If Only

9 10 2017


what is the gain
of our coming and going?
where is weft
of our life’s warp?
in the circle of the spheres
the lives of so many good men
burn and become dust,
but where is the smoke?

the pity of it that
we should be shrivelled away,
to be cut down
by the sickle of the spheres;
ah, the pity, the sorrow-
in the twinkling of an eye,
our desires unassuaged,
we are blotted out.

though you may have lain with
a mistress all of your life,
tasted the sweets
of the world of your life;
still the end of the affair
will be your departure-
it was a dream
that you dreamed all your life.

now when only
the name of happiness is left,
no ripe comrade remaining
but the rough wine,
keep the happy hand
clenched to the wine-jug,
today when the jug
is all the hand has got.

if only there were
occasion for repose,
if only this long road
had an end, and in
the track of a hundred
thousand years, out
of the heart of dust
hope sprang again-
like those greeness.

since all a man gets
in this place of
two doors, is only
a heart of sorrow
and the giving up of life,
he who never lived
a moment is happy-
that man is at peace
whose mother never bore him…



if only
rudy ram. rumbaoa


Being and Non-Being Themselves Become Nothing

7 10 2017

the captives of intellect
and of the nice distinction,
worrying about being and non-being
themselves become nothing;
you with news, go and seek out
the juice of the vine,
those without it
wither before they’re ripe.


oh politicians of their own,
we work better than you,
with all this drunkenness,
we’re more sober:
you drink men’s blood,
we, the vine’s,
be honest-
which of us is more bloodthirsty?


a religious man said to a whore,
“you’re drunk,
caught every moment
in a different snare.”
she replied, “oh father,
i am what you say.
are you what you seem?”


they say lovers
and drunkards go to hell,
a controversial dictum
not easy to accept:
if the lover and drunkard
are for hell,
tomorrow paradise
will be empty.



being and non-being themselves become nothing
rudy ram. rumbaoa

I Know Nothing [What Will I Know?]

3 10 2017

heaven’s wheel gained
nothing from my coming,
nor did my going
augment its dignity;

nor did my ears
hears from anyone
why i had to come
and why i went.

if my heart will not arrive
of solving the riddle,
i will not reach the goal
the wise of the subtlety seek;

i make things here with me
with wine and the cup of bliss,
for i may and i may not be
arrive at this blissful hereafter.

if my heart could only
grasp the meaning of life,
in death it would know
the mystery of god;

today when i’m in the possession
of myself, i know nothing.
tomorrow when i leave myself
behind, then what will i know?



i know nothing [what will i know?]
rudy ram. rumbaoa

The World…

26 09 2017

i have wandered much
about far and wide,
i have wandered
as far as every horizon;
i have heard of nobody
who came from this road-
the road we went by,
the road of no return.

we are the puppets
and the kings are the masters,
in actual fact
and not as a metaphor;
for a time we acted
on stage, we went back
one by one into the box of oblivion.

what a long time we shall not be
and the world endure,
neither name
nor sign of us will exist;
before we were not
and there was no deficiency,
after this, when we are not
it will be the same as before.

on the surface of the earth
i see only sleepers,
under the earth
i see those put away;
the more i scan
the void of oblivion,
i only see
the departed and unborn.

this is an old inn
whose name is ‘the world’,
it is the resthouse
of night and day:
it is the banquet of the left-overs
of a hundred kings,
the grave which is
the bed-chamber
of a hundred politicians…


the world
rudy ram. rumbaoa


23 09 2017

i drink wine, its aroma
will rise from the dust
when i’m under it;
should a toper
come upon my dust,
the fragrance from my corpse
will make her roaring drunk.

the day when my life’s
branch is uprooted
and my members
are dispersed,
should my clay be used
to make a cup
it would come to life
as soon as it was filled with wine.

when i am prostrate
at the feet of doom,
my hope of life
torn up by the root,
take care to use
my clay for only goblet-
the smell of wine
might restore me life for a moment.

when you are
in convivial company,
you must remember
ardently your friend:
when you are drinking
mellow wine together
and my turn comes,
invert the glass…




rudy ram. rumbaoa

Reminisce the Past…

23 09 2017

Photo taken from the 2nd GUMIL Filipinas Conference held at the Philippine Consulate in Honolulu, September 2006.

From left: Me [Maui], Freddie Lazaro and Dr. Jaime Raras [Ilocos Sur], Iluko.com Webmaster Andy Barroga [Washington, USA] and Ed Padaoan [Canada]

Lost Consciousness [And Knowledge]

19 09 2017

filipinas, do not grieve
over this worn-out world,
you are not aimless
don’t indulge in aimless sorrows;

since it is not clear
what has gone and what has not,
be happy, don’t grieve
over what was and what was not.

take it, filipinas, that all the world’s
trappings are won
that your pleasure-garden
is decked out in green;

then seated one night
like the dew of the greenness,
take it that the dawn
has already risen.

the dead are changed
into earth and dust,
each particle seperated
from the others;

what is this wine they have
drunk that until the day of doom
they have lost consciousness
and knowledge of all things?





lost consciousness [and knowledge]
rudy ram. rumbaoa