Beyond the lines

Of a distant past, Of a blurry present, and of silent longing, under the lunar crescent . . . Vaporizing hues of pale cover my skin with paints of gray, comfort me unto a table, put your index finger amidst your lips, boring gaps, hidden in a den. remembering the Memoirs of a forgotten existence. . .

The Day before. . . I was in control then, swaying hips and gentle bends, flesh and blood, Oh! how they meld! Trust and Thrusts, Our swing and waltz, a forgery of tragedies written in our souls

A child having a cup of coffee turned on the T.V., A world full of agony and senseless stories, Children who forgot to play their toys, Poets who earns money by writing their poems. . . A road less traveled, A world seen on a box, The 21st century invention, Of stress and new drugs. the heart's most playful beats, the mind's most strangest thoughts, the body's finest sways, and the hand's search for something to Pull on. Many trapped in the hole, a herd of nomads heading for the cliff, falling out of nowhere, acting their given role, going nowhere, going nowhere. . . So come my friend, hold my hand lets travel the world blindfolded, with only a toy in our hands, we'll go beyond the boundaries and limits of this place, erase the equations,grayness and haste, draw the horizon with your magic wand, and we'll be lost and found in the gates of never land.

I may not be your knight in shining armor, Glistening 'neath the full blown morning, amidst the garden of your dreams, I cannot stop the falls from pouring, yet I can shed you when it's raining, I may not have the sword, the strength to protect you from everything, Yet I'd fortify my soul and coat my heart with steel, and you'll never weep again my dear. . . you'll feel the moonbeams every night, I'll sweep away all the silver clouds, I'll be brighter than your brightest sunlight. . .

If I could be a good son, I would, If I could be better man, I would, Would I be more special If I could? Would everything in the past make sense if I could? If I saw both of you, hand in hand, trying to set things straight, would this be my fate? I can't escape the presence of this cell, of what might been and what have been done, this time I'll be my own man, let this life be justified, for the sake of my own son.

Ikulong niyo ako sa kwartong ito, takpan ang mga bintana at gawing selyado ang bawat butas na malulusutan ng sinag, ayokong malaman ang pag usad ng oras at panahon gusto kong mabuhay sa isang kahon. dal'han ninyo ako ng pagkain isang beses sa buong mag-hapon, wag lamang itugma sa oras ng tanghalian, hapunan at pag-bangon, bigyan niyo ako ng kape sa gabe, sa arinola ko na lamang ihahatid ang aking mga basura't mensahe. gusto kong malipasan ng panahon, gusto kong maramdaman ang alarma ng pagka gutom, gusto kong maging isang hangin sa loob ng silid, gusto kong maging espasyo sa loob ng kahon, sasabihin ko lahat sayo ang pakiramdam non. . . ako ay isang presong pinlano ang pagkakakulong at pinag-aralan ang buong proseso, nais ko lamang makatakas sa mga mata at mapigilan ang panahon sa sarili kong mundo, kulayan ng itim ang buong pader at ding ding, na parang lumulutang sa kalawakan at ang tanging kasama ay ang papel, lapis at gitara ko. . . gusto kong malipasan ng panahon, gusto ko...

Eto ang Imahinaryong likod ng aking notebook. . . sisimulan ko na ang pagsusulat ng mga salita at mga talatang ilalapat sa mga nota at sasabay sa bawat tak-tak ng tambol at tipa ng mga gitara .