isyaelwrites - Tumblr blog

[isyaelwrites]

sa iyong litrato, mga istoryador humahango

iyong litrato (niya) parang imahinasyon kung saan— ang tawag ko sa'yo ay mahal ko

Mayari, para kang buwan na silaw sa mata, silong sa punding kandila— upos sa paulit-ulit na gabing walang kapalitan ng palaisipan (tuwing nagdidilim)

mapapaniwala mo akong isa kang reinkarnasyon ng enkantada; sa katawang tao ay higit na nakahahalina.

no'ng ako'y maliit pa lamang, sa mitolohiya ng Griyego at Romanya ko nalaman: Diyos at Diyosa ay hindi maaaring silayan kun'di ikaw ay mahahatulan—kung kaya't sa tuwinang ngalan mo'y banggitin ako'y sa lupa na agad ang tingin. ngunit siguro'y iba nga sa kultura natin— may minsang nagtama ang mga mata, kabod kabog ng dibdib at kabig ng bibig; kung mortal man akong maituturing, bakit hindi nagliyab at naging abo sa paanan mo? sa halip, abot-kamay, kausap na parang tao sa tao.

alam mo bang parating sumasagi sa isip ko ang taglay mong bait at talino— si athena? diana? wala sila sa'yo. nais ko tuloy alamin ang ating sariling mga alamat at mito, baka sakaling may makapagpaliwanag nitong pagkahagas ko sa'yo; at bakit, kung ikaw ay kawangis ng lambana, diwata, at iba pa - mga pigurang engrande, sinasamba at inaalayan ng mga bulaklak at kanta— ay tila walang katakot-takot sa'yo— ang ibig ko lamang sabihin ay dahil ang gaan ng presensiya mo.

sa oras na ito, pitong minuto bago mag-alas otso, naalala ko na naman ang imahe mo— paanong hindi mapapaisip kung ang kasalukuyang katotohanan ay malayo sa gusto ko. siguro kagaya na lang nitong mga kwentong kinalakhan ko, hindi man maaari sa buhay na ito— karamihan sa romantiko, ang dulo'y tagos sa puso— gayunpaman ay patuloy ang paghanga sa'yo.

[isyaelwrites]

West Wind calling

a peculiar feeling rests in my chest— a ruminating about; i never do dwell so well (except) when my thoughts spiral to you. when there, i heard a sigh from a fallen beauty— and a cry, lyrically broken and so slowly disintegrating on earth, the plush soil to cushion his head but his body is tenderly encapsulating, and his hands - softer and even more, lovely— what god holds you close while you are dying except a devout to you, vowing to make you eternal and tangible if not true anymore; when there, Zephyrus blew, even jealousy's a brutal passion murderous for two. if i were a god, i think i would slip right through in the shape of desperation—if not having you would make me do things i would do willingly too. these gods are meant for destruction even amidst worship and wine, revulsion, desire; i drink twice more than the other night just because i feel it recurring— were my past sins so burdensome, it tainted all my love with a killing? they were birthed as chaste, so holy i held it close—only to grapple when it reached too close—wicked, impure, metamorphosed and reminiscent of her. if it were a triptych now laced up in tapestry (make use a golden thread), i want to see your profile, one part hidden, one part revealed, then—a death; a larkspur rises from the ground. if you shall lay with me down this bed of violet, please hold out your hand so i could trace your palm and put it over where my breastbone slightly keels to the left. when there, i hear you sigh, i hope it is no baseless myth— no flowers nor stars and discus thrown to stopper love from two. but what of my head split in half, thinking of you too? unreasoned, undue—this is what i have been telling you— it cannot be, cannot even fathom what she would think of me; unruly hearts do not get to redo history.

[isyaelwrites]

a fire will always leave its ashes

in poetry class, i wrote today in free verse where we were told to never hold back; our words are like gas, petroleum, oil—  i first heard the word "kerosene" used in a movie—  a rope soaked in it and lit by a single match producing an upburst, gradual and sure. often, when i doubt, my heart would rhyme a two or five or seven lines doubled, with your name within, strikethrough several times and rewritten as if i never had it memorized this whole time, as if we only met for the first time, you were saying something about the test and then you were asking me about August 29—  21 is still 20-something and i wanted to know you with a mind of my own and a pulse that don't static nor tremor when cold. but what of the warmth that grows from the underfur? it seeps through the skin, keeping a furnace glowing. the more it gets deeper, the cutting it gets, blood running through; the redder it gets, the darker the ashes, burning faster, dying too.

in lecture today, you were a shutter to my thoughts, erratic, i was thinking of the word, no matter how much i like her i would never be able to; erratic, too, damn it— the rope, burnt, smelt like aftershave—  it was a kindling, then a falling through.

in poetry class today, we were asked to think of two things: of love, and everything we were indiffferent about—  and so my thoughts were cushioned by the thought of you. i wrote in free verse; maybe it will save me from the words that rhyme strictly with only the words that makes you. or like kerosene put to fire, maybe, like a spark flaming upward, it shall make sense, epiphanic in its bursting, once brought out to be seen. the coiled feeling within my ribs may then unspool to teach me how to love like poets do; towards the plains, the delicate hem of dresses wetted by morning dew—  soft, sincere, glowing, and new.

[isyaelwrites]

I Go Back To Pierre

i used to be a firm believer of caring as a kind of tool or weapon you can never really use wrongly but these days, it's been getting harder and harder to get a grasp of that thought - getting harder and harder to be a believer. i used to find the saying that if you care too much, you're headed towards your own undoing - simply ridiculous. that once you care, you come hurtling towards death - an unfurling of a promise broken not only due to intentional breaking or hurting but also plain negligence and wasn't that a more painful kind of death? some kind of forgetting? having forgotten. once you care, you are setting yourself up for disappointment or heartbreak - it shall come barraging towards you, the same intensity and speed with which you sheltered your care. ridiculous. i found it all preposterous. all the ugly and undesirable corralled into one thought that is caring and losing. i was a lover. i advocate for beautiful feelings and caring as something that shall never be soiled by the dark black of pessimism. how can it be so when caring, i believed, was something that shouldn't be conditional, that no matter how the other person feels, what matters is that you still see the good. that there's power in holding it close, despite the hurt, it will all, eventually, turn out okay. it was all so absurd, i thought. but now… now, though, it doesn't seem much so. maybe idealism isn't my strongest suit, after all. maybe it is. considering how i've come to the now. to a crack in the earth larger than any silver lining in the sky cracking it open combined. it infiltrates the epidermis of my chest, whining a gurgle, and finally piercing me. so unbelievably impossible that i stagger back and fall down. it wasn't supposed to be like this - caring. wasn't supposed to hurt. so much. i follow my friends with a kind of desperation to care and love them - i couldn't be so sure how successful i am in showing them these but i wanted to, maybe that have been enough or i don't know. i believe that if i cared enough, i wouldn't lose - whether if they returned the love or left me or forget me. because wasn't caring salvation? the only feeling i have learned after eighteen years in that room was maybe just care. unreal considering i couldn't find anyone to especially care for in that narrow, claustrophobic space. once freed, i just kind of shattered. like a rock so long burrowed in the cold, once the sun beats at it, it cracks open, and like a breed of the sun, just filters light from inside. turns out it was a cry for help. notice me. teach me - taught me every feeling, the others that shall make reality safe, not like a bubble of fantasy. not caring. i wanted to breathe the ground in and never wake up. i'm so painfully hurt and i just need - a need to just let it out. i have set myself up to fall back down a lot of times already. i guess it wouldn't hurt to fall all over again. what's a bit more of me undone? i wielded you so wrongly, and now all i see is a gruesome clawing at my feet. god, why do i have to feel so strongly? one simple i love you and i'm a lapdog to you. the breakings in my skin slowly reveals how much vile there is inside of me, how much of the caring was borne from a blood as thick as a Pachycephalosaurus skull. i couldn't escape it if i tried.

[isyaelwrites]

virgo. 21st of november 2021.

[isyaelwrites]

the hymn of sappho. 21st of january 2021.

[isyaelwrites]

ophelia, i will never know. 31st of december 2020.

[isyaelwrites]

an ode to orion. 3rd of march 2021.

[isyaelwrites]

waved warnings. 14th of august 2022.

[isyaelwrites]

in your recital. 25th of january 2022.