Nata?

Nata?,
Why our 
'why' 
can mean 
small
or insignificant,
or nothing at all
in another 
tongue?
Nata?
Nata, 
Nada.

untitled

you are the songs 
whose melody I liked,
who in gibberish I sing,
whose lyrics I yet to learn.

In pixel prison

I looked at things
in high or low def,
in 72 or 300,
in raw exposures,
in cmyk or rgb,
in automatic levels,
in tweaked curves,
in sharpened edges,
in depths of fields,
in fake bokehs,
in fake antiquated effects,
in jpeg, tiff, psd and png,
in units and increments,
in picas, points, millimetres or inches,
that imprisoned my sight
in the four corners
of a pixel.
I looked at things from inside
and realized that the prison I am in
is where images
are defined by
somebody else's sight.

Oda sa Salita

Ikaw,

Natatakot ako sa'yong lakas,

potensyal man o ganap na

tumunaw ng bundok,

lumunod ng buhay,

pumatay ng apoy,

kumalawang ng asero,

Pero gayunpaman, 

hinintay ko ang iyong pagpatak.