Posts (page 2)

Harlequin

Aubrey Bahala

With the sound of the typewriter and the smell

Of rain touching the ground, the little girl was smiling

As she was thinking of what to write. Gathered

Her thoughts and took a deep breath.

She heard someone knocked. Door was opened

Only to see a scary clown holding a knife. Stabbed

Her to death, and the ambience suddenly changed.

Awful. Dramatic. Traumatic.

The sound was gone. The smell of wet ground outside

Remained. Like young blood spilt for vengeance.

Insanity driving the clown. Absence of

Conscience. Thirst for massacre. Carnage of

Young hopes and dreams of being one, great writer.

Not all clowns are for happy days. Deceiving us with

Magic tricks and the cute, little rabbit from inside

The hat. More often than not, cocaine sustains them.

The power of the deceiving hands has the power

To take youth away from our young bodies.

Allowed her to live for eight years.

Selfish being walking the same street

As we do. Eating at the same place

As we are. Normal people we normally meet.

And she whispered:

‘I was thinking of writing something about you, Clown.’

Invading Privacy

Aubrey Bahala

I can feel my head constantly blowing up with so much envy.

You allowed her to hold your hand the way I wanted to ages ago.

Insecure like a pig desiring to wear a necklace of pearl,

I am discontented that you gave us no chance.

Closed your doors, and turned your back on me.

Imprisonment in a gigantic block of ice.

You can’t blame me for staring at you.

I am, at the moment, feeding myself with visions of you so I can’t forget.

Your pedestal is too high that I have to be blinded by the sun’s light

In order to look at your majesty.

My adoration, my admiration seems to be insufficient.

Your inamorata, your desired paramour:

She --- a reflection of elegance, beauty and perfection.

Too different from her. No sign of hopes of being such a Venus.

Striving for exquisiteness, trying to be an imitation of your choice.

Buying fashion. Learning lessons of becoming refined.

The transformations of a clone.

My lipstick has faded. I’ll watch your ending fall into her palms.

About to witness the most tremendous tragedy

Of you holding on to her, and of you letting go of me.

Holes in the soles of my shoes

Proof of my running after you who decided to fly away

Into the depths of her world, made and perfected by the hands of God

For the exclusiveness of just the two of you.

A Mimic Of What Used To Be

Aubrey Bahala

Denying that I could go on

Without hearing your voice.

Everytime I paint my nails, I see you.

Missing every train ride

After classes.

I go home all alone now.

Going home before curfew

And preparing a mountain of alibis.

It never was an alibi when we hang out together.

Teasing every human being

That passes us by.

I can't laugh hard enough. I fake my laughs.

Building our dreams together

And realizing how great we would become.

My rusted imagination refuses to work now.

We both knew we need each other.

Let's not throw away all that we have been through.

I can't find you now and I learned to trust rarely.

It's you that I want to be with when everything seems to be misery.

I wish I could find you now

Just to hear our laughs collide

And let it eat us alive

And head us to history

When you were still here,

When there was still friendship.

There's one great story

And I can't even believe that it actually happened.

There's one great friend

That after a long time, she disappeared.

And when I tried to find her,

She wouldn't want me to see

And be a part of her being.

Nostalgia.

It tears me apart.

This is how it ends.

When I thought I have the world upon my palms…

Aubrey Bahala

I may be another ordinary young woman

Trying to prove to the world that I am different

From you, from them, from every other stranger.

---- Don’t shave upon my face that I’m not good enough.

My works, my efforts may not be as wondrous as yours

But I can write without faking my emotions

And without trying to please anyone or anybody.

I know for a fact that a lot of people could do that.

I know my capabilities as a person, as a soul.

Bear with my irrationality, and continue to encourage me

With your criticisms which, by the way, fall on me

Too hard than you and I expected. I could take them one at a time,

But reacting over them, I never did lie.

You may find this as unpleasant or you may think

That I’m trying too hard to make this poem rhyme.

I never intend that I could make some piece of crud

Like this, by those replies I got, by your hard-to-swallow

Words of Wisdom.

I know you’re better because you’re given

Enough talent to be able to write.

I got a little, so I beg you to pardon my acts, my works.

I’m no good compared to you, but I take criticisms:

I swallow them, but I don’t let those

Ruin me.

I’m one frustrated writer, and you are better.

So help me if you please.

Humble enough to break to myself gently, that I am a novice.

Again, I never intended to make the last few lines rhyme.

I know and I’ve heard from someone nicer than you:

It doesn’t mean that if you could string up a few words, it’s poetry already.

The Lady

Aubrey Bahala

Cultured. Well-bred.

Pearls and diamonds hanging

On her neck. Polished and

Seemingly intelligent.

Young woman of a few words,

With crossed fingers, silently

Wishing for  something

Unattainable.

Alluring. Her beauty is seldom

To be found in this world.

The only daughter that

Smiles subtly, she has become

A mystery to every man,

And to every woman even.

And they thought she has

Everything. And they thought,

She felt perfect. But when

You try to look into her, deep into

The bottom of her soul, you will be

Disappointed to see a big hole brought

Upon by deceiving smiles and laughter.

Chasing time barefoot. Enduring

The throbbing pain beneath her skin.

There’s no time to comprehend

To the pain that shouts for rest.

Wealth can’t bring back the pleasure

She is running after. Elegance and

Beauty will always be useless to a lady

Of pretensions, of impersonal dreams.

Our Own Demons

Aubrey Bahala

This city has turned us into someone we were afraid of.

Irony pasted on every angle my eyes set upon,

I covered my ears because of the voices whispering secrets

I cannot stand to know.

I have eaten my own self, chewed it greatly

Until I make my self dependent on myself.

Pulled my own hair, cursed my own mother,

I am bewildered by the presence of masses.

I saw them standing behind me, yet my eyes are looking

At somewhere else far from what is behind my back.

Cold. Ugly.

Torn faces of children eaten by their own nurturers.

I was having an illusion. My demons were not real;

I was constructing my own temple of cavity.

True. No one needs anyone to destroy one’s self.

You can’t blame others from ruining you, because

You were an accomplice: you allowed them to extract

All your flaws and imperfections.

You permitted them to throw all of it to you.

Now you can’t even look at yourself in front of a mirror.

Camarilla

Aubrey Bahala

Years have gone by and we’ve been through

So many things together, yet we are here,

still looking fresh,

Still laughing our hearts out,

And still praying we’ll remain comrades forever.

And if you remember our little rituals,

Of trying to dream with our eyes open,

Which feels great by the way,

We’ve been building our hopes

With each other’s ideas, sustaining them.

If you ever choose to let things change you,

I may not speak, I may not complain,

For I know you like change but you hate it

When it involves your set of friends.

I will always support you whatever happens.

Years may pass by without us remaining this close,

But let me say to you that forever you’ll be here

Carved in my memory, embedded upon my heart,

You are a friend to me and I will always be to you

Even if we’ll have different worlds someday.

Roads may twist when we decide to walk

And monsters may scare us from trying

To explore the wonder of heaven’s gift,

But my hand will always be available

For you to hug and hold on to.

I may be gone, I may disappear suddenly

But my prayers contain you

And my wishes include you

Whatever happens to me or to you.

You were my camarilla, and will always be.

Watch the moon stare at your eyes tonight.

I will recover you if you’ll drown

From the miseries and success you’ll be having

I will always stay the same, like this,

Loving you, your dreams, our hopes.

Río

Aubrey Bahala

I. Enamoramiento

He held my hand and searched

Through my eyes what was wrong and

What was making me scared.

I didn’t doubt his affection; it was

My first time to be noticed.

I am innocent, and he wasn’t.

II. Afecto

Spent Friday afternoons eating together

At a cheap place, smoked and puffed

The same cigarette and rode the MRT

Holding each other like lovers,

We were someone else. We knew

We had a certain something.

III. Amor

Kissed and ate and went to the carnival

On our very first week of being one.

He touched my waist, he stared at me and

He held my hand like we will

Never have tomorrow. He was happy

And I was becoming uncertain if he would

Be staying around for me, and for this.

IV. Lujuria

My tongue inside his mouth, breathing

As fast as I could remember. We danced on

His bed and we looked at each other

With so much hope we would do this as

Many times as we can. I was under his spell;

He inserted what I was scared of before.

It felt good but painful; it felt like I was

Going to live eternally.

V. Frialdad

Gone for a week or so, I was mourning

Night and day, I thought he was away and

He left me without a word. Never

Did I imagine after what happened

Would be like this: cold, alone and

Used up by him.

VI. Solo

Like snow in the beginning of summer,

He melted away. Where could he be?

Will he ever come back?

After all that we have done, he

Surrendered without a reason.

Is it fair? The world isn’t,

And so is his love.

VII. Embarazada

My tummy is swollen and

I am in agony. This little angel

Caused by uncertainty would

Be my biggest mistake,

Without a father,

Without a home,

Without a relative of my own.

I was rejected, should I let go of this?

Or should I keep it with me?

A woman without a name,

Spending her entire life thinking

Of what must have been done right.

Smoking On a Sunday

Aubrey Bahala

Anemic. Coughing. Heavy breathing.

A sinful act on a sacred Sunday

Could you remember?

Walking past the monuments

Of numerous saints staring at me

And at my hand, where the mighty

Stick is fitted.

Wet pavements and the blowing cold

Breeze has awakened me.

There’s no need to return home.

I choose to stay beside you, comrade.

Shivering under a waiting shed.

Dependence on what I’m holding

Keeping the night inside of me

Alive and going.

Certainly, I could wait here until

Another taxi cab passes by the dark

Streets fronting the mental institution

Where people have dropped you.

Learning the Language

Aubrey Bahala

The scent of burnt cigar on my sleeves

Will always be remembered.

Late night conversations, with a glass

Of warm water beside us, it is perfect scenery

Of two individuals looking for something common.

The unusual glances and the pretty touches

Under the white ceiling was the language of

Two unidentified cadavers that was

Waiting for the sun to come out:

The start of yesterday.

When day ends, ours begins.

Usual rituals of ours were hidden

Under the covers: exploring what is forbidden,

Saying things over and over again. Hands clasped together,

Singing songs long forgotten. And we asked:

When will we decide to let each other go?

There was no romance.

There was no lust.

Yet we allowed our worlds to collide and

Eat each other whole and alive.

A feast of two bodies longing for companionship.

A discourse where words were useless.

Walking opposite directions, leaving behind

Memories of what happened yesterday.