Cello Suite for the Mildly Depressed

Cello Suite for the Mildly Depressed

I. C Mayor, lent et triste

Look, t(h)inker, clock-reaching cockroach in the works,
Be on your feet and tremble! See how hollow the night.
Miscreant, in the middle and fifth of C,
The glowworms feed on your carapaced stomach lining bleached
In a dozen colored curlicues brought on by the smoke
Of your burnt trials. Sink, make me. Border-trample the tempest
In the groomed brick of silent scale. The pavements
Cry their rhapsody, now, the wet heat expressing their sizzle
In the ear. Color me surprised. I heard you and your nightmare
Galloping across the frail shields of men afraid of laissez faire,
Savor me, now, in wick. Candle-shaped pine trees do flicker in winter
And the flame on their heads are not for you to lick.

==x==

II. F menor, andante

Please, projection, you are mere, even for the stellas in your sangre.
Your platelets may compose constellations under your skin,
Your icy bones may form planets in your tears that muster galaxies,
But in the grander scheme of things, you are a carpet of logic compressed
In a paradoxic vacuum. Leave and elevate. Leave and elevate
The skin, your toil, such eviscerations and dirt factory,
Carpal tunnels reside in your art; in your heart,
Calloused emotions breeding demons. Life, through carbon, is
A series of sensations punctuated by arousals, accented by
Chromatic cymbals of attractions. But rhythms are not self-contained,
They glean the stalk of everyone’s name, the vibrations in the strings
Create echoes; may your fate be with mine, in the reverberation.

==x==

III. A menor, lent et douloureux

I am mildly a shadow, an existence in the final straw, I hung
My lips on words; I hung my ears on sound, my skin on touch,
A testimony of testimonies. Take all of me and the subtle cracks in my
Perceived legato — leave me out of your tierce de picardie.
Your expected brightness in the ending, a preconceived
Colossal composition of what petty chemicals your existence is made of;
Oh, contuse, confuse, grave sadness. The elegy is coming to a close.
Claim my core, forte, fortissimo, louder and louder and more and more,
And be solemn, and be still, I am mildly a shade. I may blur
In your hand-waves. In your clear, corrosive light, I might disappear.
Come, whisper dangers in my ear that my heart might believe them;
Come, make me feel like I am more than what I am supposed to be—

==x==

IV. C menor, largo (coda)

Softly, like a stream,
Carry me to my dreaming, softly
Like a stream, carry
Me to my dreaming, mildly
Like the wind, carry me
My arrest, mildly,
Like the wind, carry me
To my rest.

— A. P.

bulaklak

Bulaklak

nakalulunod ang tingkad
ng iyong gayak ngayong umaga,
bulaklak,
‘di ko pinagsisihan ang
pinustang tulog upang ika’y
muling magisnan.

ang bawat panaginip man
ay sintamis ng unan sa ulunan,
bulaklak,
ang tinig ng iyong
magandang umaga ay
mas matamis pa,

alam kong ikaw
ang dapat binibigyang-alaga, ngunit
ikaw ang dumilig
sa puso kong lanta.

—A. P.

salagubang

Salagubang

Mag-ingay, bawat kalamnang nagpapatakbo ng pakpak at
Ihampas sa hangin ang bawat damdamin. Salagubang, singkulay
Ng pagkakakilanlan ang aking bawat pagtibok, ang kaitiman
Ng iyong kalasag ay kaitiman ng aking buhok. Tinig na matagumpay
Sa pagitan ng bawat linyang nilukot. Salagubang ng lumbay,
May tiyempo ang tuwinang pagaspas, may ganap na indak,
May lihim na sayaw. Paikot nang paikot hanggang sa mahilo at
Magmakaawang tumigil ka na, na magkakulay ka na,
Sintingkad ng balat ng dalaga; sing-init ng apoy sa kanyang saya,
Tunawin ang bawat maskara gamit ang hindi na kailanman malamyang
Pananalita at pangungusap na tila punyal, salagubang ng pagpapanggap.

Ang gapang, ang bawat talim sa pagitan ng balahibo’t tinik—
Panulat, sumimple ka lang sa pagsakal, sa paggapang sa hangin,
Sa liham na maari o hindi maaring pagtatapat at pagpapatiwakal.
May pakpak pa rin ang damdamin, salagubang ng mumunting lipad.
Banayad na naman ang hangin na hatid ng mala-pelikulang gabi sa saliw
Ng mga kuliglig at guni-guni, ang tiyempo mo na lamang ang kulang;
Salagubang, ako’y nangungulila sa kanya. Pakihatid ang aking
Mga salita. Pakibulong, salagubang, sa kanyang mga tainga, na siya’y
Itinatangi. Itinatanggi.

Salagubang, mag-ingay ang bawat tadyang. Kuntento na ako sa mga
Pangakong sa ulap at araw ay naipon na lang; hindi naman na natin
Maaabot iyan. Ang bawat kwerdas na nahimlay sa bawat luntiang damo
Ay naghihintay. Sadyang mailap ang tulog sa mga tulad natin, salagubang,
Kung saan may puwang, kung saan may puwang. Pumarito ka na, sinta,
At umuwi na sa’king piling, kung naririnig mo man. Samantala,
Halina muna sa damuhan, salagubang, halina muna sa kawalan.

—A. P.

itami

itami

Pain is as soft
as her gossamer cloak,
with brightly claws of turmoil brewing
seas of hope,
just beneath the wave-crest,
barely touching dawn even
on the horizon where eyes of the moon
rest to wait on her pain. Pain —
with its phases through and through,
the caref’lly-crafted doubts,
the ill-refined unwillingness,
the nothingness in between,
this is a subtle void,
a rest amidst a stormy song,
a dirge unshackled, buried long
before symptoms of sickness made
the poorest heart its home. Pain
leads the humble beast to build —
with its mind’s simplicity — dreams
as tangible as the nature of these
fleeting, passing, fading pictures. How
only a fool could write it, thus,
and believe it to stand firm. Pain
is caution. Pain is dire.
Pain is beautiful.
Pain is fire.

— A. P.

Moonswing / Duyan ng Buwan

Moonswing / Duyan ng Buwan

With the cradling of the moon
and upon the evening’s glow,
lies a sweet and tender answer;
one they cannot wait to show.

On the pinnacle of sky,
lies a cetain innate peace,
where the seething shall depart
from the rushing of the breeze.

And if only you’ll allow,
‘pon serenity’s embrace,
but to voice the wanted song
I can only hope to taste,

by the whispers of the gale,
where you carry your endearing,
all your lullabies I’ll sing,
thereupon the endless cradling.

==x==

Sa pagduyan ng buwan,
sa ningning nitong gabi,
may mayuming kasagutang
‘di maikukubli.

Sa tuktok ng kalawakan,
may likas na tiwasay,
ang poot at pagngangalit,
sa bugso’y humiwalay.

Kung iyong mamarapatin,
sa payapang malaganap
ay itinig ang awiting
pilit na pinapangarap,

At sa pagbulong ng hangin,
sa pag-irog na ‘yong tangan,
ang paghele’y aawitin
sa patuloy na pagduyan.

— A. P.