Barrabas Was Me

Poetry by | January 19, 2026

They made Barabbas stand across a man
who wore thorns for a crown.
It should have been him.

I watched them lash the man’s skin.
Seventy times seven.
Barabbas shook with laughter
as the chain in his hands unbound.

Sin.
Guilt.
Shame.
He took them.

I looked at Barabbas and cried
as he walked free.

Then I looked at the man
and found His eyes already on me.
And at that moment
I realized Barabbas was me.

Josephine May Grace Famoso is a lifelong learner of literature. She teaches literature at University of Southeastern Philippines.

Mga Kamot

Poetry by | January 19, 2026

ang akong kamot kanunay ipadangat sa kahitas-on.
nangurog, nagahulat, nagahandom…

ako, kanunay nagapabilin diri
kung asa naghalok ang kagahapon ug kaugmaon
ug ako, kanunay nagahandum sa pagtubo sa
mga binhi sa liking yuta.
apan ang pagbanaw sa luha
wa damha ang kaalimoot sa adlaw.
ug balas ray nakumkum.

ang akong kamot kanunay ipadangat sa kahitas-on.
nangurog, nagahulat, nagahandom…

ingon nila ako ang balak sa kalibutan,
ang mga pulong na nag uros-uros sa usa ka suba.
mao siguro gipanganak ko’g uhaw.
nabuhi lang aron ipadangat ang kabugnawon sa lain.
apan ang kabugnawon mismo
wa damha sa kaugalingong uga na panit.

ug ang akong kamot kanunay ipadangat sa kahitas-on…
nangurog, nagahulat, nagahandom…

ingon nila ako ang maayong kangitngit —
ginagakos ang mga bitoon.
wa ko mingreklamo sa kahayag.
apan, naa rako diri nagalantaw
sa kahibulongan sa pagsidlak sa panganod.
matahom gayud.
nagahulat…sa kahayag na angay’ng ma-akoa

ug ang akong kamot kanunay ipadangat sa kahitas-on…
nangurog, nagahulat, nagahandom…

kung muabot man ang panahon na abo nala’y mabilin…
binli ko’g luna kung asa’y tubig, asa’y hayag, asa’y ma-akoa.

Jastin C. Fronteras is an educator who occasionally likes to write poetry. He draws inspiration from nature, religious iconographies and ideologies.

Kung Kita Usa Ka Langgam

Poetry by | January 19, 2026

Kanindot diay ang molupad.
Ang makigduyog sa mga panganod.
Ang makigduwa sa mga pisik sa uwan.
Ang tanglaon sa mga mananap sa yuta.
Swerte kitang galupad-lupad…
Tungod di mabayran
Ang atung mga pakpak
Hilabi na ang atung abilidad nga labangon
Ang distansya sa oras ug panahon.

Swerte kitang dunay’ng mga pako
Tungod masukod natu
Ang kalay-on sa dagat ug yuta,
Malabwan ang nagkandataasang mga balay
Masinati ang bugnawng halok sa hangin,
Makigsayaw sa nagpahiyom nga mga dahon
Ug pamatud-ang di kinahanglan ang kwarta
Aron kita palakpakan ug kasinaan.

Swerte kitang dunay’ng hait ang sungo
Ug tag-as nga mga kuko
Tungod di na kinahanglan manglimos
Sa mga buaya ug ubang mananap og pagkaon.

Labaw’ng swerte ta…
Tungod di natu kinahanglan ang hunghong sa uban
Igo na ang atung mga kanta––
Mga awitong magpatulog sa mga lapsag inig kagabii
Ug magpahinomdom nga dunay kalinongan
Tunga niining kasaba sa kalibutan.

Luis Bahay is a Licensed Teacher at Tampakan, South Cotabato who loves to write poems especially in Binisaya.

Baradusa

Poetry by | January 19, 2026

Sinemagad su baradusa
Nakadtulik si mata
Timindeg si kilay
Na nakagkenu si ngiyawa.

Di gatalima sa katigan ni Ama
Sinta a nakatingguma
Masla sakit ku dalpa
Tiyuba sa basa ni Bapa.

Di ga ampun nu tuhan i manyaba ganggula,
Indaw’n ka kalu-kalu na maawa,
Magatus a badas
Paawan sa dalpa.

Nakaidsa si ginawa
Endaw tampal i tiyuba?
Sakit a nakatingguma?
Sangat aku a nakandusa?

Tantu!
Limengi si ginawa ku biwang, na midsulanga su dalil
Midtulik sa kawan, na midsumbak su tapsir
Dusa a masla tig ni silan antu.

[Translation in English]

Sinner

The sinner walked through
Their eyes glanced
Their brows lifted
And their souls were struck with shock.

Unacceptable to the words of Father
A cursed arrived
A great disease to the community
A catastrophe, in Uncle’s words.

God does not accept such an occurrence
Guide it, so it may be removed
One hundred lashes
Driven out from the community.

The self began to ask:
Where is the catastrophe?
What disease truly came?
Did I really commit a sin?

Truly!
I turned to the left, and proof crossed
Glanced to the right, interpretations collided
A great sin, in their words.

Jamil E. Mabandis, 19, is an aspiring Bangsamoro writer. His work has also appeared in the Bangsamoro Literary Review. He loves experimenting with poetry and creative nonfiction, especially about Bangsamoro.

On Apathy & Zombies

Poetry by | January 19, 2026

Must we go unrepentant?
Must we go with soft knees,
idle hands, and dry eyes
guiltless of
the raw throbbing in our chests?

In the name of civility,
we go on
unfeeling,
sauntering across an open graveyard
like a slow
stroll in the park.

Jannies Shyne S. Briones is a graphic designer and traditional artist residing in Davao City. She is currently working as an art director for a sustainability communications company based in Pasig City. During her spare time, she likes to write poems, screenplays, and short stories for the sake of memory-keeping.

…but there are ants in my Pancit Canton

Nonfiction by | January 16, 2026

There are ants in my Pancit Canton!

Is what a YouTube clickbait title would look like. But on a faithful morning, there are literally ants in my Pancit Canton. I opened a pack and there were not only five, six, or seven, but what appeared to be a whole colony! A colony of ants on MY Pancit Canton!

I told my dad, “May langgam sa Pancit Canton.”

“Hayaan mo lang, mawawala lang sila,” he said as he returned to his TikTok consumption.

But there are ants! In my Pancit Canton!

Crawling around like tiny imperialists on an instant noodle package they recently conquered meant for me, a hungry human. Pancit Canton, nonetheless. Ants! In my Pancit Canton! Who would believe me!? It sounded like an obscure version of “Honey, I Shrunk The Kids,” in my head. I tried to blow the ants away from my Pancit Canton as best as I could.

But there were STILL ants! In my Pancit Canton!

I cooked my meal Lucky Me: Pancit Canton Calamansi Flavor (with ants) as per packet instructions: three minutes over hot water. I watch the noodles hydrate with ants squirming in a Pancit Canton and ant-broth. Some off to the side, slowly dying, but some still clinging on to my Pancit Canton. I grab the strainer, forking over ants that were still left on my Pancit Canton. I do the same as I mix in the sauce over the noodles of my Pancit Canton.

I took one forkful bite of my breakfast which, I quickly found out, was ants and Pancit Canton! Ants on my breakfast, imagine that! The crunch of ants hit my teeth first, then my tongue. Some people eat crickets as a delicacy, but ants? I haven’t heard of it. They tasted like a doorknob, like rust.

But there were ants in my midnight Pancit Canton snack! While writing my thesis!

Around 4:00-ish AM, I took an hour break from writing my thesis. The 7PM dinner I had went to my keyboard and onto my manuscript. I looked to the top of the refrigerator and found a care-package combination for college students: Skyflakes and Pancit Canton; with no ants yet, unbeknownst to me. The coffee options were well-travelled, spanning Vietnam, Malaysia, Dubai, and NCCC Ma-a Sentro. The ref was also full of eggs, newly bought.

Not wanting to wake up anyone, I quietly grabbed a pan and an egg. As I opened the pack of Pancit Canton, I came to find that there were ants. Not as many as my breakfast excursion, but ants, nonetheless! In my Pancit Canton! As opposed to the previous ant-filled experience, they all died down after one boil. Instead of chewing on ant carcasses like a bottom feeder, I was once again a mighty human eating a snack. I put on a YouTube video to pair with my now ant-free Pancit Canton.

I still couldn’t believe that there were ants! In my Pancit Canton! Along with Wheat Flour, Vegetable Oil (Palm Oil, Green Tea Extract), Salt, Stabilizer (Guar Gum), Acidity Regulator (Sodium Carbonate, Potassium Carbonate), Emulsifier (Polyphosphate), Seasoning: Coconut Oil, Soy Sauce (Water, Soybean), Salt, Preservative (Potassium Sorbate), Maltodextrin, Flavor Enhancer (Monosodium Glutamate, Disodium 5 Inosinate, Disodium 5 Guanylate), Salt, Cane Sugar, Artificial Chicken Flavor, Dehydrated Vegetables (Carrots, Chives), Acid (Citric Acid), Spices (Onion, Garlic), Color (Caramel Color), Citrus Flavor.

Ants, of all things! In my Pancit Canton!

Rean Marco Regno is a Development Studies graduate of Ateneo de Davao University. He was a fellow of the 2018 SOX Summer Writing Camp and is currently affiliated with the Philippine Sociological Society (PSS).

4-21-21

Poetry by | January 12, 2026

At dawn, Baba stirred me from sleep,
his voice a careful knock on my heart:
You must visit your Ina.
It trembled softly,
like clouds gathering behind the sun.
Guilt rose in my chest—
I had not bathed her as I vowed,
and seven days had passed
since my eyes last met hers.

Baba stepped out and no footsteps followed,
except my two little sisters came along.
I wished to go, but illness bound me still—
my body is weak, unsteady,
a fevered weight pressing me back.
So I stayed,
alone with the heaviness of myself.

By afternoon, Baba and Mama rushed again,
moving like wind pushed by unseen urgency.
Then my little brother came,
his words barely standing:
You are needed. Now.
His voice shook with an unspeakable truth
and I felt the world tilt slightly,
pulling me to my feet
despite the ache I carried.

Rain welcomed me on the way,
Sky pouring grief upon the earth,
as though heaven had long prepared for this sorrow.
A strange stillness held me
when I entered Ina’s room—
a silence louder than any cry.
She lay in peace, and for the first time,
her oxygen mask no longer bloomed with breath.

My tears broke free, a flood from deep within,
carving disbelief down my face.
Everything blurred into ache,
a broken puzzle of moments
I longed to rearrange.
I had always stayed close to her side,
yet fate chose this cruel timing,
making me the last to know…

“Salman, giya bes i kapatay.”
Her final whisper, fragile as ash,
drifted through the room,
a soft farewell rising itself into the quiet.

#

Author’s Note: The title means a lot to me as it is the date of my Grandmother’s passing. I wrote this poem using the date as its title to always remember the exact day of her death.

Jehan B. Bimbas is a student at Mindanao State University-Main Campus, pursuing a Bachelor of Arts in English Language Studies. She is passionate about language learning and academic writing.

Tsokolate Ka

Poetry by | January 12, 2026

Tsokolate ka. Pero ang bigat mo, talaga.
Sa una, tamis lang ang ginakita ko—
init ng hapon na hindi nanunugod,
ngiti na sige’ng maghintay.

Tsokolate ka. Pero habang nagatagal,
may pait din pala sa ilalim.
Hindi para manakit,
kundi paalala lang na ang init ay marunong ding magtiis.

Tsokolate ka. Pero hindi ka madali intindihin.
May mga adlaw na parang puro saya—
tawanan sa bukás na bilog ng daan—
pero sa pagitan, may katahimikang mabigat,
Daw lupa na sanay sa biglaang ulan at may pasensya.

Tsokolate ka. Kapag ginarinig ko ang pangalan mo,
nagabagal ang oras.
Ang bawat salita,
parang tsokolateng nagatunaw
sa gitna ng pagod ng biyahe.

Tsokolate ka. Pero ang init mo, iba.
At sa tuwing nagatingin ako,
parang naga-higop ng tsokolate sa gilid ng dalan—
may kilig na hindi ipinagsisigawan
at init na hindi kailangan ipaliwanag.
Sa hangin, may halong amoy ng kape at alikabok,
paalala na may pahinga sa gitna ng araw.

Tsokolate ka. Pero sapat ka, talaga.
Baka kaya ko gusto ang tamis, kasi paalala ka.
Hindi masyadong matapang, hindi rin mapait—
tama-tama lang ang timpla para sa mga adlaw
na pagod’t saya

Tsokolate ka. Pero may salakot ka.
Kaya kung sakali, ’wag mo isipin na ikaw ’to.
Isipin mo na lang
na may isang lugar
na marunong maglatag ng salakot sa ulo ng pagod,
at mag-alok ng init
na hindi nagakwenta,
hindi nagasingil

Dumaan ka minsan—
parang tsokolate sa ilalim ng salakot—
simple, tahimik,
at sapat na para manatili.

Paborito ko ang tsokolate.
Tacurong, tsokolate ka.

Bryan Emmanuel G. Bugas is a first-year college student at the University of the Philippines – Mindanao, pursuing a BA in English, majoring in Creative Writing. He writes because he sees words not just as letters on a page, but as seeds of thought that can grow into ideas, stir emotions, and leave traces in the minds and hearts of others. For him, writing is both a craft and a quiet rebellion—a way to make the world pause, reflect, and feel.