Kapag Nangungulila Ako Sa’yo

Poetry by | October 6, 2025

Kapag nangungulila ako sa’yo
Kinakalkal kita sa loob
Ng aking sling bag
Sa pinakailalim at sa mga gilid-gilid
Sa dalawang mini pocket sa harap
Mapapanatag lamang ako
Kapag nakapa ko na ang bote
Ng pabango.

Kapag nangungulila ako sa’yo
Kinakapa kita sa aking bulsa
Sa kaliwang bulsa, sa kanang bulsa
Sa likod at magsisimulang mamawis
Ang aking noo kapag di ko matagpuan
Ang itim kong pitaka.

Kapag nangungulila ako sa’yo
Hinuhugot kita sa loob ng aking cabinet
Minsan natatabunan ka ng mga damit
O di kaya’y gumigilid at bumabaon ka
Sa pagitan ng mga tela
At laging parang nabunutan ako ng tinik
Kapag natagpuan ko
Ang naka-frame na mga talulot.

Kinakapa kita sa mga sulok-sulok
Buong loob kitang hinahagilap
Kahit madalas, nakadaliri lamang kita
Di gaanong maluwag
Di gaanong masikip—tama lang
Walang binibigat at di nakasasakit

Kapag nangungulila ako sa’yo
At di kita matagpuan
Sa mga bagay na kaya kong kapain
Pinipikit ko ang aking mga mata
Dinadama ko ang pintig
Ng buo kong sistema.

Jevin Astillero is a writer from Bonifacio Misamis Occidental. He graduated in MSU – Iligan Institute of Technology and has been a writing fellow of NAGMAC-YWS, Dapit-Suwat sa Lamdag, tranSCRIPT 2:National Playwriting and Dramaturgy Workshop, Anunaw, INWW, IYAS, and SUNWW.

In the Rush of Things

Poetry by | October 6, 2025

I dwindle like a disturbed memory,
My disintegration, a grain of sand that shifts through the crevices of a hand in vain.

These hands that test the waters
And recoil as the shallow waters murk the face

Of an image who clung to conviction as if time had chiseled its sensibility into a mortal fiber—
Into ripples of waves pulsating farther.

Not a single word was tossed in waves that have not reached the shore,
As they become one with the depth—

Blue, deep, lost, sinking.
Not a word was spoken.

In the rush of things—
There’s only the dipping,

And to rise in wholeness,
Extending a familiar hand again.

Cedrick John Ventula finds meaning in words and motions as a BA Communication and Media Arts student from the University of the Philippines Mindanao. His roots trace back to a tranquil village in Hagonoy, Davao del Sur.

I Don’t Remember the Sound of My Grandma’s Laugh Anymore

Poetry by | October 6, 2025

I don’t remember the sound of her laugh,
nor how her eyes lit up, then disappeared,
nor the space where her smiles once lived.
What I remember is how I bawled,
hiding in the room we once shared,
embarrassed of loving.
While she continued
to Sleep,
unimpressed.
What I remember is the day we sent her away.
The church bell tolled
an echo I had never heard before.
Rumors whispered down the aisle.
I told her an inside joke.
Still,
she did not awaken.
What do you mean I will never hear your laugh again?
I searched for her
in photographs,
but they stood still
unmoving.
breathless.
unloving.
Gone
the sharp intake of breath
between laughter.
Gone
the knowing glances
after a joke.
Now, the jokes
in my head
remain undelivered.
But they, too,
are fading.

Josephine May Grace A. Famoso is a literature instructor at the University of Southeastern Philippines, Mindanao. May will always be the dreamer, writer, and poet, among other roles she portrays in real life.

Acasia Tree

Poetry by | October 6, 2025

In the back of Sir Mojamel’s classroom
I was ten fingers and four
if I count it right
there was a tree,
if it existed at all, I may be wrong but
one thing I hold is this:

why the big acacia tree
doesn’t bloom the same way
scorpions molt
underneath its bark anymore?
I asked my brother and he said
breathing a memory:

“Mana daman kayu lu”

the flowers once white,
sifted tufts opening against the heat.

why is nostalgia
the easiest to come back to
and the hardest thing
to forget?

maybe the only thing left of this
is my inching away to the body—
my body, the grammar lessons.

Sir Mojamel’s distant classroom,
where the hurt lingers best,
like a scab of wound coercing into an itch
you could never scratch enough.

but I could be wrong.

Aleah Sulaiman Bantas, 20, is a Maguindanaon writer and is currently pursuing Bachelor of Secondary Education Major in Social Studies at the University of Southern Mindanao. A creative nonfiction fellow at the 2025 SOX Writers Workshop, her work has also appeared in the Bangsamoro Literary Review. She writes about love, queerness, memory, and the shared struggles of the masses, drawing from both her cultural roots and contemporary realities.

Ang Paggakos Sa Adlaw

Fiction by | September 29, 2025

Sa paborito nga café sa akong anak nga nahimutang daplin sa dalan, nakit-an nako ang pamilyar nga hulagway gikan sa iyang mga sugilanon. Milingkod ang maong binuhat sa iyang naandang dapit sa may bintana, diin ang silaw sa adlaw nagpasiga sa iyang nawong, sama sa suga nga nagpahiluna sa usa ka talan-awon sa pelikula. Uban sa iyang daan nga itom nga backpack ug paper bag nga puno sa bag-ong mga libro, si Carlos, nga nagsugod pa lang sa iyang panaw sa kolehiyo, nalingaw sa pagbasa sa Riverrun: A Novel ni Danton Remoto.

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The Shark’s Liver

Nonfiction by | September 15, 2025

As early as I can remember, I haven’t been able to see very well. Even when I was sitting in the front row, the words on the board seemed to lose their form. The white chalk’s dust looked like ribbons entangled. I knew something was wrong with my eyes. Under the sun, they shone—rich brown hues resembling dark chocolate—and in their bitterness, I suffered.

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Panit-Pasayan

Poetry by | September 8, 2025

Lamian ka sa hinuboan nga daan nga pasayan. Siya nga mikulo ug mihigda sa imong gi-order na pasta. Apan kaniadto, dili gani nimo ni gunitan. Kuno, sama sila sa mga ipis nga manggawas sa Mintal matag gabii. Pinugos nilang giputol ang ilang hinanok aron motilaw sa bugnaw nga bulan. Takos lamang sa imong dila ang mananap nga dili modawat og salin-salin sa dagat.

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