Sa Bawat Pagtingala/ As She Looks Up


Sa bawat pagtingala

sa buwan at mga tala

naghahabi ng wika,

awit at tula

ang puso ng makatangnagkukulang sa salita

Buntong hininga.

Sasambit na lamang ang kanyang dila,

“Isang himala”

English Translation: As She Looks Up

As she looks up each time

to the moon and the stars

she weaves a language,

a song or a poetry

this heart of a poet

who runs out of words


And all that her tongue could utter,

“A miracle”

Bliss, Blue and Serenity (Tanka 短歌 )

Life Lessons and Impressions, Photography, Poetry


Summer day over

sand and their innocent dreams

the clear sky watches

the breeze feels; the sea listens

bliss, blue and serenity

Write from the Heart

Poetry, Writing

Syllables fight to unite

To incarnate the thought

Of a questioning wise

Like an inch by inch motion

Waiting for the perfect beat

Waiting for gravity to drop

Every faultless intuition

Inhabit a kingdom

Of an untarnished sheet

The toughest battleground

In the infinite spaces

Of human mind where lies

This war of words

How do you really draw them

right from the heart?






( )


A Midnight Dream

Poetry, Uncategorized, Writing

She fights for her thoughts as an indomitable warrior
fights for the people’s liberation from
The nights of terror that must unface

She sings the hymn of the soul and the Divine
the music of quietness that shouts at the ears
of arteries beneath the chest that beats
She listens to her own breath
She cries and sobs the bitter-sweet angst
She weeps

like a child and a century old mistress

of life.
She counts the hours with daydreams
and colors it with illusions
Alive as the crimson, and multitude of memoirs
She scribbles with her blood

She dances with her silhouette and the trees
to the air that seduces
her cerebral to ecstatic serenity
She frees
and freezes from the coldness that
hypnotizes her spirit to an ephemeral escape

She smells fragrance in beguiling pages as it transcends
her to antiquity and ages
She kisses every impending notion voices may arouse
and argues with her sensibility

She devours their charm of wisdom like a hungry wild
She lives in an empty sheet.
where she finds a sacred asylum

The ink blots
She awakens her sanity

(April 22, 2012)

photo from pinterest

photo from pinterest

*Under My Favorite Tree

Life Lessons and Impressions, Photography, Uncategorized

Simple things are extraordinary. After attending a class and some school stuff last Saturday, eating avocado-mango Sorbetes and Taho under my favorite tree at the Sunken garden as the sunset preludes was more than a weekend spa!  It was therapeutic to see people not in a rush, chasing time. Time decelerated as we began to silent our souls from the noise of life’s complexities. Joy became just plain and simple and I was sure it was genuine in all the smiles I saw as we did things for love.  It wasn’t just mere amusement. It was music to hear hearty laughter and there was serenity in all the happy faces I saw. And to me, it was a great taste of life as I savor the sweets I had and that silence that made me listen more to my own heartbeat. Indeed, there’s a unique pleasure in seeing people happy.  Sometimes, in a busy walk, we need to pause and breathe the fragrance of life in the flowers we overlook!:-)

(July 2011)

Fvorite tree @UP Sunken Garden

More Than a Whisper of Desire

Life Lessons and Impressions, Uncategorized

It takes more than a whisper of desire

to achieve a dream

You need conviction

As you allow it to inundate your heart,

it will push you 

to break walls of impediments 

to cross limitations  

and find certainties despite the uncertainties

until you become

a man of indomitable will.

You can want so many things to happen

but it only will

when you boldly stand up for your beliefs

and give a brave step

as if it’s worth fighting for.

Do not be afraid.

(VMRetumban 7/15/12 5:25pm)

We Never Stop to Write

Life Lessons and Impressions

Photo taken at Burias Breeze Resort, Albay, Philippines, Summer 2010

We may have been over accustomed of how life looks like through the years, yet like the sun that we see in its rebirth, its meaning would seem to appear like always new.We still wonder.How old is its “age of innocence”? when we start to grab a quill and mirror its definition transcendentally reflected in a tabula rasa?

We never stop to write.

As long as one has breath, as long as the blood is alive as the crimson; as long as one heart beats the rhythm of the soul, one will never run out of ink.

Everything is written. Everything would make sense.

(VMRetumban, March 2008)