It Could Be Nightfall

Luca's picture

As we lay on the grass,
your belly was my pillow.
I was reminiscing
as you checked on the news.
The sky was that in-between color of cold pink,
little particles of water vapor vex and touch us randomly-
stirring a wariness of a hesitant drizzle.

Your breath is steady
while mine is drowned in the sound of you,
the feel of every blade of grass,
tasting my skin through my clothes.

Now, I do not care for the filth.
I do not care for the myriad footsteps that trampled our bed.
I do not care for the
waste of pleasures consumed,
of moments stolen
and light beams evaded.

I see the past,
yes,
and how blurry it is
through my myopic memory.

The stars themselves could not decide
whether to shine or fade.
They twinkle,
like your eyes and mine.
They zoom,
however steady in the sky.
And they each hold a wish for you and me.
A promise once only
hung upon a tree.

Is the earth exhaling or is the sky breathing down on us?
Is the world turning
or do we drive it around?
Is that not my heart beating in your chest?
Is this not your warmth kindling my breast?

It could be night fall,
the crickets have assured it.
But it is only dawn.

And you are with me.


5182EiDiDiFy's picture

Hi Luca!

Sadyang walang makakapagpaliwanag sa bawat sandaling kapiling mo ang taong nais mo talagang makapiling....

 

Kahit dumi't kati.

 

NICE One!

 

maharot, malikot titik sa aking tuktok!

Just enjoy these times and

Just enjoy these times and never go that epic or paranoid, and don't long that much or don't let love know you're longing badly. Or else, the letters will be the only ones to remind you. 

Everything will prolong. And you'll know that every second is sweetest when it's not chased. Just enjoy every bit of time, feel everything. Feel your hearts boiling. And control your boils. 

Hay... I miss these times. 

Alexander Dagrit's picture

>

 

I have read your poems, and I am overpowered by them. Yours is a wonderful poetry: It has no force, but power. It doesn't prod; it motivates.

You have successfully reached the postmodern stage, a stage that many struggling poets don't even know it exists.

 

 

Ang Tugma, Sukat, at Alindog sa Tradisyonal na Panulaang Pilipino

Kultong Rizalismo (sanaysay ni Jon E. Royeca)

 

 

Luca's picture

salamat!

 SORRY SIRA PHONE KO KAYA ALL CAPS:

SINULAT KO TO HABANG INAALALA YUNG ARAW NA TUMAMBAY KAMI NG NOBYO KO SA SUNKEN, KUMAKAIN NG ISAW, HINDI NAG-UUSAP NAKAHIGA KAMI SA DAMO. 

Kung ano man yung narinig mo, hindi "I love you" yun! Assumera!