Poetry : The Wings of Huggin & Munnin

The Wings of Huggin & Munnin

d. steine

I understand it is uncomfortable

To live forever in a tropical island

For not all truths born in summer

Are indeed ripe and sweet fruits.

Flags had to be changed on familiar ships

Before sailing away to the name of a new bay.

The fragile kite cast against erratic winds

Had to find its way back on broken twine.

Here, now,

The shore around this island

Remembers and rediscovers

The waves as it always were before

Strange voices and small

Footprints arrived and staked

These empty spaces.

It will only be a matter of time,

Only the winds now tread on the sand

While sea foam frolic

On unmarked washed out shore

Ripe fruits on tiny branches

Twirl with the dance of winds,

Revealing their halves pecked

From the return of once frightened birds

In the silence there is a whisper,

A voice so much like a lullaby

Cradling everything on its wings.

But in the silence also descended

The wings of Huggin & Munnin.

Like the pool who remembers

The pebble who fell and on its wake

Sent dying tremors in circles,

This island could not sleep nor forget

The summer that gave birth

To more than just truths and fruits.

Just like in the heart of that departed ship,

That is also a heart,

This island will never be forgotten

While she waves and wonders

Where do birds go when they die,

Or while navigating the new waters

With the navigation of dead stars.

Moving On / Moving Away

Moving On / Moving Away

Fuck the plan! fuck the schedule!

Nah, its nothing much, just my way of expressing my “surprise” at how things work out in regards with the last post I had about not knowing what to do. It seems that this world still conspires to make the things I desire elusive.

So, those 3 works I mentioned are still inside my head, buzzing like bees, or like flies. And as much as I would like to swat them flat, its not that easy, as if work and other daily realities are not enough that something like this has to, strong enough to nudge my schedule by a few days or a few weeks, depending on how I take it.

Once again, I am moving on. Once again I am moving away.

Its weird, the last two birthdays that I had were spent in different places, not to mention all by myself. I was wishing that I could celebrate 2 consecutive natal days in one place, but alas, I am asking too much to be granted that. Admittedly, godless persons like myself still wish for some divine blessings, especially when im asleep, but who am I kidding?

I have learned to love this city, especially the places where I have slept, the rooms I have called my kingdom, my solace, even if only for a while. Somehow, I feel as if I am losing something, no, much like leaving a part of me in these places I reside and depart from.

All I know is this: things were always shifting and drifting, charting their orbits but none have been clearer to me than now. i guess I am going crazy, is all. But then, since I can still say I might be crazy means, I hope I get this right, that I am not yet totally crazy. But just a few nudges and I would be a perfect fit.

Nah, im just incompetent, is all.

I fucked up. And yet for some reason knowing that puts a smile on my face.

You read this far?! Thank you!

Circa Distancia - Poetry : "Reminders for Mei"

Reminders for Mei

d. steine

Because dying is like Heaven

While living is Hell that defines it.

Because everyone loves the flower

Yet never remembers the fragile seed.

Because if one is weak and travels

To where it is night while at home

It is light, then how weak

Is one who preferred to never to go away

Until he realized he could no longer stay?

Because ice kings and queens were born

Wet and warm into soft loving hands, and so

Finger traces and lips prints inherit

The ancient memories to unlock the tears

Even from winter’s eyes.

Because

Because there are a lot of reasons

For one to discover and claim

In the deaths of seasons, in washed out pain.

What Do I Do?

As much as I would have wanted to post something this week, things got out of hand.

It’s not so much about not having any idea of what to write about, but it’s an overload of memories all trying to vie for some position of recognition.

I don’t know why, but since the start of the week, I have been plagued not by one nor two but three ideas for future works groveling and screaming to be written down.

I remember that in the old days (yeah, I am old!) I would not hesitate to write them down one after the other. But I have been careful with the pull and push of memory, and so I thought that if I let them stay as they are, they would remain there.

Big mistake.

Anyway, hopefully, these would be the works you would be seeing after this post:

a) The memory of a girl who had the most beautiful penmanship I have ever seen.

b) It was not a pick up line and even if it was, it did come out naturally and worked out perfectly: the woman in whose eyes I learned to swim.

c) Because I understand why things have to die, I endure one woman’s silence and apathy.

Nuff said, im a government slave and works are waiting.

For Farrah...

I cannot really remember the exact details of the moment I met her, but if there is one thing that I am all too sure is that, as long as my memory serves me well, whether I am a slave in heaven or a prince in hell, I would always remember.

She sent a couple of things then: durian candy, a nature calendar from Toyota, a booklet on kind and soft things and one of the novels that made an great impact in my life, To Kill a Mockingbird. She also sent me a snapshot of her so that we might have an idea that we both indeed were a) human and b) existing. I had to take her word that it was indeed her who was in the photograph, considering I can only barely make out outlines of her female form, and the first thing I thought when I saw that picture was that it was either in the ritual of “hello” or “goodbye”.

Along the way, we traded stories of our lives, of the tragedies that befell us, the choices right and wrong, sweet and bittersweet that are always a part and parcel of human life.

But because our cities were not mere neighbors, we went the way as most people who are distant: we let the winds between the distance carry our voices to who knows where while in separate and distant lives we struggled and strived.

But everything is in orbit, planets, stars and constellations. And the path that diverged and went on separate and opposite directions could only meet again in a world that is round.

I may not remember the exact moment, but I do have an idea of how the years have been to both of us. It would be so easy to tag it with labels such as “cruel”, “sad”, or “interesting.” But one thing that I know is that we have strived and we are still alive. And in this world that is a lot of things, being alive is one very good thing.

There is magic in knowing people: that even as they are absent in sight and sound, they still remain, faint but palpable, yet nevertheless there, waiting for the emptying cup to be filled again before the ritual of separation is held again.

Even saying thank you seems to be so small for how you have remained there. Still, I thank you.

I only hope that my friendship and love is worthy enough to be the gift not only this year, but for all the other years that are still to come.

In the high ideals of “Nindotism”, Happy Birthday Farrah!

Circa Amor - Poetry : "Burning Reasons for a Queen"

Burning Reasons for a Queen
d. steine

Because even the strongest of ice
Could be broken and melted to wash
Away the dirt and dust of yesterday.

Because this world is like that flower
Whose petals could only unfold and blossom
Along a stem whose skin is laced with thorns.

Because your smile is not meant
For absent eyes nor your voice to be
Stranded in the mouth of the harbor,
Like little boats without wind or sails.

Because I have been loved like no other,
So do you deserve to possess the love
You sought and never found
From my own.

Because even in your absence
I find refuge in the tomorrow we promised and so
I desire for you to rediscover your own.

Because your dreams may be yours,
But I would like to chase and witness
Their birth like the light of stars

Distant and silent
As we are now.

Circa Amor - Poetry : Trust

Trust
by d. steine

We were nearing
The depth of the night

The gate to your room was already locked.
Mother could not meet you in my house.

I wonder if you were able to see my face
When you told me of your desire

To witness the waking of the sun
Beside me.

Wary walking along
The silent and empty streets,
There was a music playing: in your voice.

I found courage in how your arms
Twirled like a fragile vine
On my arm.

The bed was yours because I could sleep
While sitting on the wooden chair

Until you patted an arm away from where you lay,
With your soft hands and small fingers you traced
The lost map for my smiles and laughter.

In the dark
While you were sleeping
My fingers ached to discover
The shape of my desire
Never to be alone again
I rediscovered when I met you.

But your dreams are never mine
To frighten and chase away
In the dark.

Then your arms sought for the pillow
With whom you endured the waves
While you sailed the night’s ocean
In your solitary sleep,

The pillow whose absence
You chose to replace
With me.

Circa Amor - Poetry : I Know

I Know

d. steine

I.

I was not a seer on the night

I foretold the end that was to come

In our beginning.

I only saw and heard

With mortal eyes and mortal ears

Your fragile promises sailing

In the uncharted and dangerous ocean

Waves thrashing between our islands

So that it may reach me.

I slept under the light of dead stars

With dreams of holding your hand

While we walk the land like the sun.

II.

I woke up and saw between us

The earth spitting jagged mountains and hills.

Wild fires of memories dancing in mad abandonment--

The waters clothed in ashes, rising as mist

To wall off the hands of the sun.

The wind whispered something in my ear

I did not hear for it came without

A trace of your summer blossoms.

While we were sleeping and dreaming

Someone gave birth and I do not know

I do not know if it bears my name or your’s--

Our name or that of another.

Since that day

I have been going on and on and I have found and lost my way over and over again and I met strangers and friends who tell me I should go out and smile again instead of just talking with myself who knows I might find what I am looking for in this world that spins or dances or twirls and along the road I came along pathways that told me you were out there and that your hands and kisses now belong to someone else and I wonder if you remember me when I go to sleep at night and my hands and fingers tremble in its craving to be held down by yours while my head aches and remembers the unrivaled softness and warmth and refuge offered by your twin breast every time you held me against your chest that no pillow or mattress could ever replace and I have dreams of waking up and the first thing I see is you watching me with your burning eyes that tells me you have been watching me while I sleep so that I would be safe from the mares of the night that stomp their feet and it would be then that I would realize that you are not there and that I am going to be late if I don’t hurry up because the sun had already began its walk of the world and I remind myself I promised that I would go on and write the books of my life for my friends and myself and my son and I would live until I could not do it anymore and not before then and so I go on as I have been going on and on …

I do not know if I am a fool

For though I have seen

The breaking of a world

I look up to the dark heavens

Where there are no gods or goddesses

Because the dark clouds that hover

Promises the fall of rain

To wash away dust & stains.

Like your promise.

You will come back to me, I know.

III.

For every left I take

I remind myself to take another

To make it right.

you will come.

back to me.

i know.

I endure the loss of each day

Soaring in nicotine,

To wash away the pain

I swim in caffeine.

You will come back to me, I know

And I wait for you

With sleeping eyes and awakened ears

You will come back to me

Even if only to keep

Your fragile promise

To tell me

Farewell.

I know.

In Progress : Poetry : "Intimacy"

Intimacy

I lay there, still and silent

Like the ruffled blanket

Longing to be ruffled again

With the imprints of last night’s love.

With your eyelids of heaven and earth

Embracing each other, I savored

The blooming and harvest of your dreams

With every caress of your breath on my chest

Where you lay listening to the emerging

Voice who would only speak your name.

Note: things can only get worse. i mean, it gets longer and longer to finally come up with a few lines good enough for me to publish and read by myself. the process is indeed exacting the full payment. but then as they say, its better to spend hours just to write a few good lines. and though i nearly gave up because it was just too elusive, im glad something came up.

i wonder how the finished form would be like...

things can only get better.

Uncovering Covers

it has not been easy, nor do i think it would be in the coming days.

but then i always knew with a deep certainty that something only means a damn if it was alongside its ugly and opposite reflection.

project life. my life. and its only fitting that death would be in the picture. not the usual death, but the different kinds of dying that is as varied as the different ways for living.

going through the creation of the book is akin to giving birth. and yet why do i feel that at the same time something is dying inside of me.

i guess im just tired.

anyway, there it is, the cover for the poetry book (i just finished layouting page 97..) whew. its finally out. its finally born.

"Falling into Love" is what i call the image, something that i found after digging up what i call the Sihaya Collection. the image represents everything i hope the book would be: sweet, melancholic, tragic, blissful, silent, screaming, a promise of forever, the reality of a moment.

cheers!