(In which I’d rather write.)
***
I was supposed to be writing the continuation of my essay for Asian and Philippine Literature when I stumbled upon a poem whose title was what I needed – Words.
Words
by Angela Manalang Gloria
I never meant the words I said,
So trouble not your honest head
And never mean the words I write,
But come and kiss me now goodnight.
The words I said break with the thunder
Of billows surging into spray:
Unfathomed depths withhold the wonder
Of all the words I never say.
It was beautiful. What I admire most about AMG is the way she weaves reality and the female psyche into her verses. I felt so connected to the poem I can almost claim the voice, of course, if not for the poetess’ superior play of words and thought. But I read it again and realized that the first stanza wasn’t for me. Yes, it wasn’t for me. I mean what I say. The second, however, describes me. What I don’t say I mean more.
Sometimes it’s ironic that no matter how many words I utter, I still run out of ways to express myself. I speak, and somehow it gets forgotten. I write for the sake of memory and they get lost. I thought I knew words. Now I doubt if I ever knew them. No one needs to understand. I don’t understand it, either.
So I’d rather write. Besides, I should be writing now.
Photo SourceWe Are Made of Words
