Thanks to you, I know what I want and I can’t go back. I want to feel the way I did last night everyday. I want to be with someone who ten years from now makes my heart jump when I hear her key in the door. And that someone is you.
one final burning | part three
iii.
no, it does not begin
with any crackling sound
like scarred scripts burning.
this flesh by flesh gobbling
up is initially one painless
smouldering, flames gutting
everything standing in their sweep
within the ring
of their annealing.
and then, the smell!
like something acrid, acid,
carbonaceous, quite nothing else.
and slowly, this strange oozing
smell swells, redounds into
spitting, splitting noises,
pain cracking up
in many pieces
in different places
all at once! still -
its life cinders on
until this ultimate imploding,
one deafening blast to the climax rite
as loved ones writhe, ashen
in their own consumed shells,
or perhaps, relieved at last
over this burning's end.
the skull tautens, breaks,
bursts forth into nothing, nil,
its ghosts given up...pure annihilation!
the cold remains of its spirit
ash-kohl in its final irrevocable
bleak dissembling, now, here in
this one kind of final burning.
no, it does not begin
with any crackling sound
like scarred scripts burning.
this flesh by flesh gobbling
up is initially one painless
smouldering, flames gutting
everything standing in their sweep
within the ring
of their annealing.
and then, the smell!
like something acrid, acid,
carbonaceous, quite nothing else.
and slowly, this strange oozing
smell swells, redounds into
spitting, splitting noises,
pain cracking up
in many pieces
in different places
all at once! still -
its life cinders on
until this ultimate imploding,
one deafening blast to the climax rite
as loved ones writhe, ashen
in their own consumed shells,
or perhaps, relieved at last
over this burning's end.
the skull tautens, breaks,
bursts forth into nothing, nil,
its ghosts given up...pure annihilation!
the cold remains of its spirit
ash-kohl in its final irrevocable
bleak dissembling, now, here in
this one kind of final burning.
one final burning | part two
ii.
i know this one
could not possibly go
the way of all other
dying old houses.
firewalls isolate it,
so it sizzles on in private,
contained in all its seethings,
its intimate designs
within itself intensified
into poetry's richly ringing
intertexted lines limned
in cycles of firelit pain
and joy, sovereign and sole
within its fragilely flammable
formidable walls, my personal
incandescent world that had
then burnt on and on, not out
nor down, but forever quietly on.
and because forever,
some ghosts of it are fielded
all over the site of its ruins.
imagine fluffs of light,
ghoulish emanations of its
immortal remainders, picking up
their paths slowly, dawdling
over previous treasures, worldly
and invisible, and now, so soon
assuming their eerie sheen,
an afterglow of cinders burning
flameless in the tomb of night.
i know this one
could not possibly go
the way of all other
dying old houses.
firewalls isolate it,
so it sizzles on in private,
contained in all its seethings,
its intimate designs
within itself intensified
into poetry's richly ringing
intertexted lines limned
in cycles of firelit pain
and joy, sovereign and sole
within its fragilely flammable
formidable walls, my personal
incandescent world that had
then burnt on and on, not out
nor down, but forever quietly on.
and because forever,
some ghosts of it are fielded
all over the site of its ruins.
imagine fluffs of light,
ghoulish emanations of its
immortal remainders, picking up
their paths slowly, dawdling
over previous treasures, worldly
and invisible, and now, so soon
assuming their eerie sheen,
an afterglow of cinders burning
flameless in the tomb of night.
one final burning | part one
by ophelia a. dimalanta
i.
it is the wind's demolishing hand
come to soon fell this imperious
frame into its final death-swoon,
its seared selves dispersed
piece by piece; faint flappings
in the air, hurt birdwings
bleeding in post-mortem spasms,
strange noises in the dark
flung far off into the nightmare
of one's waking moments. and it is
these later residual resonances
that could stalk one's nights
since the exact contour and voice
of its going must only be imagined,
must be suffered by the scavenging,
senses, salvaging possible hanging-on
shards of her here and there,
even as the had been instantly
wrenched, erased as it were,
as if it never had been,
in this post-prandial passing.
one can only then recast, re-image
over and over, more pained each time,
mount on the soul's scorched lapidaries,
her lamellar incinerating,
the slant of her first crumbling,
the rumble and shade of her deepest
moan, and this one nightfall fitful
stirrings in the flaying wind.
i.
it is the wind's demolishing hand
come to soon fell this imperious
frame into its final death-swoon,
its seared selves dispersed
piece by piece; faint flappings
in the air, hurt birdwings
bleeding in post-mortem spasms,
strange noises in the dark
flung far off into the nightmare
of one's waking moments. and it is
these later residual resonances
that could stalk one's nights
since the exact contour and voice
of its going must only be imagined,
must be suffered by the scavenging,
senses, salvaging possible hanging-on
shards of her here and there,
even as the had been instantly
wrenched, erased as it were,
as if it never had been,
in this post-prandial passing.
one can only then recast, re-image
over and over, more pained each time,
mount on the soul's scorched lapidaries,
her lamellar incinerating,
the slant of her first crumbling,
the rumble and shade of her deepest
moan, and this one nightfall fitful
stirrings in the flaying wind.
embracing the quiet
In the mean time, I have ceased reading Manix Abrera’s Kikomachine Komix…since it’s almost June, I felt like taking the time to reflect (?!) on some things in my life right now and just try to unlearn and re-learn new things. I am going back to my passion and my love - writing and reading poetry. I am actually delighted that I now have time to embrace the quiet and just be on my own.
I finally started reading the poetry anthology ‘A Passionate Patience’ which was edited by my personal favorite – Ricardo M. De Ungria. I got the book about a month and a half ago when I was in Clark and it only cost me Php35.00. I know it’s crazy but I am happy I got a really nice material for such a small amount.
What struck me – of all the 10 poems included in the collection – was one that was penned by Ophelia A. Dimalanta.
She’s just phenomenal. I can’t bring myself to talk about how great she is as a poet because as of this time I don’t think there's any more word that would suffice.
I’ll be posting all three parts of her poem ‘one final burning’ in a bit.
you, i guess
It would break your heart to see her;
And mend what was broken in a moment;
And you would be twice what you were before.
-Clive Barker-
And mend what was broken in a moment;
And you would be twice what you were before.
-Clive Barker-
with red roses...
every night i empty my heart
but by morning it is full again
slow droplets of you seep
into the night’s soft caress
at dawn i overflow
with thoughts of us
an aching pleasure
that gives me no respite
love cannot be contained
the neat packaging of desire
splits asunder
spilling crimson through my days
long, languishing days
that are now bruised
tender with yearning
still searching for a fingerprint,
a scent, a breath
you left behind.
but by morning it is full again
slow droplets of you seep
into the night’s soft caress
at dawn i overflow
with thoughts of us
an aching pleasure
that gives me no respite
love cannot be contained
the neat packaging of desire
splits asunder
spilling crimson through my days
long, languishing days
that are now bruised
tender with yearning
still searching for a fingerprint,
a scent, a breath
you left behind.
melancholy
the first poem i have written in a month, i think...
shadows and shades
that obscure your
perpetual grin
descend and swallow
the grim and
dreamlesss journey
of your hand,
the deluded and
ill-fated trail
to your mouth,
the throbbing, shackled,
nostalgic smoke
that tell me
we once were.
shadows and shades
that obscure your
perpetual grin
descend and swallow
the grim and
dreamlesss journey
of your hand,
the deluded and
ill-fated trail
to your mouth,
the throbbing, shackled,
nostalgic smoke
that tell me
we once were.
i can't think straight
I saw a nice little indie film over the weekend. I can’t think straight is an unconventional romantic film – and I don’t mean to say it’s unconventional because the two female leads fell in love with each other but because they both were in heterosexual relationships before they met and everything changed when their paths crossed and their galaxies collided.
Tala was portrayed by Indo-Canadian actress, Lisa Ray (who by the way is sparkling in this movie – I fell in love the first moment she raised her eyebrow and pouted her lips). She’s the daughter of a wealthy Jordanian couple, and being in the upper echelons of a Middle Eastern society meant being rigid when it comes to following their traditions – which also meant hiding her sexuality from her conservative family.
Tala’s parents were preparing for their daughter’s marriage (she was engaged three times before) when she met Leyla (played by Sheetal Sheth, an American actress of Indian origin), a bubbly, blithe woman her best friend Ali is dating at the moment.
The chemistry between them was apparent the instant they shared a scene. Both were very smart women, but their character’s contrasts were what made the movie appealing. Leyla was free-spirited whilst Tala was sometimes forced to think within the limit set by her stiff upbringing.
Tala saw something unique in Leyla’s unassuming personality, who secretly wanted to be a writer. Friendship blossomed, and it was Tala’s encouragement that allowed Leyla to pursue her dream despite her parent’s disapproval. Tala’s outspoken challenges to Leyla’s beliefs paved way to a journey to self-awareness for Leyla. Before they know it, they were in an affair that’s just too good to miss.
But as the wedding day approaches, Tala’s sense of duty to her family and her country pushed her to leave Leyla, leaving the latter broken hearted but liberated – she finally breaks up with Ali and comes out to her mother and father. Before they parted, Tala told Leyla that 'I can't ruin lives.' Leyla, with certainty and gloom, answered: 'You will. Especially yours.'
The scene where Leyla ‘outed’ herself was actually both funny and touching. Her mother wanted for her to have a ‘normal’ life – that being married to a guy – so when she finally told her parents about her sexuality, her mother went ballistic, saying that ‘she’s up to her neck with her sins.’ Her father, however, provided such a comic relief in a very tense situation. He just came back from work and missed what Leyla just confessed to her mom. So her father blurted out: ‘What did I miss?,’ to which Leyla casually answered: ‘I am gay.’ Her father didn’t miss a note and yelped: ‘But I’ve only been gone two hours!’
Back in Jordan, Tala realized that she cannot live a lie forever and be married to a man when all she really wants is to be with Leyla. Tala calls everything off on the day of the wedding and her dad sent all the food to the camps (wehehe). She immediately flew back to London, only to find out that Leyla has come out to her parents but is currently dating another woman.
Tala tried to win Leyla back, but Leyla believes that ‘we make it their business everytime we choose our life, who we are with and why we are with them.’ Tala finally tells her mom and her dad – that she’s a lesbian and she’s in love with a beautiful, intelligent, talented, clumsy…woman.
The film tells us but one thing - that emotion is universal. That love is love no matter who we love. That if we are not upfront about who we are, we only risk hurting ourselves. That regardless of age, race, or gender, we will always be conflicted with issues, but there is always something to hope for, we will always find something worth saving and worth fighting for.
Tala was portrayed by Indo-Canadian actress, Lisa Ray (who by the way is sparkling in this movie – I fell in love the first moment she raised her eyebrow and pouted her lips). She’s the daughter of a wealthy Jordanian couple, and being in the upper echelons of a Middle Eastern society meant being rigid when it comes to following their traditions – which also meant hiding her sexuality from her conservative family.
Tala’s parents were preparing for their daughter’s marriage (she was engaged three times before) when she met Leyla (played by Sheetal Sheth, an American actress of Indian origin), a bubbly, blithe woman her best friend Ali is dating at the moment.
The chemistry between them was apparent the instant they shared a scene. Both were very smart women, but their character’s contrasts were what made the movie appealing. Leyla was free-spirited whilst Tala was sometimes forced to think within the limit set by her stiff upbringing.
Tala saw something unique in Leyla’s unassuming personality, who secretly wanted to be a writer. Friendship blossomed, and it was Tala’s encouragement that allowed Leyla to pursue her dream despite her parent’s disapproval. Tala’s outspoken challenges to Leyla’s beliefs paved way to a journey to self-awareness for Leyla. Before they know it, they were in an affair that’s just too good to miss.
But as the wedding day approaches, Tala’s sense of duty to her family and her country pushed her to leave Leyla, leaving the latter broken hearted but liberated – she finally breaks up with Ali and comes out to her mother and father. Before they parted, Tala told Leyla that 'I can't ruin lives.' Leyla, with certainty and gloom, answered: 'You will. Especially yours.'
The scene where Leyla ‘outed’ herself was actually both funny and touching. Her mother wanted for her to have a ‘normal’ life – that being married to a guy – so when she finally told her parents about her sexuality, her mother went ballistic, saying that ‘she’s up to her neck with her sins.’ Her father, however, provided such a comic relief in a very tense situation. He just came back from work and missed what Leyla just confessed to her mom. So her father blurted out: ‘What did I miss?,’ to which Leyla casually answered: ‘I am gay.’ Her father didn’t miss a note and yelped: ‘But I’ve only been gone two hours!’
Back in Jordan, Tala realized that she cannot live a lie forever and be married to a man when all she really wants is to be with Leyla. Tala calls everything off on the day of the wedding and her dad sent all the food to the camps (wehehe). She immediately flew back to London, only to find out that Leyla has come out to her parents but is currently dating another woman.
Tala tried to win Leyla back, but Leyla believes that ‘we make it their business everytime we choose our life, who we are with and why we are with them.’ Tala finally tells her mom and her dad – that she’s a lesbian and she’s in love with a beautiful, intelligent, talented, clumsy…woman.
The film tells us but one thing - that emotion is universal. That love is love no matter who we love. That if we are not upfront about who we are, we only risk hurting ourselves. That regardless of age, race, or gender, we will always be conflicted with issues, but there is always something to hope for, we will always find something worth saving and worth fighting for.
The movie ends with the lead characters taking on a journey for what they feel and believe in and stand for, after a long and winding road to self discovery.
variation on the word sleep
by margaret atwood
I would like to watch you sleeping,
which may not happen.
I would like to watch you,
sleeping. I would like to sleep
with you, to enter
your sleep as its smooth dark wave
slides over my head
and walk with you through that lucent
wavering forest of bluegreen leaves
with its watery sun and three moons
towards the cave where you must descend,
towards your worst fear
I would like to give you the silver
branch, the small white flower, the one
word that will protect you
from the grief at the center
of your dream, from the grief
at the center I would like to follow
you up the long stairway
again and become
the boat that would row you back
carefully, a flame
in two cupped hands
to where your body lies
beside me, and as you enter
it as easily as breathing in
I would like to be the air
that inhabits you for a moment
only. I would like to be that unnoticed
and that necessary.
I would like to watch you sleeping,
which may not happen.
I would like to watch you,
sleeping. I would like to sleep
with you, to enter
your sleep as its smooth dark wave
slides over my head
and walk with you through that lucent
wavering forest of bluegreen leaves
with its watery sun and three moons
towards the cave where you must descend,
towards your worst fear
I would like to give you the silver
branch, the small white flower, the one
word that will protect you
from the grief at the center
of your dream, from the grief
at the center I would like to follow
you up the long stairway
again and become
the boat that would row you back
carefully, a flame
in two cupped hands
to where your body lies
beside me, and as you enter
it as easily as breathing in
I would like to be the air
that inhabits you for a moment
only. I would like to be that unnoticed
and that necessary.
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