Papier-mâché

I crossed this city as much as I had known my feet would touch the finely made asphalt. Onto pedestrian lane, a screeching noise was approaching me: a cab with an immaculacy of white. On this road constructed by men, Horns and red lights beaming at me: I lent my ears a listen for a jiffy, only to find myself getting lost in it. Then later, a cacophony of sounds, The strange petroleum that enveloped my nose, and my toes pointing at Southwestern direction. This was the place: One man sits with his legs crossed; The other smokes Mighty. A woman with her trolley, filtered with eye-tail others would refer as a beckoning masquerade. Some strangers quelled their thirsts with Red Bull,  some quaffed gins. Smoke from charcoal-cooked barbecues;  a pile of clothes that smelt like lavender; the people knelt before this Black-Forest-cake-colored building. And as soon as I arrived, they stared at me like I was in a parade. I saw them all with my arms hugging myself from my hood―through my stale gray

Hanggang ngayon, hindi ko pa batid kung paano ko bibigyang-kasagutan ang ganitong klase ng mga tanong nang umaayon din sa karampatang obhetibo-subhetibong tugon. Isa pang bagay, dahil sa pagsasagot ko sa katanungang ito ay hindi ko napipigilan ang sarili na lunurin muna sa mga sambitla ng musika. Hindi kaya’t ibig sabihin noon ay hanggang ngayon ay bumabatay pa rin ako sa kung paano ako ipaliliwanag ng bawa’t liriko na binabato ng mga paborito kong mga kanta, o kahit sa anong aspekto ng anumang bagay? Nguni’t kung wala ito, sinisisid ko ang mga metapora, ritmo at metro ng mga tula—parehong likha ng iba at sariling katha. Naalala ko pa noon kapag nagsisimula pa lamang akong humabi ng mga salita, bahagi yata talaga ang pagiging kuwela o malaro sa mga salita—sa pag-aakalang ito ang tunguhin ng isang akda, partikular ng tula. Ilang beses ding nakapagsayang ng mga papel, nakapagsunog—nang literal—ng mga larawan ng mga taong sinandalan at sa hulí hihigupin din ang pangkalahatang lakas mo par