barya lang po sa umaga

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[chuckakot]

“I am leaving and never coming back; I am stretching out into the thin air.”

— Chuck Akot, Into the thin air

[chuckakot]

“I love you in a silent language, no one really bothers to know or understand. It is because I simply love you in ways that my own self recognises only the domain of words which are truly personal with us. I genuinely believe that we have so much more than what others perceive as nominal or the feeling of being reduced by the act of showing it intimately. But thinking that I am so small and obtained from this togetherness, I feel the weight of gravity stretching all over me— a constant force that is always willing to give in, a plateau of innocence thriving to be in motion, to get carried away like a debris, to be taken by you alone and to dance in those burning silhouettes. What sort of veracity is this, a pigment of gentleness and affection, just by it will, relenting, yearning, dreaming.”

⁠— Chuck Akot, from The Color of Charcoal and Other Essays, A PIGMENT OF GENTLENESS

[chuckakot]

“Love― embrace me, that liquid ether is bathing your body with wonder and amazement, how your ways become my habit and sorrow, how I wrinkle my weight when you summon me with your hands, how desirable, how sumptuous or adamant; nobody knows, but I know it too well, and so, even the slightest touch― this fire is mad, how your fingers are leaflets of flame, how it burns, how warm and crystalline, how gentle and pensive, how addictive, how recapitulating, how dreamy, how far or near?”

— Chuck Akot, from Vague Owls, THAT LIQUID ETHER IS BATHING YOUR BODY

[chuckakot]

“And here I go again— this same feeling that feeds me to you, realigning the stars in your hand, it feels like everything is coming right from the start, oh, missing you is so real, it slices my heart inside out. How I become so small without you? How things turn simple when you are exactly right beside me. Questions are better than answers. I cannot contain this longing, how each of my fingers run across the sheets to keep in touch with your silhouette, your form, your angelic face, your ears with its pearls. Why such a darling like you can tell me how eternity is like? How far shall I roam until I am finally home with you?”

— Chuck Akot, from The Color of Charcoal and Other Essays, AND HERE I GO AGAIN

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“You are His creation. You are formed in His image. Trust Him with all your heart and He will deliver you.”

— Chuck Akot

[chuckakot]

“Your skin, the scent of vanilla, white as the sky, ivory rose, pure.”

—Chuck Akot, from Vague Owls, YOUR SKIN

[chuckakot]

“Your skin, the scent of vanilla, white as the sky, ivory rose, pure.”

—Chuck Akot, from Vague Owls, YOUR SKIN

[chuckakot]

“Pilit na sinasalo ng dahon ang mga hangin na paroo’t-parito, tila taglay nila ang lamig ng umaga, ang napakakalmang haplos nito, parang isang masarap na kahapon sa pagitan natin. Sumasayaw sa hangin ang mga dahon, sinasayaw nito ang mga hugis na luntian, pula, lila, tangeren, at mapuputlang dilaw na gustong kumawala sa kanilang tangkay, gustong makawala pero ayaw pa nitong bumitiw, ayaw pa, dahil baka iiwan lang nang kusa, nagtatangis na hibla at katas parang luha kung magka-ganoon, pero mahihimok kaya nito na kapag kumawala kusa itong mahuhulog, malalanta at matutuyo? Minsan, naisip ko rin, kung luntian ka katulad ng mga dahon, kung lila ka sa panahon ng Mayo, kung asul ka katulad ng langit, o maputlang dilaw, kung nananabik ka sa mga hamog na nagtataglay ng buhay, kung ang mga sandali ay nagpapatungo sa periperyo ng iyong mata na makita mo ako sa iyong panaginip o sa pagkukusa na madalaw mo ang aking gunita. Pilit na sinasalo ng dahon ang hangin, ako ay napaisip hanggang tanglaw ko na ang luha na parang katas ng alaala mo habang dahan-dahan na dumadausdos sa aking pisngi.”

— Chuck Akot, Mga Tula at Talata, Minsan, naisip ko rin, kung luntian ka katulad ng mga dahon

[chuckakot]

“God's words is not your chain, it is your freedom, the grace of His love.”

— Chuck Akot

[chuckakot]

“Mga taludtod sa buhangin, pilit na ginuguhit ng aking hintuturo. Hininhintay, hihintayin na ito ay tuluyan na sirain ng mga alon, parang nadudulas sa tubig na may asin, parang mga luha na sinsambit ng mga mata, aalis, umaalis, pilit na susuyuin muli, habang binubulong ang mga sinsabi mo sa akin, naaanino sa liwanag ang katangis mong masilaw, mainit at masakit.”

— Chuck Akot, Mga Tula at Talata, Mga taludtod sa buhangin

[chuckakot]

“Mga taludtod sa buhangin, pilit na ginuguhit ng aking hintuturo. Hininhintay, hihintayin na ito ay tuluyan na sirain ng mga alon, parang nadudulas sa tubig na may asin, parang mga luha na sinsambit ng mga mata, aalis, umaalis, pilit na susuyuin muli, habang binubulong ang mga sinsabi mo sa akin, naaanino sa liwanag ang katangis mong masilaw, mainit at masakit.”

— Chuck Akot, Mga Tula at Talata, Mga taludtod sa buhangin

[chuckakot]

“Mahawakan ko sana ang pag-ibig ko sa iyo, mapalago nang tama, naitanim man sa paligid ng mga bato.”

— Ang Bandang Shirley, Makahiya

[chuckakot]

“Mahawakan ko sana ang pag-ibig ko sa iyo, mapalago nang tama, naitanim man sa paligid ng mga bato.”

— Ang Bandang Shirley, Makahiya