Honolulu in the Early Hours

It is leaving on a Sunday
before the first crack of dawn
that makes you linger
and linger on. The bed you know
too well you will remember
too well from a distance
with the dark of the wee hours
giving way to light
and this another sun.

And the cheerful day at sea
that will last a lifetime
until you come again
to leave on a Sunday like this one
to arrive on a Sunday like this one
between time zones
one in the Marikina by the mountains
another by Waipahu by the mountains
in between is the sea that does not know its name
its pain not knowing its past
its wound having no future
as will the Honolulu you go to
in the early hours.

It is your first time arriving
this early in this new city
you keep hidden in your poem
that speaks of isolation
with no birthplace no birthdate
but wishing just the same
to be up in the gusty wind, cold and freezing
in winter time
and alone and happy in the fall
in all the seasons you count
how much longer how much time
how many years this separation
will keep you from coming
to your word, perfecting the promise
and keeping it to build a dream,
colorful and glad and majestic
like the Diamond Head in the distance.

You see the glitter and glamour
of the restless lights on posts
as with the glitter but not the glamour
of your heavy heart.

It is leaving that makes you arrive
in destination countries
you have dreamed of
but never know it is this hard
like a protracted war
your people have waged
for the longest time possible
since time immemorial
when the cross-bearing bastards
came to own the only thing
you have got: memory, this memory
language, this language
word, this word
story, this story
revolution, this one at last.

Honolulu in the early hours
is all these: a destiny yet
to be defined by love
and what it has got.

Unlike your land, your homeland:
this is all it has: this early
hours bidding goodbye to the dark
as you embark from a night-long
ride atop the clouds.

Honolulu, HI

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