KRISTINE

Kristine, you’re the reason I

sit up late, with my eye,

glued to this screen

Kristine, I knew you as “Ara”,

but the cast has taught me,

to call you Kristine

Kristine, I know you may never

 See, the poor passion and pains

that I now convert to ink

 and pour, on this white island

 Yet, Kristine, this titanic dream of mine

began, just the first time

I saw you behind this screen

Kristine, I am only a poor poet,

pouring deep passions on the stanzas

of this song;

My  only laurels are the words on my

tongue and the pen in my palm

Kristine, a single glance

on the screen, has made me your captive and

you, my Captor, and now I

dwell, within the walls of your heart

Kristine, your country

must be far from my village

I see that from your fair skin, green eyes

and your pristine pair of crescent lips

For this reason, Kristine, I

may never meet you before my dusk.

But, Kristine, I sit up late

every night, and pray the retiring clouds

to carry my tears to your door

Kristine, your name is

written in my tears;

the tears of my slippery dreams

Your name, Kristine,

is the crimson mist, splashed,

on the petals, of this hibiscus in my heart

Kristine, we may never meet

face to face, flesh and blood, and who knows,

if you’ll ever hear this song in my throat?

Yet, I will sing and sing and sing and sing

Kristine, your love, has

stuck in my throat like a fishbone,

Refusing neither to go down nor come out

Tell me, Kristine, can

the racing wheels of time; the flying

wings of age and the yawning palms of

distance, ever let you see or hear this song?

Kristine, I came out last night, and

stood long, listening to silence, and

 gazing into the full moon,

hoping and praying that you did the same

But you did not, Kristine,

for the moon would have reflected your

face, and what a beautiful moon

their would have been?

If only I could sail with the winds,

I would come for you, Kristine

and there would I live and grey and rust

But sadly, Kristine, I have

No wings, and my feet are manacled, to the

Trunk of the palm in the homestead

How can I sing, my queen of the screen,

Kristine, how can I sing for you

with the dust in my throat

Kristine, as kids we were taught; that

“we see in the dream, what we face at dawn”

But I have dreamt and dreamt and dreamt and dreamt

Yet, my dreams are slippery, Kristine,

ever fleeing but never living, like

morning dews at the wake of the sun

Kristine, fear grips my throat

as I gaze upon my ghost,

approaching from afar

Fair Kristine, can your eyes,

which stare from this screen,

see the pains, of a hammered  heart?

Kristine, can they pierce this lame chest,

and feel, the throb of this love, that burns

under my shirt, beneath my breast,

in the womb of my chest.

Dearest Kristine, I have become your prince,

as well as your prisoner,

As long as you live, then,

I deserve life

                                                                                                                 SANCTUS

 For 'Ara'(Kristine Hermosa) in th movie, "Love Is Timeless".