more turning back.
Yet, life's also circular,
From pure white to pitch black.

Say hello to the present;
Bid farewell to the past.

April 27, Wednesday
*A Mélange of Seasons*

So proud and bright are the leafs of Spring, glist'ning.
I hear the twitter of tiny birds hiding.
Fuchsia flowers, from the trees, gently falling.
Here we are, on a Summer morning, basking;
I stare, in worship, at the sun—beseeching.

Grandfather admires the redness of flowers.
The neighborhood's like a pastiche that glitters!
Lingering in the air: whir of lawnmowers.
I ask myself what, in life, really matters.

Summer breeze—clean and fresh—I inhale, I breathe,
Trying hard to conceal my woes underneath.
Even though the paths you take I can't enwreathe,
To me, Demure, your love and life may you bequeath.

Spring has fin'lly faded; Summer is looming.
Fairies, foliage, and you—in my heart, dancing.

April 28, Thursday
*At Weaving Words*
{composed with my nieces Amber and Julie, who supplied most of the lines}

The sun is bright.
It's nice outside.
The wind is blowing.
Some flowers are pink.

The grasses are green.
Some houses are blue.
Where is the rainbow?
I am asking you.

Not many birds are on sight.
The gray sky is open wide.
The squirrels are peacefully sleeping
There in their hidden burrows, I think.

At weaving words I am so keen,
'specially when I'm feeling low.

April 29, Friday
*Character Assassins*

When will you set them free?
When will you let them be?
They are each already a quarter of a century.
Blame yourself for their antisocial personality.

They'll never talk with me.
I know how they hate me.
Your husband is guilty of destroying my dignity.
What I feel for you, for all these, are disgust and pity.

He said I was gay.
He said I was a druggie.
He said I was a thief.
He said I was stupid.

Oh, you are the ones who had gone crazy,
Projecting all your weaknesses on me.

Hurl invectives all you can, but you can never kill me!

April 30, Saturday
*Trapped in Anomaly*

Please don't get me wrong;
I don't find rapture
In melancholy.

I'm like a sad song,
A caricature,
A self-mockery.

Should I wait? How long?
' tired of this torture.
What's my destiny?

Am I really strong?
I'm no longer sure
Of my sanity.

I long to belong.
Save me, my Demure,
From anomaly.

May 1, Sunday
*To the Death of Calmness*

Can anyone really blame me
If I'm losing my affection
For the father of my mother?

My sufferings they couldn't see;
They threw my life in stagnation.
I've reached the end of my tether.

Someone, give me lucidity
So I can grasp my situation;
So I may start feeling better.

Oh, Mother, may you forgive me
For having made this confession;
Just wait for my postal letter.

Though I'm as calm as I can be,
I can't hold my indignation;
I can't keep myself together.


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