Musings on a Missed Friend (1)

Gazing up at the vast, night sky as
I listen to Alison Sudol
sing about picking apples from trees,
I attempt to count the stars I see.
They seem to be a lot brighter here,
looking like glitter on a black sheet.
Then my thoughts gravitate towards you,
and I suddenly wish you were here
sitting next to me on this front porch.
Maybe you could help me number these
stars, because there's just too many of
them for me to count alone. Then we
could sing along in off-key voices
and talk about the song and the stars.

-Nocturnal Scribe

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Musings on Shopping

"Juan Says Pits Ul"

Sa sulod sa usa ka bazaar sa Colon,
milantaw ko sa mga paninda nga naka-displi.
Paghimatngon nimu naku,
miduol ka samtang ga-tingsi.

"Unsa'y ato, mam?" Miingon ka naku.
"Aduna mi'y skene dzens nga ga-sel:
tulo kinyentos."

"Dili lang, miss. Naa pa'y dako niini?"
Nangutana ko nimu, samtang nitudlo sa usa ka sinina.

"Ah, mam, kinsa'y musuot?"

Naglagot ko.
Wa nimu gitubag ang ako'ng pangutana.

"Ang ig-agaw sa'kung iring." Mitubag ko,
ug ikaw natingala.

Wala ka katubag. Hala oy.

"Ako bitaw ang musuot." Nitug-an nalang ko sa tinuod
para dili ka ma-stress.  Ug usab nako'ng gipangutana:
"Aduna ba mo'y mas dako niini nga size?"

"Ah, mam! Kanang, kuan mam!
Juan says pits ul naman na siya, mam.
Suwayi lang ug sukod. Ma-igo ra lagi na nimu."

Nagbukal ako'ng dugo. Wa kaha siya nayabag?
Juan says pits ul? Kadako nga bakak!
Wala ba siya kakita naku nga
naga-barog sa iyang atubangan?
Wala ba siya kakita nga dili mi pariha ug lawas?

"Size Sexy man ko, miss." Miingon ko.

"Ha? Unsa, mam?" Naga-tingsi lang gihapon ka.

"Wala. Ayaw nalang, miss. Mura'g dili man ni mupaigo sa
ig-agaw sa'kung iring. Sa pikas nalang ko mangita."

-Nocturnal Scribe

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© Nocturnal Scribe, 2012

Musings on Love Handles

"Bilbilo'ng Gugma"

Ang ako'ng gugma para kanimo,
susama sa ako'ng bilbil.
Bisa'g unsaon naku ug hiyak,
bisa'g unsaon naku ug tago, ug
bisa'g unsaon naku ug pugong,
dili jud kini siya
mahiyak, matago ug mapugngan.
Musugwak jud kini siya ug magpakita.

Ang ako'ng gugma para kanimo,
susama sa ako'g bilbil.
Kay tulo kini siya ka hut-ong,
sama sa usa ka pagoda sa mga Insik.
Ug ang buot pasabot niini kay,
"I love you."

-Nocturnal Scribe 

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© Nocturnal Scribe, 2012

Musings on Resentment

You sit across

me, excitement reflecting

in your eyes—

a sign that

you’re about to

tell us something.

“So there was

that one time,”

you say, but

I cut you

off by asking,

“What date is

it today again?”

I ask the

person to my

left.  She responds

and asks me

something in return.

From the corner

of my eyes,

I see your

jaw clench, but

you remain silent

and sink back

into your seat.

Strike one.

I continue to

speak of different

things and notice

you slowly begin

to relax.  Something

I say catches

your attention and

you ask me,

“What?  You really

drink that? Seriously?”

But I pretend

your words don’t

reach my ears.

My tale resumes

and I notice

you glaring at

the table, frowning.

Strike two.

I shrug, pretending

not to see

you.  So I

talk again to

the person on

my left and

she laughs at

all my jokes.

The clocks ticks

and time skips,

and I see

you rise and

say, “It’s time.

We should better

go and start

now.”  You leave,

but we don’t

follow you out

immediately.  We linger

in the room

for a little

while, enjoying our

conversation.  And when

we’ve exhausted ourselves

of speaking, we

decide to go

after you.  Just

as we leave,

we see you

coming our way

with a frown

on your face.

“If you’re not

up to doing

it, I’m leaving.”

You announce peevishly

And brush past

us.  We watch

you stride off

with bewildered looks.

Strike three.

You’re out.

-Nocturnal Scribe 

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None of the posts in this blog may be reproduced or copied—either completely or partially—in any forms or by any means without permission in writing to the Author.

© Nocturnal Scribe, 2012

Musings on Panic

Vengeful heat beat down
        The sunburned man turned chartreuse
               Our feet touched pavement

Like ants, they spilled out
       Confusion flooded the streets
               An echoing shriek

Pandemonium struck
          Trepidation engulfed me
                 His firm hand found mine

Adrenaline pumped
        We watched a Hollywood scene
                 Everything's surreal

Shoving here and there
        The current sweeps us upward
               We pray for safety

 







-Nocturnal Scribe
Note: February 6, 2012; 2:45pm

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None of the posts in this blog may be reproduced or copied—either completely or partially—in any forms or by any means without permission in writing to the Author.

© Nocturnal Scribe, 2012

 

Musings on Memories

Memories play a
      confusing role:
You laugh at all the
      tears you recall;
And all those moments when
      you once laughed
Now breaks your heart and
     leaves you sad.
It's hard to love in
     a world of spite.
Sometimes you fail--
     try as you might.
So live each day with
     love and laughter
Because life is one hell of
    a beautiful disaster.

 -Nocturnal Scribe

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None of the posts in this blog may be reproduced or copied—either completely or partially—in any forms or by any means without permission in writing to the Author.

© Nocturnal Scribe, 2011

Musings on Longing

It's been four years--
four years,
four years...
And you'd think that by now,
I'd have gotten over it.

Well,
it seems like I haven't.
I mean,
I don't always think about it,
but whenever December comes
waltzing
around the corner,
that familiar sense of longing,
that ebbing pain
resurfaces.
And I spend December
in regret
thinking
of bitter
"what ifs".

What if ... I hadn't let him out of my sight?
What if ... he hadn't left me?
What if ... I had done this or that instead?
What if ... things had been done differently?

We'd still be
together,
that's what.
But
it's useless to try to
turn back time in my mind
because what's done
is done.

All I can do now
is hope and pray
that he'll come back...
that I can find him...

Because
believe me,
I've looked.
For four years
I've looked.
And sometimes,
I wonder
if he ever
looks back.

Looks back to that day
at Colon, near Jollibee, Leon Kilat;
or
looks back to that day
at the plaza under the Tambis tree;
or
looks back to that day
at the lake in the woods.

Because I do.

I look back...
and I
remember.

I remember
the intense gaze of his gray eyes.
I remember
his quick grin.
I remember
the way his hair would fall back against his forehead
after he'd brush it away with his fingers.
I remember
how protective
and kind
and generous
he was and
how good he was with kids.
I remember
his charismatic and adventurous spirit.
I remember
that day at the basketball court when
he was so brave when
Carlo threatened him.
I remember
how much he loved
spaghetti.

But...that's all there is
left of him.
Memories.
It's December again.
And I find myself singing
this song:

"So I go back to December,
turn around and make it alright;
I go back to December
all the time."


Come back,
Raphael.
I miss you.

-Nocturnal Scribe

This blog is protected by the Philippine Copyright Law, Republic Act 8293.

None of the posts in this blog may be reproduced or copied—either completely or partially—in any forms or by any means without permission in writing to the Author.

© Nocturnal Scribe, 2011