After cleaning some more inside my room, I chanced upon an old folder that I haven’t opened for more than a year now. Inside it were old school literary magazines. I was a contributor back when I was still in high school. I was browsing through the pages and was surprised by some of the poems I wrote. They were subversive, raw and unapologetic. I was around fifteen then. What a difference a decade made.
I miss that little boy. I miss his drive. I miss his cry. I miss his voice…
Mga patak sa tisang bubong
(by a 15 year old Pao-pao)
Natulog ang buwan kagabi.
habang ang kanyang bibig
ay patuloy na humabi
ng mga mitolohiyang
walang kapararakan.
Nagalit ang mga bituin
habang nakatanghod ang
nimpa sa kalawakan.
Nagtatanong,
nag-aabang, naghahanap,
ng kandungang niyang
matatakbuhan.
Ang mga yabag
niyang dahan-dahan…
Ang mga awit niyang
walang katapusan…
Ang mga bulong
na pilit niyang
ipinararating sa hangin…
Bakit sa tisang bubong ko’y
sumisigaw ang ulang
hindi mapipigilan?
Natulog ang buwan kagabi
habang lumuluha ang nagtatagong araw.
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