Sunlight creases through my face.
I look at it, robbing myself of sight,
One more time, day ends.
One more time, I’m still a day alive.
And I breathe, thank god.
But not of fresh air.
The rooftop now is chilly. Bodies
can’t be sunning in winter.
Inside the library, books eat me.
I know they will outlive me.
But now I will outlive the sun.
In summer, my black hair
Becomes the golden rays of the world.
And the sun will already sleep
to gain strength in the coming months.
I let it crease my lips, sip my own
youth – whatever it wants
before it leaves. I refuse to refuse.
Books eat me and yet no knowledge
knows all of me. Maybe only the sun.
And maybe the sky. Whatever I want
they still can’t give, as books too.
Maybe someday I want to fly
or sleep inside the Danube. Maybe
I will write stories, still mind babbles.
Maybe I would outlive myself,
in the form of dying, as I become
a book, a paper, a word. Maybe the sun
would remain bright, even if evenings
rob me of sanity. Maybe I would dream
tonight of losing sight – I would dig
my own eyes and then face the sun.
Ian is an overseas Filipino student. He misses home.