Windsor Guadalupe Jr (April 28,1992 / Philippines)

In the silence of the stars that is brusque,
The senility that sprawls like a rifle slinging
By the shoulder of a decrepit soldier,
I am most alone in between the small gasps
Of the stars that buoy over the azure waters –
Her transparency defiles the shine of the moon;
The epistolary Sun speaks of something mundane:
To forget is to prosper like pyrotechnics in the eve
Of a year anew, that dawns over the past’s flaws
And heart woes: I have been there, in between the
Bursting colors of the vivid imagery in the sky,
There the stars celebrate each explosion as if claiming
Them as caged worlds in between planetary gyrations;
Look, from afar, there is a mist enveloping the land that
I was once in: a torturous, muting landscape
I packed my bags and carried over my wintry shoulder
That could have longed for another warmth from her blaze,
But to think of her is to err once again, to regress, to coil
In a fetal manner, supine above the waters that transcend
Over soil, over integuments, over urticating hair: sparse or downy.
Yes, the silence of the stars speak so much
Of words that could have been said, that could have walked
And sliced through lips and teeth of Mediterranean gaps
But they should remain unsaid: like the words, “I still love you,
In the time of colliding stars and speeding lights.” Because
To say it, is to be foolish – to be asininely confined
Into her arms again, where the lambaste never ends:
And you convince yourself that you are up to the torment – to her torment,
But never again, though you know within your depths
That you still want to be enclosed within her vacuous spaces.
But you have to saunter past her establishments,
Into another city, where the breeze is calm,
Where the rains fall lightly, sparingly
And there, atop another city,
The stars will speak, in synch with your lips,
Beside another image that has ushered from serendipity;
When this will happen, I do not know,
In the meantime, I remain silent with the stars.