By Virginia Jasmin Pasalo

 

THERE, from a distance, the moon is hidden, a part of me that stayed away. I sense your presence in the abysmal silence. I could truly touch, hear, taste, smell and see you, the way I am aware of parts of my body without looking, my sense of proprioception. I can feel you in every sense, from the texture of your skin to your volatile thoughts, like a multi-sensory integration and a perception outside of it. Even in the throes of leaving, you defy, living in advance your own resurrection. You cannot hide behind the clouds, not even in the deepest darkness. Come.

Mask (written 20210526)

there is a sadness in your eyes
that cannot be soothed
not by the sunlight as it shines on your face
or the moon as it beams on your lips
not even the breeze on the seashore
or the salt in the waves

no one knows its depths,
or its breadths
or how long it has lived
under the pores of your skin
or in the safety of your hypothalamus
no one knows, not even the seagrasses
and the giant clams, with whom
you have shared your heartbeat

the gloom has taken root
somewhere underneath the ground
traveling across a vast network
of memories, of deep scars
and unspoken desires
hidden within the strong limbs of trees
the rhythmic swaying of the leaves
and the growth of healthy seeds
from the womb of the flowers

in the silence, as the angels pass
a precious hint, quickly snatched away
by the sweetness of a smile
and the roar of jeepneys
exorcising their own demons
on the hapless streets

Midnight Moon (written 20210530)

do not stare
at my nakedness
from the open window
come, enter my eyes
sleep with me.

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