Solstice To Equinox

Oh love...you fall, you nurture, you get dumped, you cry, you became desperate, until you became hollow. Don't be like me, because I feel empty...I feel nothing anymore. I'm tired of falling in and falling out.

SOLSTICE TO EQUINOX
By David-Isaac Buenaventura

Seeing you crushed me to the heel
while I gasp for breath with those gleaming eyes
it petrifies me to the very marrow
paralyzing my heart – bleeding from the thorns of a spring rose

Waiting for you makes me feeble
seeing mosaic windows in brackish colored glasses
howls of silence during wildfires of summer
unspoken kisses that renders me weak

Longing for you is the hardest
saline tears flowing across Magellanic seas
whispers of wanting pillows longing your caress
touches of dried autumn leaves scraping my carcass

Death best served cold
no weeping willows to comfort
no, nothing, I feel nothing
I see emptiness, I am hollow

Song To Celia (I and II)

This poem is for Kates (above). I hope she'll like this. It shares how the speaker in the poem love Celia so much that nothing can ever part them. Her life is full of courtship...but through it, I saw love that can never be bounded

SONG TO CELIA (I and II)
By Ben Jonson

I.

Come, my Celia, let us prove
While we may the sports of love;
Time will not be ours forever,
He at length our good will sever.

Spend not then his gifts in vain;
Suns that set may rise again,
But if once we lose this light,
'Tis with us perpetual night.

Why should we defer our joys?
Fame and rumour are but toys.
Cannot we delude the eyes
Of a few poor household spies?
Or his easier ears beguile,
So removed by our wile?

'Tis no sin love's fruits to steal;
But the sweet theft to reveal,
To be taken, to be seen,
These have crimes accounted been.

II.

Drink to me only with thine eyes,
And I will pledge with mine;
Or leave a kiss but in the cup,
And I'll not look for wine.
The thirst that from the soul doth rise
Doth ask a drink divine;
But might I of Jove's nectar sup,
I would not change for thine.

I sent thee late a rosy wreath,
Not so much honouring thee
As giving it a hope, that there
It could not withered be.
But thou thereon didst only breathe,
And sent'st it back to me;
Since when it grows, and smells, I swear,
Not of itself, but thee.

The Sound Of One Heart Breaking

Actually, the Gothic poet Karen Kunawicz is her friend. Kat is a good friend and mentor when it comes to poetry. She read this poem to me once and I felt sadness in every word that came out of her mouth. The poem visualizes things that are heard specially when your heart starts breaking. For me, it is the perfect lamentation of a bleeding heart...no one really knows about your state of destruction except you.


THE SOUND OF ONE HEART BREAKING
by Karen Kunawicz

Ever come across this Zen koan that JD Salinger used in one of his books? You know, the one that asks what is the sound of one hand clapping. I don't know the answer to that one.
But ask me what's the sound of one heart breaking and I might have an answer.
Welcome to the dark side of love.
What is the sound of one heart breaking?
It is the sound of someone curled up in a tiny ball crying softly in the night,
the sound of the first unwanted teardrop touching your skin,
it's the sound of a telephone that doesn't ring,
the sound of regret pounding inside your brain with every heartbeat,
it's the whispers of the toy animals he gave you.
It's the shuffling of feet walking away from you,
the sound of your soul shattering into a million pieces at recognizing the word "goodbye,"
it's the soundtrack of memories torturing you,
it's the sound of feeble hands trying to push back the obstinate hands of time,
it's the sound of a cherub's dying breath,
the sound of all those years disappearing in the vortex of Cupid's kitchen sink,
it's the unrelenting, plaintive baby meows of an abandoned kitten outside an ignoring door.
It's the sound of the rain that doesn't ever stop,
the sound of all the doors in the world shutting and closing in your face at the same time,
of raging, howling storms in the night when there's no one there to hold you,
the sound of your voice as it screams back at you, the echo of "I love you" burning holes in you,
the sound your heart makes as it tells you to lie still
because nothing you will ever do will matter without love.
The sound of the waves at the polluted beach you went to
as it moves from the shore and crashes inside your mind,
of the sniffles that make up your pathetic "SOS-to-the-world,"
the cracking of the brittle black-red petals from the sidewalk vendor roses he gave,
the sound of the music he used to make going to your gut.
The sound of things in your room being thrown around and landing on the floor,
the caress of sharpened kitchen knives on skin,
the sound your throat makes as you swallow your saltiest tear.
It's the sound of your own voice calling out to someone who isn't there,
of winged creatures dying and falling on a city pavement,
of terms of endearment used a hundred times a day struggling to crawl into a vacuum of forgetfulness,
it's the sound of your own sobs keeping you company,
it's the cold, uncaring stillness of the air you share your space with.

Destruction isn't always as noisy as bombs exploding. Sometimes the ultimate catastrophes are as quiet as feather falling on the floor of a Zen monastery. No one else can really hear your heart breaking except you.

I Do Not Love You

One of my favorite Nerudan poetry, "I Do Not Love You" really means "I Love You". Why give it to Bestfriend Sherwin? Because this is how he shows affection, in secret, between the shadow and the soul. Never expect him to say the four-letter word, but wait for him to show it all to you. Amidst all these, only one thing is certain...when he's in love, he gives everything except "I Love You".

I DO NOT LOVE YOU
by Pablo Neruda

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way
than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.

If You Forget Me

This is my Nerudan poetry. With no hesitation or denial, this is my most beloved poem of all. This, for me, is a kind of love that doesn't expect anything in return. I gave this to Cristina so someday, she will feel this love for someone else...and perhaps dedicate this to him.

IF YOU FORGET ME
by Pablo Neruda


I want you to know
one thing.

You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists:
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.

Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.

If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.

If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
remember
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.

But
if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine.

Comfort In You Strangeness

I see this song through Ato, one of the closest beings to me. We all search for that "bestfriend" thing. That friend not bounded by ideologies, or gender, or doubts. We seek comfort in every person that passes through our lives. But in my case, I found comfort from someone who most people would prefer to categorize as among the eccentrics. I found a brother in his strangeness.

COMFORT IN YOU STRANGENESS
by Cynthia Alexander

woke up this morning
I was staring at the ceiling cracks
and roadmaps and highways and landscapes
I have seen
I have been
to places far and deep in my mind only to find
Comfort in Your strangeness
Of moving shadows when I call the wind by name
rushing Firewater in the dark of a cloud
I have seen
I have been
to places far and deep in my mind only to find
Comfort in Your strangeness
we are slaves to the crimes we commit
in fits of passion
we shame
we are nothing we are nothing we are nothing we are nothing
but the dust on Your feet
dying to be born again
singing Ether Water Fire singing Earth Singing Air
I have seen
I have been
to places far and deep in my mind only to find
Comfort in Your strangeness
I have seen
I have been
to places far and deep in my mind
only to find
Comfort in Your strangeness

Notes From The Heart and Mind Of A Genius

Oh yes, I'm a geek just like Einstein. All we know about him is the E=mc2. This article came as a surprise to me that no matter who you are, or how technical your name rings a bell to others, you're still human - rational and capable of loving. And I got the best break-up, parting-ways advice you could give to a sucker for the heart. Unfortunately, I'm good at giving them...not living them.

NOTES FROM THE HEART AND MIND OF A GENIUS
by Albert Einstein


REALIZATIONS:

Sometimes, in our relentless efforts to find the person we love we fail to recognize and appreciate the people who love us. We miss out on so many beautiful things and simply because we allow ourselves to be enslaved by our own selfish concerns. Go for the man of deeds and not for the man of words for you will find rewarding happiness not with the man you love but the man who loves you more. The best lovers are those capable of loving from a distance far enough to allow the person to grow, but never too far to feel the love deep within your being. TO LET GO OF SOMEONE DOESN'T MEAN YOU HAVE TO STOP LOVING, IT ONLY MEANS THAT YOU ALLOW THAT PERSON TO FIND HIS OWN HAPPINESS WITHOUT EXPECTING HIM TO COME BACK. Letting go is not just setting the other person free, but it is also setting yourself free from all bitterness, hatred, and anger that keep in your heart. Do not let the bitterness scare away your strength and weaken your faith, and never allow pain to dishearten you, but rather let yourself grow with wisdom in bearing it. You may find peace in just loving someone from a distance not expecting anything in return. But be careful, for this can sustain life but can never give enough room for us to grow. We can all survive with just beautiful memories of the past but real peace and happiness come only with open acceptance of what reality is today. There comes a time in our lives when we chance upon someone so nice and beautiful and we just find ourselves getting so intensely attracted to that person. This feeling soon become a part of our everyday lives and eventually consumes our thoughts and actions. The sad part of it
is when we begin to realize that this person feels nothing more for us than just a friendship. We start our desperate attempt to get noticed and be closer but in the end our efforts are still unrewarded and we end up being sorry for ourselves. You don't have to forget someone you love. What you need to learn is how to accept the verdict of reality without being bitter or sorry for yourself.

Believe me, you would be better off giving that dedication and love to someone more deserving. Don't let your heart run your life, be sensible and let your mind speak for itself. Listen not only to your feelings but to reason as well. Always remember that if you lose someone today, it means that someone better is coming tomorrow: If you lose love that doesn't mean that you failed in love. Cry if you have to, but make it sure that the tears wash away the hurt and the bitterness that the past has left with you. Let go of yesterday and love will find its way back to you. And when it does, pray that it may be the love that will stay and last a lifetime.

There are two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is though EVERYTHING IS A MIRACLE.

Tonight I Can Write The Saddest Lines

I bequeathe the most painful Nerudan poem to this friend of mine, Nina. Well, she has loved a lot...but like me, no one ever loved her back. So every night is a night for her to write the saddest lines

TONIGHT I CAN WRITE
by Pablo Neruda

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

Write, for example, "The night is starry
and the stars are blue and shiver in the distance."

The night wind revolves in the sky and sings.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

Through nights like this one I held her in my arms.
I kissed her again and again under the endless sky.

She loved me, sometimes I loved her too.
How could one not have loved her great still eyes.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her.

To hear the immense night, still more immense without her.
And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture.

What does it matter that my love could not keep her.
The night is starry and she is not with me.

This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance.
My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

My sight tries to find her as though to bring her closer.
My heart looks for her, and she is not with me.

The same night whitening the same trees.
We, of that time, are no longer the same.

I no longer love her, that's certain, but how I loved her.
My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing.

Another's. She will be another's. As she was before my kisses.
Her voice, her bright body. Her infinite eyes.

I no longer love her, that's certain, but maybe I love her.
Love is so short, forgetting is so long.

Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms
my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer
and these the last verses that I write for her.

Sonnet XLIII

This is for Tin2. Well, she normally doesn't look vampiric like this picture (I took the pic using a red lamp) but she's highly-toxic whenever she's in love. One of my two girl-best friend, this beautiful lass will show every bit of her to anyone she loves most. Countless expressions that could sometimes shock you - from the paranoidal laments to death-defying stalks. And I share every bit of these adventures with her.

SONNET XLIII
by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints,-I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life!-and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death

Heart and Soul

Self-inflicted pain, dementia in full colors of black and white. That's Karen. She's also the kind of person who gives everything when in love. Until nothing is left of her...not even identity. It is quite unlucky that sometimes, according to her, those she love the most left her bleeding to death. And so, I give this Gothic poem, together with its blood stains, to her.

HEART AND SOUL
(anonymous)

I take the scalpel of my pain
and slice open my chest.
The blood that pools
beneath me is cold.
I take out my heart,
and hold it out to you.
"This is my heart."

I squeeze it until it stops beating
and catch my soul
between my fingers
as it seeps out.
"This is my soul."

I offer them to you,
my heart in one hand,
my soul in the other.
You stand hesitant,
disgusted,
as I bleed and die
and struggle to make you want them.

You take them,
examining them closely,
loving their heat and weight
and the power of them in your hands.
Loving the power it gives you over me.

I sit bleeding,
my hands empty,
my heart in your hands,
my soul in your pocket.
I hold out the scalpel to you
and you walk away.