Simeon Dumdum Jr is with Gingging Dumdum and 4 others.
9 hrs •
Dear Kobe, I am writing from a country you have been to,
Perhaps twice, the Philippines (same area as California),
Still I know you won’t get to read or know about this letter.
I did play some basketball as a young man, once in a while.
It was then that the Celtics dominated most every game,
And this guy, one Wilt Chamberlain, was the big star of the court.
Bill Russell, I understand, was no less great, a shot-blocker.
He rivalled Wilt Chamberlain in the rebounds, for the Celtics.
But Kobe, I am digressing, I’m not into basketball,
Not really, although I watched NBA games on occasion.
What I found in you, Kobe, was your passion for basketball.
More than skill, on the court you showed a ball of fire, you yourself,
Which was why, when off your hands, the ball flew with your own mind,
Which was why, without delay, it made a nest of the ring,
And its swoosh into the circle was a genuine reunion.
And for you, the turning earth, the “pale blue dot,” was basketball,
Which you spun on a finger, whether half asleep or wide awake,
In the court of your consciousness, on whose surface life was played—
Basketball before the game, the dribbling that of the heart,
Basketball after the game, when what you held was your fatigue,
Which you were unable to toss, yourself being its basket.
That was then, now it’s goodbye to basketball and the Lakers,
But is it? Because no one can say goodbye to one’s own self,
And the ball will roll after you as your shadow, Yours—
Simeon Dumdum Jr.
March 10, 2018
I remember our days together
Like ripples of tide
Let my memories sink into You
Play with me like a child
Like I never tire
But only believe You
Let me seek You all the days of my life
Now and forever
/feb 19, 2018.rosevoc
When you fall in love it’s best
not to listen to your heart. You’ll make mistakes
like thinking the dark clouds enfolding the belfry
are guardian angels, and the flowers in the plaza–
those gorgeous roses and violets–are not for sale.
Love does not conquer commerce,
the world moves on full stomach,
and what are those that look like crows clawing
at a piece of meat? Lovers on the run, afraid
of sleeping and cherishing what they
will eventually lose.
Things change as the weather changes,
hooked to beginnings and the fallibility
of beginnings, one eye alone
without a center of gravity. So easily
is the heart fooled by foolish occasions
in glorious blend with pride and moonlight
till the island tilts against coconut trees
and the ship, ah! the precious ship of this or that
golden thing, runs aground, and is that not enough?
No, it is never enough. The lovers may swim
to the shore and plot another tomorrow,
young as they are, and daring. They will restore
the stars to the sky, the trees to the mountain
and a passage of violin music to the valley,
they will get sick, they will not die and thus
suffer an impatience for wings to close the distance
between them though they are together.
The dare is in not caring how long it will take them
to do it, the joy in knowing that
they can partake of time. Once you know that,
the knots unravel. You look at the water,
you see the water, if you look at boats you see boats–
love sharp-edged, used to forebodings, faith-encrusted crown.
This is when you close the door of your heart, the windows, too, and hope that the four winds do not
ritualize your love into an obsolete song.
~ Cirilo F. Bautista
34You, Susan Severino Lara, Joni Cham and 31 others