There is an alternate universe beyond crystal mirrors
It tells its own story in its own time
Through a a pastiche of tunnels and mirrors of memory
Carried away by jeeps, tricycles
Made a shadow of footsteps on the esplanade
Waiting in a room filled with light
This is not the story of I but You
You wakes up to the sound of trains
It muffles the song of the birds but it has its
Own melody something like the melancholy
Patter of rain and whistling of leaves in summer
You gets up fetches
a pair of black rimmed glasses
black leather gloves
some old Chuck Taylor’s
a pair of earphones
You is trying to remember something
Something familiar something written
On the wound of the city
Memory refuses to reveal itself
It was not yet time
It was forgotten in a room filled with light
You rides the train to Manila
sitting next to I but
You does not know this
You is concerned with the
passage of light hidden in
the darkness of
the tunnel.
The train comes out of the darkness
Light bathes the train station
There is no sound of bullets nor of screams
Just the steady rustling of the wind
You comes out of the doors
the earphones were left behind
The music of the trees blow steadily
Into You’s ears its melodious ensemble
Forms music from an ancient time
The hum of leaves mimics the sound of the violin
The wind resembles an angel’s voice
Soft and supple upon You’s naked ears
Time has a way of playing games
it creates memory from the
past to the future
hidden behind clandestine
doors of moonlight
one is not really sure
if the past, present or
future is staring directly
through the mirror
It is day again for You
You hears distinctly the music of the birds
And the noise of cars and blaring horns in the street
You gets up fetches
a pair of black rimmed glasses
black leather gloves
some old Chuck Taylor’s
You is in the train station again
Sitting next to I
But You only hears a voice a faint whisper
It reminded You of music
It is dark again in the tunnel
You comes out of the doors
You’s Chuck Taylor’s
and black gloves
are gone
You is left with
bare hands and feet
The cold touch of the concrete
And the sweltering heat of the sun
Leaves a mark on You’s skin
You remembers the music playing in the trees
Time does not wait
it suddenly moves
in fast forward
hidden in
routines
You is in the train station again
You forgot the pair of black rimmed glasses
With bare eyes, hands, feet, ears
You sees I sitting to the right
You sees a gaping wound
The wound is getting bigger You cannot avoid it
You is left with nothing but I
We are often afraid of time
and what it reveals to us
we create memories
instead
It is dark again in the tunnel
Light is waiting outside.
