A Country of my Own

and i measured your symmetry
with a gaze or a look
every curve and every contour
a slope or a mountain
    that i have conquered

i traversed your horizon
with just a blink of an eye
tamed and rode the four winds
galloping in your green stables

i crossed your rivers on carabao’s back
and lured the muses to know the secrets
of your first name and orient beginning

i learned your folktales and legends by heart
mythologized the loves and lives
of your sons and daughters in my verses
as if they were written a thousand years ago

i have lied to add colours and lease of life
to your golden age and renaissance

i have lied a thousand times even more
for your histories to be heard
amongst your own people who are losing
their legacy and the salt of their tongue

you are within my grasp Caboloan
Camelot of my imagination
you are the country of my own
right here in the province of my heart
where syllables palpitate
    like the breathlessness of turtledoves
where words are red wine flowing
     like the blood in my myocardial arteries

let me hear once more the bamboo songs
the lover’s sonnets and serenades
    the manag-anito’s orisons
        O let me hear
even the silence of your hillocks
before i fall into my darkest night
before i soar into my dreamful flight

rise up Caboloan and speak through my words
speak in your language dying for rebirth
until your children learns to lend their ears
listen to the voice of their inmost selves
hasten to the quickening
    of their disquieted souls

speak before i fall into silence
before i give away my existence

and/or

turn into a reed or a blade of grass