Poetry by | November 6, 2016

It is cosmic. But why do we try
reducing it precisely to habits?
Perhaps it sleeps, too, and wakes
to a new day like we do.
It sits momentarily, reviews a list of needs
and few serviceable tasks in a day.
Perhaps it looks for a quick inspiration, too.
A good call, or a response to a message
which has not been read for a couple of hours.
Neither circumstances nor excuses will ever
lose its value. After conflicts and neglects,
it restores and seeks itself again.
Perhaps it finds a new space
sometimes: once in a week, a month or two.
How long can it travel alone? It learns
where it stumbles upon itself.
It does not know it loves
because sometimes it reads too much.
It raises a mirror to itself and gazes
long at what it only wants to see,
and throws a question it cannot even answer.
Only when it demands, it delivers
a disappointed look.
It also hates and does not accept,
even itself. When it is in pain, it goes back
to where it once found itself easy.
It strangles with both hands but stops
to a sight of love, open as widening palms.
Then it goes home, empties out its pockets
full of ever-hefty disquiet.
Later, before it rests, it remembers
and holds a new precious thought.
Only it knows how it always wishes itself best.

Arian Tejano graduated from UP Mindanao. She’s currently residing in Dumaguete City in pursuit of writing, her transition and a new life.

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