the rape of the Mind

Keeping the thoughts of all the trips that I missed

On my mind, I was first hesitant as I stood behind

The yellow line and waited for another train,

Hoped that this time, my feet wouldn’t be in pain

After hours of standing and assuming and waiting

For the coming of that something I was longing

For; I was almost tired of all the gamble and trouble

I had been into. Yet though I really wished to be able

To make it that time and make “now” and chance rhyme,

I let the train came and went with the passing of time

While I still stood behind the yellow line, uncertain

If I would be willing to take the risk and entertain

All my thoughts; ignore what ifs and the doubts in my mind.

So I kept missing and missing and I let myself, left behind.

The train came and went and so did the people

While I, still standing, almost starting to tremble

And realized, all the uncertainties, all the hesitation

Sprung from the fear of all the robbery and treason

Which, in a train of many people, were already ordinary.

Trains came and went and so did trust for everybody.

But enough of all the immaturity; time has come to face reality.

So, I boarded; I let my feet land on the train’s floor, nervously

When the next train approached, stopped and opened its door.

I did not mind the crowd, instead, focused on what was in store

For me, possibly, there was something good waiting for me

There, where I was heading to. So I journeyed optimistically.

Last station, my destination. The train stopped, I still hoped.

Door, opened; I got off. There was crowd; as it thinned, I walked

Towards the direction where exit was. Crowd again; people still came

And went. I walked, stopped; and, into my sight, you, still, came.

I was young and

                       I have seen the world in between

                       the pages of fairy tale books

                       I used to love as a little girl

                       and believed they could be real.

   I grew up and

                       I have seen the world in between

                       the pages of horror books

                       I have always been afraid of

                       and prayed they were not real.

I fell in love and

                       I have seen the world in between

                       the pages of romance books

                       I have always smiled at

                       and hoped they were real

   I was hurt and

                       I have seen the world in between

                       the pages of absurdist books

                       I have always felt frustrated about

                       and prayed for a leap of faith

      I waited and

                       I have seen the world in between

                       blank pages of an empty notebook

                       I have known before

                       and wondered if I could write new stories.

    I met you and

                       I now see the world in between

                       pages of a notebook

                       where a new story

                       is waiting to be written on.

   I love you and

                       I now see this world in between

                       pages of the notebook

                       where we can write,

                       together, our story.

You love me and

                       I now see this wold in between

                       pages of the notebook

                       where we are writing our story.

                       This time, better.

       I am happy.

All the uncertainties:

fluctuating signal of my broadband connection,

unstable signal of your handset network,

when we are both free so we could meet.

But nevermind all of these.

Instead, think of this one certain thing:

No matter how the signals suck,

Even though we do not always meet,

I love you.

by Danton Remoto

This morning, it is raining

in my country.

Water slides down

the leaves

like tongue on skin.

The sound of their falling

collects

like breath on the lobes

of cars.

You are a continent away.

There, the leaves are beginning

to turn.

Soon, night will steal hours

from day

and snow will be whirling

in drifts.

But you are here

in the country

of my mind,

wiping away the maps

of mist

on the window pane,

lying in bed beside me,

as the pulse of the pillows and sheets—

even the very throb of rain—

begins to quicken.

Shocked and puzzled was I
When I saw you standing in the front of my
Pinkish car traveling along that drive
On that dark, quiet night.

You were a lady in white
Whom I found in that so called Balete Drive.
I stopped, you talked to me, asked for a ride;
You said you were victimized by robbers that same night.

Quezon Ave.’s lights were always bright.
You touched my shoulders and thanked me for the ride
That same moment, you said goodbye,
Gave me a kiss then said goodnight. 

It was already too late, oh my…
When I found an ID where you just sat
Your picture there was so, so nice
With your name printed on it: Miguelito Duclay.

***

I wrote this poem in 2008, when I was still a communication major and had not yet taken classes in creative writing.