If this is home
then why I feel all alone?
is this the curse of growing old,
or a blessing I don't deserve?
Every portraits hanged on walls
is a memory: half remembered, half hard recalled;
and every bodies wrapped in cotton sheets,
are islands seperated by the old, great sea.
Dinners are cold, breakfasts are bare;
we filled the silence with empty stares–
what happened with the burning flames?
whom is now written in your breasted plate?
But all you had is guilt and silence,
regretting all the years that turned to waste;
and all I had is a moment
to realize that your weather's changed.
And if this is home,
then why I feel like I am never owned?
Like I am unknown,
Like I'm ain't yours before.
BINABASA MO ANG
blue valentine
PoetryThis is for the love I have found in between clouds of smoke, behind bathroom doors, and every waking at midnight hour - blue valentine. (2023)
