Richmon Rey Jundis

(Utilitarian Poem)

Avaunt fears that keep on stalking me,
creeping under my bed as I think
...

Intuitively,
I can hear my heartbeats
while I examine myself consciously
existing in this round world
...

The cracks, covered by dust on the road,
Where my feet are taking now,
Lead me to two different familiar paths,
Paths that have their own beauty and darkness
...

The wings of my dreams start to weaken.
Before, they were wings of a ravenous Eagle
That used to fly my soul to the vast blue sky,
But now they have turned to a crippled wings of a wounded Dove
...

Love can be imperfectly imagined
With perfectly imperfect face:
With nourished dark brows
Above the hazel-brown eyes
...

My soul's voice is cold,
Heart is raining blood,
Mind is getting ready to explode like thunder.
Tears slowly pour down
...

I am the cold and dark side of the world,
Deprived of the warm rays of sunlight.
You are the dazzling crescent moon,
Staying up with me all night long.
...

Memories are running water in the river
That flows away with it's melancholic trickles.
They were once in front of my eyes,
But with just a blink of my teary eye
...

I see you looking for the tiny spark of light
While you groping in the dark,
I badly want to help you find the light
I know that you're avoiding the fire from my heart,
...

As the cheap hands
Of my Divisoria wristwatch
The point at the numbers
Where my right foot stepped in
...

Hearts here,
Hearts there,
Hearts everywhere.
Boxed in a cage of ignorance,
...

My feet alternate forward rapidly
On a green field adorned with blooming 'Sampaguitas',
After an ululating storm
Have swept my innocence and peace,
...

(Ethical Poem)

Staring at the broken mirror covered with blood
I saw an imperfect image of myself.
...

Sitting alone by the lakeside
I was cocooned by the solace of the wind
As it whispers to me the sweet memories of the past,
That passes through the dancing Bamboo
...

In pain and deep anguish,
I sit alone by the lakeside,
But all I can do is wash
My own bloody hands and wounded side
...

(Poem Against Absolutism)

Rough and thick old rope of rigid morality
Grips around my soul's neck,
...

(a poem dedicated to John Locke)

Avant shadows of pride,
lurking behind my head,
...

I can feel every tiny cell,
running through my veins,
that carries the anguish of not living
the gift of this life,
...

It was nine in the evening.
Cicadas were singing our love songs.
A cold wind was whispering the rumors from our past.
The moon was mournfully staring down at us,
...

Of all the different shades of souls
Yours is what my eyes have wanted.

Of all the darkness I have been through,
...