If I could write poetry
I would capture magic in the spaces between words
and trap fleeting wonders in metrics and rhymes

I would weave sonnets of sungold gathering over rice-fields
pink blush of sunrises, first stars of twilight
and fluttery scents of sampaguitas in the cool breeze

I would compose ballads to those who walk into machine-gun spray
to deliver the blow of justice
and to those great men history leave in shadows

I would pen lyrics to my brethren in wanderlust
and share the thrill of chasing after horizons
in the recklessness, tactlessness and immeasurable hope of youth
that lends no elbowroom to prudence

I would write tall tales of pricking sleeping dragons
building castles out of stardust
and cheating death

If I could write poetry
maybe I can say what every beautiful spun-glass day means to me
and sing odes to the overwhelming kindness of strangers.