Category: Poetry

06C

Poetry by | December 30, 2024

Usa ka dangaw ang mipataliwa
sa atong kapalaran.
Nagtapad ta niining dyip
nga naglatas sa kadalanan sa V. Rama.

Kulongon ang imong buhok
nga gipaak sa pulang pugong,
samtang ang imong duha ka itom nga ariyos
giduyan-duyan sa huyuhoy.

Mihunong ang 06C sa eskina sa Espina.
Ug sa imong pagkanaog, gikulipa
sa pugong ang imong buhok, nanamilit
og kinalitkalit ug kinawatkawat
nga halok sa akong tuong aping.

Ug karon,
ang mipataliwa sa atong kapalaran
ang dili madangaw nga kamingaw,
samtang mipabulhot ang dyip
paingon sa utlanan sa V. Rama.

06C
Translated by Jade Mark Capiñanes

A handspan was all that separated
our fates.
We sat side by side in this jeepney
traversing the streets of V. Rama.

Your kinky hair
was clamped by a red clip,
while your two black earrings
were swayed by the breeze.

The 06C stopped at the corner of Espina.
And as you got off, your hair,
chucked by the clip, bid farewell
so suddenly, brushing stolen
kisses on my right cheek.

And now,
what separates our fates
is an immeasurable loneliness,
as the jeepney sped onward
to the end of V. Rama.

Alden Arsèn was born in Zamboanga City, Philippines where the croaks of the frogs were the first lullaby that put him to sleep. He usually writes short stories, essays, and poems when intoxicated by liquor or loneliness. He lives for Sally and his three dogs: Nala, Deib, and Luci.

Sa Dihang May Nakahinabi Ako Nga Biyuda

Poetry by | December 30, 2024

Sa dihang may nakahinabi ako nga biyuda,
walay mga luha nga midayan
sa iyang mga mata,
ug ang kanal-kanal niini gauphag pud. Gani,
wala puy pagpanghupong sa iyang ubaog,
walay gabitay nga dag-om
nga mingkumpayot sa iyang tabon-tabon,
ug wala pud mopakita og pagkalarag
ang tabonon niyang liryo.

Matud pa sa uban,
ang kasubo, ang pagbangotan,
masukod sa giladmon sa punong
nganha sa mata sa biniyaan,
apan diay, dili kini tukma,
kay matod pa niya:

ang kasubo, ang pagbangotan,
mao ang paghilak nga dili mahigawsan og luha,
ang danguyngoy nga walay pagbakho,
ang pagtulon sa kamatuoran
nga dili moagi og pag-usap,
ang pagpanawag nga walay masampit.

Sa dihang may nakahinabi ako nga biyuda,
nanugon siyang i-asoy ko:
dili tanang nangamatay
magbuy-od,
ug dili tanang makighinabi
buhi.

When I Spoke with a Widow
Translated by Jade Mark Capiñanes

When I spoke with a widow,
there were no tears streaming
from her eyes,
and the lines around them were dry. In fact,
there was no puffiness around her eye sockets,
no dark clouds
clinging to her eyelids,
and no trace of weariness
in her brown irises.

People say
that grief, that mourning,
is measured by the depth of the hollow
around the eyes of the bereaved,
but this, simply, is not true,
for she said:

grief, mourning,
is the weeping that sheds no tears,
the sobbing without wails,
the swallowing of truth
you cannot chew,
the calling out when speechless.

When I spoke with a widow,
she asked me to tell this:
not everyone who has died
is at rest,
and not everyone you speak with
is truly alive.

Si Jay Bryan La-ag usa ka yanong magbabalak kinsa ang kagikan masubay ngadto sa Sindangan, Zamboanga del Norte. Sa pagkakaron, nagtudlo siya og katitikan sa usa ka SUC sa Cebu ug nagpuyo sa habagatang bahin sa probinsya niini. Siya nanghinaot nga ang pagpamalak magpadayon sa pag-abante ug madawat ang mga bag-ong tubo. Siya usab miyembro sa Bathalad Sugbo.

The Carpenter

Poetry by | December 16, 2024

Growing up, I watched your hands
build things—

tables and benches
for the kitchen,

and even the abohan
when it looked like it was falling apart.

Such things a father should have done.
But instead you

did all the work. Silently
you sawed dusty planks and hammered rusty nails

so that we had somewhere
to place our plates and our asses.

How did you manage
to make something sturdy

out of wood scraps?
I will never understand why

you chose this life,
only that you did what you could for us,

for me. Ma,
I watched you build things.

And if anyone asked someday
how I made myself,
I would tell them about your hands.

Domar Batucan Recopelacion is a graduate of Bachelor of Secondary Education (English) from the University of Mindanao Digos College. He lives in Matanao, Davao del Sur.

Love Handles

Poetry by | November 18, 2024

Yesterday, I hung the mirror
on the farthest wall.
From a distance, I watched myself
read every number on the scale:
too heavy, too small.
I lay in bed, starved,
and fed on your words instead.
The curves of my body were funny to you,
and I’m sure you did not mean to laugh,
but I refused to welcome
any more meals that day.

There is no child in my belly.
I do not need your blessing
to wish it gone in nine months.
I lift myself less than I could carry the weights.
I do not know the proper form:
too much, too little. Everything
aches when no one’s watching.
I hold only a pen, a recollection of your voice
telling me I was beginning
to walk with my belly first,
the mirror across the room.

I rolled the yoga mat back into the cupboard
and prayed for your regret.
I know I was warned to count my calories,
but, my God, I should not have listened—
I would not have remembered
the way you spoke that day.

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

ang ibigin ka, amiel, ay isang pakikibaka

Poetry by | November 18, 2024

dahil ang pag-ibig natin ay hindi isang bulaklak na tumubo lamang sa isang paso, kundi sa isang banayad sanang lupa ng nabunturan, handog ng buwan at kamatayang mga banal. ngunit hindi natin kayang yumabong nang husto dahil sa mga damong hindi naman dito sa atin galing ang pagtubo. sa pagkakaalam ko, bago pa man dumating ang diyos ama, anak, at espiritu santo, may basbas na ng buwan at kamatayan ang ganitong uri ng pag-ibig. kinuha na lamang ang sustansya ng regalong lupain ng mga dayuhang halamanin na siyang nagpunla ng napakalubhang sakit na halos di na kayang agapan pa. kaya hanggang ngayon, naghihikahos pa rin tayong mamunga, nahihirapan pa ring magpalago, pinipitas na kahit hindi pa dapat.

ngunit hindi rito natatapos ang pagdami ng mga ugat, ang pagtubo ng ating tangkay, ang pagiging luntian ng mga dahon, ang pagpapahalimuyak ng mga talulot, ang pagpapadapo ng mga bubuyog. lalaki pa tayo. malalanta pa tayo. lalaban pa tayo.

pero sa ngayon, ang ibigin ka, amiel, ay mananatiling isang pakikibaka hangga’t may sakit ang lupain nating ito.

John Lloyd Sabagala holds a bachelor’s degree in Literature and Cultural Studies from the University of Southeastern Philippines.

Pahinungod

Poetry by | November 18, 2024

Nanampit ang kalibutan
nga imong saw-an
kining pribilehiyo.
Maong gibukhad mo’g dako
tibuok mong lawas,
gihubo ang sapot sa kataha,
gidupa tanang pangandoy.
Karon, gitugyan sa mata mong
manag-iya nianang wanang,
aron bisan ang adlaw
mouban kanimo pagdamgo.

Ang panganod molumba
sa yanong tinguha,
ug bisan sa layo mahidagsa,
pahinungdan pagbalik
ang maong yuta.

Mark Kenly Oray is a Bol-anon writer and educator. He was a fellow at the 3rd Sunday Club National Writing Workshop, the 21st Ateneo de Davao University Summer Writers Workshop, and the Agi Creative Writers Workshop. He is pursuing his master’s degree at the University of the Philippines Cebu. He was born in Bukidnon.

Unsaon pagbalos sa usa ka libakera

Poetry by | July 29, 2024

Gaposa ang iyang duha ka kamot.
Igaid siya sa punoan sa tambis.
Didto siya itungod duol sa balay
Sa mga hamantik ug hulmigas
Aron matagamtaman niya ang kahapdos
katul-katol-gilok-gilok nga pang-it
sa gagmayng mga mananap.
Ukba, bungingi-a, wangi-a
ang iyang baba ug hulbota
ang mga pulong nga iyang gipasumangil
diha nimo. Kon ugaling nga dili masulod
sa imong usa ka kumkom, hilabi
na kadtong sakit nga mga pulong,
panghulam og bara de kabra ug pala
sa imong silingan. Balbaga ang gingi-gingi
sa iyang mga ngipon. Kanang kilid
sa iyang lagus dapit sa may bag-ang.
Naa diha galumlom ang pulong
sa panghimaraot, mga pulong
nga wa nimo madunggi, apan nadunggan
sa tibuok katilingban. Pulpoga. Pinoha.
Kandusa sa imong pala ug iitsa pagawas
sa iyang baba. Abtik, kay ang pato galaway
na nga naghulat kon kanus-a ka mahuman.

Si Jovanie Garay usa ka magtutudlo, piksiyonista ug magbabalak nga gagikan sa Davao Oriental State University.

Inside a Locked Room

Poetry by | July 15, 2024

Your fingertips
brush my scalp
as you pull my hair,
pushing my head
in between your legs; your hand
guiding my direction
and my head follows
like the limbs
of a marionette, slaved
to the strings
of the puppeteer.

You lay
your head back
as you reach ecstasy—
sweat crawling
from your neck
to your bosoms, mixing
the traces of my kisses;
leaving a faint scent
of saliva,
like the faded remnants.
of your lipstick
in the collar
of my white dress.

But a knock
from your mother
disintegrated our woven desires—
you pointed
to the direction
of the wardrobe, your arm
extending like the hands
of the clock, reminding me
that our time is up.

You pick
your lingerie up
as I fit myself
in the closet,
folding my limbs;
trimming myself
to the measurement
of the familiar territory.

You went to the door
and buried me
inside the casket
of our bedroom journey.
You wanted me dead,
but the coffin
kept creaking,
It is finally out
in the open;
I bled rainbow
as I walk away;
and you squinted
your color-blinded eyes
that can’t take my hues.

Reggie Faye Canarias studies a Bachelor of Arts in English major in Creative Writing at the University of the Philippines Mindanao. Their works have appeared in the Literary Folio of the Philippine Professional Association of Transgender Health and in Dagmay Journal. They were a fellow to the 21st Ateneo de Davao University Summer Writers Workshop.