Month: December 2025

Surely, The Cosmos Was Made By Someone

Poetry by | December 15, 2025

I write all my marrow-deep desires
in a tender list, cast it into
a prayer, a super-condensed,
nuclear hope, ready
to welcome me—once truly
answered—as a surprise,
in a gentle, slow gust,
an anti-explosion, in a big
crunch, towards the singularity,
that is me, like a hug, in the warping
of matter around the Maker’s cosmic
finger as They tap
on the wishes that I held
inside my clasped palms,
like the first nucleus, to reveal
the grandest evanescence,
that is
this life.

James Bryan Galagate Delgado is a fourth-year Medical Biology student at Mapúa Malayan Colleges Mindanao. He is also a fellow of the 2018 ADDU Summer Writers Workshop and the 2025 Davao Writers Workshop.

Weight of Small Dreams

Nonfiction by | December 8, 2025

“What’s your dream in life?” I started my class this morning with a simple question, the kind you throw lightly into a sleepy classroom.

I didn’t expect much. Maybe a few shy smiles, a few half-formed answers, and then we’d move on to the actual lesson. But sometimes, the simplest questions carry more weight than we anticipate.

The first hand shot up quickly, certain and confident. “Gusto ko makasakay ug airplane, Ma’am!” (I want to fly in an airplane, Ma’am!).

Another student nodded excitedly in agreement. Their enthusiasm was contagious.  Laughing, I also admitted that I hadn’t flown in an airplane yet, either.

It made us laugh. Three people on the ground pretending, for a moment, that we could soon ride that man-controlled big bird in the sky.

I thought about how wonderful it was to see them imagine something so free, weightless, and untethered. Continue reading Weight of Small Dreams

Jokes You Can Use When You Have A Dead Father

Poetry by | December 8, 2025

  1. Have you seen my dad? I haven’t either, ever since he followed the light.
  2. My dad always preached about Jesus when I was young. He kept telling stories about the goodness of that son of God. He was dying to be with him. So, once the two of them met, he never came back.
  3. I have been taller than my father since I was 11 years old. He didn’t have a condition that restricted him from growing; he was just six feet under the ground. 
  4. I haven’t been able to contact my father lately. Perhaps they ban phones in heaven.
  5. My old man would not be proud of who I am today. But I don’t mind. What is he going to do, rise from his grave? 

When your audience hesitates to let out a laugh or even a chuckle, as if you can pluck the expression of pity from their faces, you can throw these lines to dispel the tension in the air: 

  1. Don’t feel bad. 
  2. You can find it funny. 
  3. It doesn’t bother me anymore. 
  4. Anyway, he was gone longer than the time we shared together.
  5. My dad will not haunt you. He doesn’t even visit me in my dreams. 

Laurehl Onyx B. Cabiles is a writer from Cotabato, Province. He has been a fellow of the Sox Writer’s Workshop (2023), NAGMAC-YWS (2024), and Ateneo de Davao Summer Writers Workshop (2024), and Davao Writers Workshop (2025). 

 

Babae, Baril, at Baybay

Poetry by | December 8, 2025

Ang distansya sa pagitan ng babae at baril
ay pinananatili ang diwa at igting
ng himagsikan at labada.
Siya ang rebolusyon ng pag-aalimpuyo ng mga kalan;
ang sigaw ng katipunan.

Ang pagitan ng babae at bibig ng makata
ay laway at tinta—
minsan, bala ng colt at asin.

Ang pagitan ng pag-ibig at babae
ay hindi bugbog at pasa,
hindi birhen at imahen
kundi ang baybay at himig ng apoy
at hindi ang bigat ng taludtod
na nakakahon sa dibdib
ng bayang paulit-ulit na sinusunog
ngunit ayaw maging abo.

Bago ang huling bigwas
ng buwayang nakakulong sa kusina.
Ang kanyang katawan ay kanya.
Sa sigalot ng karit at bigkis ng ani. 

Aleah Sulaiman Bantas is a queer Maguindanaon writer who hails from the floodplains of Datu Paglas, Maguindanao del Sur. A fellow of the SOX Writers Workshop (2025), her works have appeared in the Bangsamoro Literary Review, Dagmay, and SunStar Davao. Her zines and poetry anthologies have been published under Tridax Zine, Cotabato Literary Circle, and the Socsksargen Writers Collective. She is currently studying at the University of Southern Mindanao.

 

Humba Espesyal

Poetry by | December 8, 2025

Tausi, asusina, ug patis,
Adunay lami nga tambok sa baboy gilahi.
Hiniwa nga dagkong unod, apil bukog,
Ang dakong kalaha gipabukalan na’g mantika.

Ang mga panakot andam na,
Ang mga panakot andam na,
Andama na ang kutsilyo, luwag, ug kutsara.

Sa paglunod sa preskong karne,
Giapilan ug lamas, suka, ug sili.
Sa kada ukay ni Papa, mosiga ang kusina,
Ang iyang sekreto mao lami kaayo,
Mura’g pista sa lamisa, puno sa kalipay ug gugma.

Krisghe Rose Icao is a third-year Literature student who writes from the deepest parts of her own lived experiences. She writes to inspire, to speak, and to express the emotions she once kept silent. Through her poetry, she hopes to reach others who need to feel seen, understood, and unafraid to use their own voice.

acid-rich

Poetry by | December 8, 2025

a carton, in a closed room, half-sealed
still, yet swelling, bulges
from gas release, yet not still
out small softened delicate creases.

spoiled milk, our heart, that is
sour smell filling trapped air
nose scrunch, flares

at the stench of spoiled zeal.
my chest, tight, still burns
from past love’s residue:
acid-rich ache. a burp
not burped, a fart not farted. 

Yra is, at times, an aspiring writer from Davao de Oro. Her notes are filled with to-do lists she never gets to cross out.