In March

In March, underneath the warm canopy of Manila sun,

We lingered in silence ’til you said, “My heart’s in a bind.”

Basked in the sunbeams of youth, blank pages of desires—

The strangle of unspoken words was suffocating by and by.

Between us were words sans sounds but shared and alive:

Silhouettes of fallible souls and skeletons of feeble minds—

Secrets of love and ire, of joy and cry, of truths and lies—

“Guess it’s time to feed them all into the balefire,” you cried.

And now, cocooned in cool spring and Matsuyama sun,

My mind still streams in what if’s tho’ years have passed.

Had we not worried of hell nor the heat of Manila Sun,

gods?