Space between Us
Ev’ry verse of your breath that lives inside the sacred stone
remarkably resounds in my hollowed heart, only to decipher
not my faith, but the enigmas on how to ebb from its dawn.
I stride back to my history, the one where you would never
loom on its dreadful disciplines, and let bedazzled me swing
as if by chic choice the snappy sound of gloaming that would
numb my saint, the one I plucked out from you— believing.
Did I not love you in your way, or in many ways that I could?
Oh, peace in all its form is the absence of space between us!
Leaving like fog is your option, which to a morning romance
I can’t compare, but maybe to an autumn leaf in such a rush,
masterly losing its fruition from a life in the distrustful dance
of a blue breeze, insinuating itself into your body and mind.
Sorry, not the least we can do, and you know this is so true;
tame me with patience, let not your gauntlet of ire be mine.
Unlace your dignified dignity, so that I may see it in me too.
Gone are the days— the flipping of us into the river of time.
Ah, if you wore my skin that speaks my tongue, you’d better
feel much like a budding poet, worthy of a poem in rhyme;
fill me with a reasonable reason, not with a superbia, father!
Copyright © 2010 Ernesto Pangilinan Santiago