Ang Sarswela Experience

Oo na, kakaiba na kung kakaiba. Ako na ang weird. Pero nahanap ko na ang calling ko at ito ay ang kundiman at sarswela. Sa panahon ngayon bibihira nalang ang nangangarap magtaguyod ng Sining Pilipino. Lalo naman sa henerasyon ko, o sa mga kaedad ko. Salamat nalang at nabigyan ako ng gantong uri ng pagkakataong makilahok sa sarswela dahil sa ganitong mga pagkakataon mo lang mararanasan kung gaano karubdob ang damdaming Pilipino. Sana mas marami pang dumating! Mabuhay ang Pilipinas!

Sabbath

Nung unang araw, sinambit ng Diyos:
"Magkaron ng liwanag"
At liwanag ang siya ngang unang nalikha,
Liwanag nga ba o salita?
Kung nag-usal ang Diyos, sino ang lumikha ng salita?
Ang Diyos ba ang nilikha ng salita
Na may taglay ding likas na kapangyarihan?
O di kaya'y kaliwanagan ang humuhubog sa salita?
Tulad ng salita, na siya ring diwa ng nagwika
At ang kaliwanagan ang lumilikha sa diwa
At ang diwa ay hinuhugot sa salita
Kahalili ng paglikha ng mundo

Sa unang araw ng pagsinta,
Ang dalawang hinihingi:
Salita at kaliwanagan

Salita ng diwang hinubog ng kaliwanagan
Na maaaring nag-usbong sa salitaan din namang
Di maunaawaan ng isipang sumisipat

Dahil nagmula sa damdamin ang diwang hinahawan
Ng kaliwanagang sinasambit ng pusong umaalab
Kung san ang dilim at liwanag ay parang naghahabulan
Ang kadiliman ang lumiliyab tungong kagitingan
At kagitingan ang sanhi ng labis na kapusukan
At silakbo ng pag-ibig ang humihipo sa nahipuan
Nang di pumapalag, nagpapahipo din naman
Digmaang pandaigdigang gumaganap sa mumunting katahimikang
Namamagitan sa dalawang nilalang

Sa paglaon ng pagsinta,
Namumuo na rin ang lupa, ang langit
Ang araw, ang ulap, buwan, at mga bituwin
Ang tubig na tigib ng pag-ibig
Kay panglaw ng mapagmithing pag-agos
At hindi nauubos

Sa pag-agos ng dalisay na pag-ibig
Nalikha ang nananagwan, ang nakikipagsabayan
Pag-agos, agos at walang katapusang agusan
Paglaon, lumaon tiyak ang kapaguran

Sa paglikha kay Adan, nalikha ang kalikasan
Ang pawang kalikhaan nabigyang kahulugan
At sa paglikha kay Adan, nalikha ang kalungkutan
At nalikha ng kalungkutan ang pagkakaroon ng katipan

Waring di napunan ng pag-agos ang tunay na katungkulan

Ang pagiging tigib sa pag-ibig, nagmula pa kay Eba

At umusbong ang pamamahagi, pananarili, kasakiman
Kagustuhang maging Diyos, at maging diyos-diyosan

Nalikha ang puno, ang tukso, ang ahas
Pawang mag-aalay ng mas mainam, ang pagtakas

Pagtakas? Nalikha ang pagtakas dahil sa kalabisan
Dahil kalabisan lang din naman ang ninanais takasan

At ang magkaakibat sa pagbuwag ng tunay na pagsinta:
Kalabisan at Pagtakas

At nang ika-pitong araw, nilikha ang kapaguran
Kapaguran sa pagtakas, samut-saring paraan
Paggapang ang inihatol sa mapanuksong nilalang
Paggapang ang inihatol? Dahil labis ang dinudulot nitong kapaguran
At tila kapaguran ang tunay na parusa
Sa nilalang na nawaglit na ang pagsinta

Pag-ibig, mas nalalabisan pa nga ba ng kapaguran?
Kailan pa natutong mapagod sa pag-agos ang katubigan?

Sabagay,
Kung ang Diyos nga napapagod,
Ang sumisinta pa kaya?

Bucket List

Yung kaibigan ko kasi, si James, gumawa ng crazy list.. siguro wala rin siyang magawa, bored sa buhay kaya nag-ipon siya ng mga crazy stuff na balak niyang gawin (ba't nga ba, James?) Nainggit ako.. bigla kong naalala na may list nga rin pala kong ginawa dati. lamoyun, yung mga kabalakan mo sa buhay tulad ng list for mr. right na wala nang natama ni isa. Pero itong list na to, pinakamatalinghaga sa lahat. minsan kasi pag alam mong may taning na ang mga bagay, imbis na magmukmok ka habang nag-aabang ng katapusan mas mainam maghanap ng pagkakaabalahan. nakakataba kasi ang magmukmok lang. mahirap tanggapin ang mga bagay na patikim, tulad ng buhay. maiisip mo, kung magwawakas lang din naman e ba't di na ngayon? ba't bukas pa? ba't may oras pa? para saan? alam mo? ako oo! para yan sa Bucket List, na para sa mga bagay na may taning na pero trip mo pang ienjoy. Parang pucha, mawawala na rin naman lahat, ba't di pa natin lubusin? Enjoy while it lasts.

Bucket List:

1. Magsimba sa Quiapo
2. Makita ang original manuscript ng Noli at El Fili
3. Magpahula sa Quiapo (nasa quiapo ka na rin naman)
4. Umorder sa Binondo in Mandarin (goodluck jan)
5. Makipagmake-out sa National Library
6. Magpicnic sa Intramuros
7. Umakyat sa Karilyon at saka sumigaw ng sumigaw
8. Makipagholding hands ng patago (hahaha)
9. Matulog at gumising sa piling ng mahal mo
10. Magpinta ng nakahubad
11. Magpatattoo sa hidden part ng katawan
12. Manalo sa lotto (optional na hindi)
13. Magdesign ng hybrid sportscar na nakaprogram magautopilot
14. Ibenta ang prototype at kumita ng bilyon bilyon
15. Libutin ang mundo
16. Makadiscover ng kung anong makakatulong sa human race
17. Maging National Artist
18. Manalo ng Nobel Peace Prize
19. Makapag-asawa nung tipong magiging power couple kayo, world dominating kumbaga
20. Maging world dominator (diba Sacla?)
21. Magkaron ng glass house sa tuktok ng bundok
22. Magkaron ng solar powered glass house sa tuktok ng bundok na ako mismo ang nagdesign
23. Magkaron ng anak na ang pangalan ay Isagani
24. Maging philantrophist (mayayaman lang ang may karapatang maging philantrophist)
25. Makapagtrabaho para sa UNICEF
26. Makapagtayo ng NGO para sa mga batang nagugutom sa Payatas.. at sa Africa pwede na
27. Magkaron ng ferrari at sariling beachfront house sa miami (yeah)
28. Makapagsugal nang hindi nalulugi
29. Magkaron ng impact sa mga Pilipino
30. Magpakasal sa Pope sa Roma
32. Magpakasal sa Pope sa Roma na tagalog ang misa tas Filipiniana ang theme
31. Malamang makarating sa Roma
32. Mailibing sa pyramid sa Egypt na ako rin ang nagdesign
33. Mahanap ang tunay na kasiyahan

Dorothy Parker Poems

Unfortunate Coincidence

By the time you swear you're his,
Shivering and sighing,
And he vows his passion is
Infinite, undying -
Lady make a note of this:
One of you is lying.



General Review of the Sex Situation

Woman wants monogamy;
Man delights in novelty.
Love is a woman's moon and sun;
Man has other forms of fun.
Woman lives but in her lord;
Count to ten, and a man is bored.
With this the gist and sum of it,
What earthly good can come of it?



Ultimatum

I'm wearied of wearying love, my friend,
Of worry and strain and doubt;
Before we begin, let us view the end,
And maybe we'll do without.
There's never the pang that was worth the tear,
And toss in the night I won't -
So either you do or you don't, my dear,
Either you do or you don't!

The table is ready, so lay your cards
And if they should augur pain,
I'll tender you ever my kind regards
And run for the fastest train.
I haven't the will to be spent and sad;
My heart's to be gay and true -
Then either you don't or you do, my lad,
Either you don't or you do.

Eloisa to Abelard

Alexander Pope

In these deep solitudes and awful cells,
Where heav'nly-pensive contemplation dwells,
And ever-musing melancholy reigns;
What means this tumult in a vestal's veins?
Why rove my thoughts beyond this last retreat?
Why feels my heart its long-forgotten heat?
Yet, yet I love! — From Abelard it came,
And Eloisa yet must kiss the name.

Dear fatal name! rest ever unreveal'd,
Nor pass these lips in holy silence seal'd.
Hide it, my heart, within that close disguise,
Where mix'd with God's, his lov'd idea lies:
O write it not, my hand — the name appears
Already written — wash it out, my tears!
In vain lost Eloisa weeps and prays,
Her heart still dictates, and her hand obeys.

Relentless walls! whose darksome round contains
Repentant sighs, and voluntary pains:
Ye rugged rocks! which holy knees have worn;
Ye grots and caverns shagg'd with horrid thorn!
Shrines! where their vigils pale-ey'd virgins keep,
And pitying saints, whose statues learn to weep!
Though cold like you, unmov'd, and silent grown,
I have not yet forgot myself to stone.
All is not Heav'n's while Abelard has part,
Still rebel nature holds out half my heart;
Nor pray'rs nor fasts its stubborn pulse restrain,
Nor tears, for ages, taught to flow in vain.

Soon as thy letters trembling I unclose,
That well-known name awakens all my woes.
Oh name for ever sad! for ever dear!
Still breath'd in sighs, still usher'd with a tear.
I tremble too, where'er my own I find,
Some dire misfortune follows close behind.
Line after line my gushing eyes o'erflow,
Led through a sad variety of woe:
Now warm in love, now with'ring in thy bloom,
Lost in a convent's solitary gloom!
There stern religion quench'd th' unwilling flame,
There died the best of passions, love and fame.

Yet write, oh write me all, that I may join
Griefs to thy griefs, and echo sighs to thine.
Nor foes nor fortune take this pow'r away;
And is my Abelard less kind than they?
Tears still are mine, and those I need not spare,
Love but demands what else were shed in pray'r;
No happier task these faded eyes pursue;
To read and weep is all they now can do.

Then share thy pain, allow that sad relief;
Ah, more than share it! give me all thy grief.
Heav'n first taught letters for some wretch's aid,
Some banish'd lover, or some captive maid;
They live, they speak, they breathe what love inspires,
Warm from the soul, and faithful to its fires,
The virgin's wish without her fears impart,
Excuse the blush, and pour out all the heart,
Speed the soft intercourse from soul to soul,
And waft a sigh from Indus to the Pole.

Thou know'st how guiltless first I met thy flame,
When Love approach'd me under Friendship's name;
My fancy form'd thee of angelic kind,
Some emanation of th' all-beauteous Mind.
Those smiling eyes, attemp'ring ev'ry day,
Shone sweetly lambent with celestial day.
Guiltless I gaz'd; heav'n listen'd while you sung;
And truths divine came mended from that tongue.
From lips like those what precept fail'd to move?
Too soon they taught me 'twas no sin to love.
Back through the paths of pleasing sense I ran,
Nor wish'd an Angel whom I lov'd a Man.
Dim and remote the joys of saints I see;
Nor envy them, that heav'n I lose for thee.

How oft, when press'd to marriage, have I said,
Curse on all laws but those which love has made!
Love, free as air, at sight of human ties,
Spreads his light wings, and in a moment flies,
Let wealth, let honour, wait the wedded dame,
August her deed, and sacred be her fame;
Before true passion all those views remove,
Fame, wealth, and honour! what are you to Love?
The jealous God, when we profane his fires,
Those restless passions in revenge inspires;
And bids them make mistaken mortals groan,
Who seek in love for aught but love alone.
Should at my feet the world's great master fall,
Himself, his throne, his world, I'd scorn 'em all:
Not Caesar's empress would I deign to prove;
No, make me mistress to the man I love;
If there be yet another name more free,
More fond than mistress, make me that to thee!
Oh happy state! when souls each other draw,
When love is liberty, and nature, law:
All then is full, possessing, and possess'd,
No craving void left aching in the breast:
Ev'n thought meets thought, ere from the lips it part,
And each warm wish springs mutual from the heart.
This sure is bliss (if bliss on earth there be)
And once the lot of Abelard and me.

Alas, how chang'd! what sudden horrors rise!
A naked lover bound and bleeding lies!
Where, where was Eloise? her voice, her hand,
Her poniard, had oppos'd the dire command.
Barbarian, stay! that bloody stroke restrain;
The crime was common, common be the pain.
I can no more; by shame, by rage suppress'd,
Let tears, and burning blushes speak the rest.

Canst thou forget that sad, that solemn day,
When victims at yon altar's foot we lay?
Canst thou forget what tears that moment fell,
When, warm in youth, I bade the world farewell?
As with cold lips I kiss'd the sacred veil,
The shrines all trembl'd, and the lamps grew pale:
Heav'n scarce believ'd the conquest it survey'd,
And saints with wonder heard the vows I made.
Yet then, to those dread altars as I drew,
Not on the Cross my eyes were fix'd, but you:
Not grace, or zeal, love only was my call,
And if I lose thy love, I lose my all.
Come! with thy looks, thy words, relieve my woe;
Those still at least are left thee to bestow.
Still on that breast enamour'd let me lie,
Still drink delicious poison from thy eye,
Pant on thy lip, and to thy heart be press'd;
Give all thou canst — and let me dream the rest.
Ah no! instruct me other joys to prize,
With other beauties charm my partial eyes,
Full in my view set all the bright abode,
And make my soul quit Abelard for God.

Ah, think at least thy flock deserves thy care,
Plants of thy hand, and children of thy pray'r.
From the false world in early youth they fled,
By thee to mountains, wilds, and deserts led.
You rais'd these hallow'd walls; the desert smil'd,
And Paradise was open'd in the wild.
No weeping orphan saw his father's stores
Our shrines irradiate, or emblaze the floors;
No silver saints, by dying misers giv'n,
Here brib'd the rage of ill-requited heav'n:
But such plain roofs as piety could raise,
And only vocal with the Maker's praise.
In these lone walls (their days eternal bound)
These moss-grown domes with spiry turrets crown'd,
Where awful arches make a noonday night,
And the dim windows shed a solemn light;
Thy eyes diffus'd a reconciling ray,
And gleams of glory brighten'd all the day.
But now no face divine contentment wears,
'Tis all blank sadness, or continual tears.
See how the force of others' pray'rs I try,
(O pious fraud of am'rous charity!)
But why should I on others' pray'rs depend?
Come thou, my father, brother, husband, friend!
Ah let thy handmaid, sister, daughter move,
And all those tender names in one, thy love!
The darksome pines that o'er yon rocks reclin'd
Wave high, and murmur to the hollow wind,
The wand'ring streams that shine between the hills,
The grots that echo to the tinkling rills,
The dying gales that pant upon the trees,
The lakes that quiver to the curling breeze;
No more these scenes my meditation aid,
Or lull to rest the visionary maid.
But o'er the twilight groves and dusky caves,
Long-sounding aisles, and intermingled graves,
Black Melancholy sits, and round her throws
A death-like silence, and a dread repose:
Her gloomy presence saddens all the scene,
Shades ev'ry flow'r, and darkens ev'ry green,
Deepens the murmur of the falling floods,
And breathes a browner horror on the woods.

Yet here for ever, ever must I stay;
Sad proof how well a lover can obey!
Death, only death, can break the lasting chain;
And here, ev'n then, shall my cold dust remain,
Here all its frailties, all its flames resign,
And wait till 'tis no sin to mix with thine.

Ah wretch! believ'd the spouse of God in vain,
Confess'd within the slave of love and man.
Assist me, Heav'n! but whence arose that pray'r?
Sprung it from piety, or from despair?
Ev'n here, where frozen chastity retires,
Love finds an altar for forbidden fires.
I ought to grieve, but cannot what I ought;
I mourn the lover, not lament the fault;
I view my crime, but kindle at the view,
Repent old pleasures, and solicit new;
Now turn'd to Heav'n, I weep my past offence,
Now think of thee, and curse my innocence.
Of all affliction taught a lover yet,
'Tis sure the hardest science to forget!
How shall I lose the sin, yet keep the sense,
And love th' offender, yet detest th' offence?
How the dear object from the crime remove,
Or how distinguish penitence from love?
Unequal task! a passion to resign,
For hearts so touch'd, so pierc'd, so lost as mine.
Ere such a soul regains its peaceful state,
How often must it love, how often hate!
How often hope, despair, resent, regret,
Conceal, disdain — do all things but forget.
But let Heav'n seize it, all at once 'tis fir'd;
Not touch'd, but rapt; not waken'd, but inspir'd!
Oh come! oh teach me nature to subdue,
Renounce my love, my life, myself — and you.
Fill my fond heart with God alone, for he
Alone can rival, can succeed to thee.

How happy is the blameless vestal's lot!
The world forgetting, by the world forgot.
Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind!
Each pray'r accepted, and each wish resign'd;
Labour and rest, that equal periods keep;
"Obedient slumbers that can wake and weep;"
Desires compos'd, affections ever ev'n,
Tears that delight, and sighs that waft to Heav'n.
Grace shines around her with serenest beams,
And whisp'ring angels prompt her golden dreams.
For her th' unfading rose of Eden blooms,
And wings of seraphs shed divine perfumes,
For her the Spouse prepares the bridal ring,
For her white virgins hymeneals sing,
To sounds of heav'nly harps she dies away,
And melts in visions of eternal day.

Far other dreams my erring soul employ,
Far other raptures, of unholy joy:
When at the close of each sad, sorrowing day,
Fancy restores what vengeance snatch'd away,
Then conscience sleeps, and leaving nature free,
All my loose soul unbounded springs to thee.
Oh curs'd, dear horrors of all-conscious night!
How glowing guilt exalts the keen delight!
Provoking Daemons all restraint remove,
And stir within me every source of love.
I hear thee, view thee, gaze o'er all thy charms,
And round thy phantom glue my clasping arms.
I wake — no more I hear, no more I view,
The phantom flies me, as unkind as you.
I call aloud; it hears not what I say;
I stretch my empty arms; it glides away.
To dream once more I close my willing eyes;
Ye soft illusions, dear deceits, arise!
Alas, no more — methinks we wand'ring go
Through dreary wastes, and weep each other's woe,
Where round some mould'ring tower pale ivy creeps,
And low-brow'd rocks hang nodding o'er the deeps.
Sudden you mount, you beckon from the skies;
Clouds interpose, waves roar, and winds arise.
I shriek, start up, the same sad prospect find,
And wake to all the griefs I left behind.

For thee the fates, severely kind, ordain
A cool suspense from pleasure and from pain;
Thy life a long, dead calm of fix'd repose;
No pulse that riots, and no blood that glows.
Still as the sea, ere winds were taught to blow,
Or moving spirit bade the waters flow;
Soft as the slumbers of a saint forgiv'n,
And mild as opening gleams of promis'd heav'n.

Come, Abelard! for what hast thou to dread?
The torch of Venus burns not for the dead.
Nature stands check'd; Religion disapproves;
Ev'n thou art cold — yet Eloisa loves.
Ah hopeless, lasting flames! like those that burn
To light the dead, and warm th' unfruitful urn.

What scenes appear where'er I turn my view?
The dear ideas, where I fly, pursue,
Rise in the grove, before the altar rise,
Stain all my soul, and wanton in my eyes.
I waste the matin lamp in sighs for thee,
Thy image steals between my God and me,
Thy voice I seem in ev'ry hymn to hear,
With ev'ry bead I drop too soft a tear.
When from the censer clouds of fragrance roll,
And swelling organs lift the rising soul,
One thought of thee puts all the pomp to flight,
Priests, tapers, temples, swim before my sight:
In seas of flame my plunging soul is drown'd,
While altars blaze, and angels tremble round.

While prostrate here in humble grief I lie,
Kind, virtuous drops just gath'ring in my eye,
While praying, trembling, in the dust I roll,
And dawning grace is op'ning on my soul:
Come, if thou dar'st, all charming as thou art!
Oppose thyself to Heav'n; dispute my heart;
Come, with one glance of those deluding eyes
Blot out each bright idea of the skies;
Take back that grace, those sorrows, and those tears;
Take back my fruitless penitence and pray'rs;
Snatch me, just mounting, from the blest abode;
Assist the fiends, and tear me from my God!

No, fly me, fly me, far as pole from pole;
Rise Alps between us! and whole oceans roll!
Ah, come not, write not, think not once of me,
Nor share one pang of all I felt for thee.
Thy oaths I quit, thy memory resign;
Forget, renounce me, hate whate'er was mine.
Fair eyes, and tempting looks (which yet I view!)
Long lov'd, ador'd ideas, all adieu!
Oh Grace serene! oh virtue heav'nly fair!
Divine oblivion of low-thoughted care!
Fresh blooming hope, gay daughter of the sky!
And faith, our early immortality!
Enter, each mild, each amicable guest;
Receive, and wrap me in eternal rest!

See in her cell sad Eloisa spread,
Propp'd on some tomb, a neighbour of the dead.
In each low wind methinks a spirit calls,
And more than echoes talk along the walls.
Here, as I watch'd the dying lamps around,
From yonder shrine I heard a hollow sound.
"Come, sister, come!" (it said, or seem'd to say)"
Thy place is here, sad sister, come away!
Once like thyself, I trembled, wept, and pray'd,
Love's victim then, though now a sainted maid:
But all is calm in this eternal sleep;
Here grief forgets to groan, and love to weep,
Ev'n superstition loses ev'ry fear:
For God, not man, absolves our frailties here."

I come, I come! prepare your roseate bow'rs,
Celestial palms, and ever-blooming flow'rs.
Thither, where sinners may have rest, I go,
Where flames refin'd in breasts seraphic glow:
Thou, Abelard! the last sad office pay,
And smooth my passage to the realms of day;
See my lips tremble, and my eye-balls roll,
Suck my last breath, and catch my flying soul!
Ah no — in sacred vestments may'st thou stand,
The hallow'd taper trembling in thy hand,
Present the cross before my lifted eye,
Teach me at once, and learn of me to die.
Ah then, thy once-lov'd Eloisa see!
It will be then no crime to gaze on me.
See from my cheek the transient roses fly!
See the last sparkle languish in my eye!
Till ev'ry motion, pulse, and breath be o'er;
And ev'n my Abelard be lov'd no more.
O Death all-eloquent! you only prove
What dust we dote on, when 'tis man we love.

Then too, when fate shall thy fair frame destroy,
(That cause of all my guilt, and all my joy)
In trance ecstatic may thy pangs be drown'd,
Bright clouds descend, and angels watch thee round,
From op'ning skies may streaming glories shine,
And saints embrace thee with a love like mine.

May one kind grave unite each hapless name,
And graft my love immortal on thy fame!
Then, ages hence, when all my woes are o'er,
When this rebellious heart shall beat no more;
If ever chance two wand'ring lovers brings
To Paraclete's white walls and silver springs,
O'er the pale marble shall they join their heads,
And drink the falling tears each other sheds;
Then sadly say, with mutual pity mov'd,
"Oh may we never love as these have lov'd!"

From the full choir when loud Hosannas rise,
And swell the pomp of dreadful sacrifice,
Amid that scene if some relenting eye
Glance on the stone where our cold relics lie,
Devotion's self shall steal a thought from Heav'n,
One human tear shall drop and be forgiv'n.
And sure, if fate some future bard shall join
In sad similitude of griefs to mine,
Condemn'd whole years in absence to deplore,
And image charms he must behold no more;
Such if there be, who loves so long, so well;
Let him our sad, our tender story tell;
The well-sung woes will soothe my pensive ghost;
He best can paint 'em, who shall feel 'em most.

Bitter Words

pagsasalin ng 'tonight i can write the saddest lines' ni pablo neruda

Kaya kong magbitiw ng bitter words ngayong gabi.
Mag-scribble-skribulan halimbawa: "Ang gabi ay pilantod
at nangangalantutay, bugbog-sarado, ang mga bituin sa malayo.
Paroo't parito ang hangin at ngumangawang parang baka.

Kaya kong magbitiw ng bitter words ngayong gabi.
Labs ko sya, at minsan daw labs nya rin ako.
Sa mga gabing tulad nito, nilalamas ko sya sa aking kandungan.
Nilalaplap ko sya sa silong ng marvelous na kalangitan.
Labs nya ko, at minsan labs ko rin sya.
Panong di ko mamahalin ang malalaki't
bilugan nyang mga mata --- parang pugita?

Kaya kong magbitiw ng bitter words ngayong gabi.
Imagine kong wala sya sakin. Ma-feel kong na-lost ko na sya.
Mapakinggan ko ang gabing OA, mas lalong OA dahil wala sya.
At ang talinhaga ay dumidila sa malay tulad ng hamog sa talahib.
Ano pa bang meron dyan, Ineng, kung hindi sya mapapasaakin?
Period. Sa malayo, may ngumangawa. Sa malayo.
Aburido ang multo ko sa pagkawala nya.

At para bagang nandyan lang sya sa tabi-tabi, hinahanap ko pa sya.
Hinahanap sya ng puso ko, kapag wala sya sa tabi ko.
Ang gabi ring ito'y nagkukulapol ng dirty white sa mga troso.
Hindi na kami ang dating kaming kami.
Hindi ko na sya labs, pramis, pero labs na labs ko sya dati.
Hinahagilap ng hininga ko ang hangin para bugahan sya.

Nilalaplap na sya ng iba, tulad ng paglaplap ko sa kanya.
Ang boses nya, ang seksi nyang wankata, ang for layp nyang mga mata.
Hindi ko na sya labs, pramis, pero medyo labidabs ko pa rin sya.
Maigsi lang ang labyap ko pero ang makalimot,
sangkatutak na 50 golden years ang inaabot.

Dahil sa mga gabing ganito nilalamas ko sya sa aking kandungan,
Aburido ang multo ko sa pagkawala nya.
Kahit ito na ang last chance ko para magmaasim
at ito na rin ang huling chuminess ko sa kanya.

-----
at ang walang kamatayang english version

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
Write, for example, "The night is starry
and the stars are blue and shiver in the distance."
The night wind revolves in the sky and sings.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.
Through nights like this one I held her in my arms.
I kissed her again and again under the endless sky.
She loved me, sometimes I loved her too.
How could one not have loved her great still eyes.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her.
To hear the immense night, still more immense without her.
And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture.
What does it matter that my love could not keep her.
The night is starry and she is not with me.
This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance.
My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

My sight tries to find her as though to bring her closer.
My heart looks for her, and she is not with me.
The same night whitening the same trees.
We, of that time, are no longer the same.
I no longer love her, that's certain, but how I loved her.
My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing.

Another's. She will be another's. As she was before my kisses.
Her voice, her bright body. Her infinite eyes.
I no longer love her, that's certain, but maybe I love her.
Love is so short, forgetting is so long.

Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms
my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.
Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer
and these the last verses that I write for her.

On Ethics as Being-for-others

'thus conscience makes cowards of us all'

It is said that Ethics is beyond the essence of exsistence as such that it 'does not supplement a preceeding existential base' (Levinas, 1985). Ethics is beyond the 'what is' of being, and is instead presupposing the 'what ought to be' of the 'what is' (Cohen) as if reworded this way, the 'what ought to be' is a unilateral phenomenon of the progression of the 'what is'--of being beyond existing which is therefore beyong being in itself. How, then, is this unilateral transition of the 'what is', what as the being, is as the essence, towards 'what ought to be', ought as the Ethics of being (to be), possible?

'the very node of the subjective is knotted in ethics understood as responsibility' (Levinas, 1985) Ethics, as can be said, is responsibility. Levinas was adamant to say that this responsibility is the responsibility for the Other and not for the self or the being of oneself. In the 'I am' it is the I independent of the am that is responsible, the I which so continually escapes the am in order to be ethical par responsible; escape of being of the I in itself to say that the I is not the I of the am but the is of the Other. Given such grounds, how can the I be ethical, be responsible to the Other? By virtue of Ethics, the I ceases to exist. And in its escape from being, being as a solitary state of existence, the being becomes a being-for-others, responsible for the Other and is therefore ethical. But then again, it is the being I that is the being-for-others. And it is the similar I that in order to be-for-others escapes the being in itself. What then is this I that is no longer in a sense a being of existence as it so eagerly escapes existence to be ethical? In order to be ethical, if one can say that Ethics is the being that is the end of being and essence, the I must cease to exist; the I is replaced, as the end of being, as a being-for-others--being-for-others as a 'synthesis' of the I and the Other. Ergo, the I is no longer an I in itself, and no I is involved in Ethics because it does not deserve to be.

And if by such we have supposed the non-existence of I in Ethics, what then is the Other? the I no longer I but a being-for-others is responsible for the Other. And in a utopian sense of the phenomenon, it can be said that the Other is also a being-for-the other in itself. But the Other, in being ethical, ceases to exist in itself nonetheless, does not become an I but a being-for-others escaping its own being. What is the Other but a being-for-others that is not at all itself. And if the Other is also an I that ceases to exist, what exactly are we responsible for? One paradoxically becomes responsible to a being-for-others responsible to another being-for-others and so forth and so on. Simply put, one that ceases to exist in itself is responsible for another that ceases to exist in itself. Nothing is responsible for nothing. Without the I one is nothing; nothing in a sense that the I is transient and dependent on the others in its definition of being-for-others, nothing in a sense that it ceases to exist in itself. If there is no I in the being-for-others and the Other is also a being-for-others, then the being-for-others which is nothing in the first place is responsible for the Other which is also nothing.

there is no I. there is no Other. there is no Ethics. (?)