So beautiful -- so sweet and divine! I wonder if she, the women on the gargantuan screen, exists in this painful world. Well, if she did the Gods and Goddesses that watch over us would be evil for doing so. After all, such perfection should be protected next to Bathala himself: the epitome of love 'til death!
I'd be blessed if I were showered with such perfection. Dreary in this fine September, waiting for a salad of talents, skills, charms, and thoughts to walk right by me. But all I see are couples that taunt me.
Hecklers pretending to be happy at my misery!
Home sweet home, I sit alone before the hearth that has no flame. Is it still the hearth? Is the heart still in love if it is lost in lust? Damn my lonely little mind for conjuring such a thought. But surely even kings and queens go through a drought of affection.
I bring my red leather book out, the size of my palm yet not as drenched and shiny. My fingers brush through the leaves; the edges burn my soul. Should I remember why I sacrificed such a gift -- love?
Pen -- oh, pen with the ink as black as I remember -- jot down the relics of the raven that once haunted the scholar. Jot down the spirits of lovers who've lost their love in plunder -- torn asunder. Remind me why my love is mine and mine alone.
To the beings above -- remember, remember, remember!
BINABASA MO ANG
Mahal-lika!
PoetryIs love just a a collection of feelings for one? Is it just a sweet section of chocolate for one? Hearken! My heart beats faster, the box shakes stronger -- Mahal-lika! Let us tell their stories of love divine, their love full of sin!
