Coming Home

Poetry by | March 20, 2016

A month before I told Mama
I am coming home, she
enrolled herself in driving lessons
bought extra bookshelves
prepared all of her “You got fatter”-themed remarks
confiscated the coffee from the kitchen
On the latter parts of waiting, she
surrendered the keys to Dad
did not ask him for extra money
made the grocery list longer
searched for new cafés serving tea
She posted a status on Facebook
on my return
before the airplane’s wheels
touched the asphalted runway
Receiving the warmth of Mama’s embrace
and feeling her wrinkly palms
as I hand a plastic bag of sans rival
made me smell the Downy used on my bed sheets.
Welcome, she said.


Andrea D. Lim is a Mass Communication senior at Silliman University. She is the editor-in-chief of the Weekly Sillimanian. Home, for her, is very abstract. She was born in Pasig City, spent childhood years in Marikina and Bulacan, and studied in General Santos City from fourth grade to fourth year high school.

Veritas

Poetry by | March 13, 2016

See, we used to argue about reality
How you’d defend the hallmarks of science
That stars do not dictate destiny, history
You name them witnesses, spectator ions
In this cosmic chemistry you and I have called life
And I listen to your marvels, doctrines, stories
For some time, you glorified the way all things work
Being measured in perfect accuracy, yes,
Rational, logical, against my own version
I am not saying you are wrong, you are perfect
We are yin and yang, sky and ground, science and faith
And yet you displaced me out of your universe
So I made my world out of what you lack for me
Where miracles exist, that truth is faceted
Mysteries stay as secrets, defying your views
I tried carving your face from the lights pressed lightly
Among car windows, I tried memorizing
The freckles on your neck among stars of clear night skies
I tried to seep through the cracks of your worldly thought
You can’t stand my poetry, the way the world
Is Conspiring for you to see beauty in these words.
No more arguments, your eyes speak clearer
Than the breakthroughs mankind reached because finally
The reality transcends you, me, each of us


Monique Carillo is a student of University of the Philippines Mindanao.

Before

Poetry by | February 28, 2016

Before
we had the words
We had the
letters
To speak,
to devour
To learn,
to earn
Before we
had the world
We had each other
To say those
words
to speak,
to devour
To earn each other
Before we had
Justin Bieber
We had
Shakespeare
To tell us to love ourselves
Away
from vanity
And so before
We had
each other
I had
mine
Before we had the
city lights
We had the
stars
To umbrella us
From the falling
dreams
feelings
And before we forget
Before we have
tomorrow
We had this
night
to speak the
words
to dance with
the city lights
to be with
ourselves
to be with
love
to devour,
to earn,
to learn
Once again
before


Brad is a graduating student of Bachelor of Secondary Education-English at Xavier University-Ateneo de Cagayan.

Pabitin

Poetry by | February 13, 2016

Between earth and sky,
I am a small child.
I cannot reach the skies.
I see clouds of cotton candy,
crispy snacks, stuff toys
and bags of candies
hanging near the ceiling
which I try to grab,
along with other children.
It is a silly game of catch:
everytime the frame is lowered
a little above our heads
only to be lifted again
while we dance around in circles.
I push myself to heights,
but the things I want
are taken by other hands.
(The cord puller should give in
to my demands!)
I wish father is here to carry me
in his strong arms, to a height
where I could simply reach
for the things left
in the wooden lattice-framed ceiling.
If I can’t get
a single snack, stuff toy
or cotton candy
I would leave
to where I am free to eat
the ripe fruits I can reach
from my favorite guava tree.


Luisa Pasilan is finishing her thesis, a collection of poems, to complete a BA English (Creative Writing) at UP Mindanao.

The Farm

Poetry by | November 29, 2015

This will be yours, you said,
yours and your sister’s, though not
grandly, only as a matter of fact.

Five hectares of fruit trees sprawled
before and around us, paths
stamped through grass from

decades of walking, which you
were doing slow now but expertly.
Behind you, I swore and scratched

at cuts weeds scythed across my
shins, pausing only when I saw fruit
bruising on the ground,

wind and rain plucking them
from branches that would have
fed them sweet.

Such a shame, I said, but this
you only shrugged at. At sundown
the trees were fractal, the farmscape

a teeming code my urban eyes
could not probe, but I loved this strange,
living land and love it still

because you—gray-headed,
sure-footed—were on and within it,
as a matter of fact.

for Dad


Charisse-Fuschia “Peachy” A. Paderna finished high school at the Stella Maris Academy in Davao City and college at the Ateneo de Manila University (AB in Philosophy). Her poems have earned her the Ateneo de Manila University’s Loyola Schools Award for the Arts, and more recently, her collection “An Abundance of Selves” won first place in the 65th Don Carlos Palanca Memorial Awards for Literature in Poetry category English Division. She is currently based in Manila, where she works as a communications consultant for the Department of Budget and Management.

The Poem

Poetry by | November 29, 2015

It speaks where your world is:
the bending moan of a train speeding off,

your mother’s whistling in the kitchen.
It moves in the stories unknown to you,

the ones that escape your possession:
a war removed from you by decades,

a shrub blossoming in another country,
a letter unanswered.

It rises too, by the thousands,
from men and women lush with words,

here and there releasing their bodies
to a new language, a new

eloquence for ways of living
otherwise discordant.

It occupies song and silence,
the interstices from breath to breath.

It is born of thought aching or joyous,
of the quickening verb that is you.

Kaisog

Poetry by | November 1, 2015

ni Anna Akhmatova, gihubad ni Macario D. Tiu

Nasayod ta unsay anaa sa timbangan    
     karong taknaa
Ug unsay nagakahitabo karon.
Ang takna sa kaisog naghapak sa atong
     mga orasan
Ug ang kaisog dili mobiya kanato
Wala kita mahadlok sa mga bala
Wala kitay gibating kapait nga walay    
     atop sa atong mga ulo
Ug amo kang ipatunhay, sinultihang  
     Ruso
Ang gamhanang pulong nga Ruso!
Amo ta kang ipanunod sa among mga
     apo
Gawasnon, lunsay, ug luwas gikan sa  
     Kaulipnan
Hangtod sa kahangtoran.

Pebrero 23, 1942, Tashkent


Si Mac Tiu usa ka Carlos Palanca awardee ug National Book awardee. Nagatudlo og pagsulat ug katitikan sa Ateneo de Davao University ug University of Southeastern Philippines.

Alunsina takes a walk in the rain

Poetry by | November 1, 2015

It is difficult to miss you in the summer, your voice written all over the clear night sky, the stars mapping out your single instruction: go home. Each night, I keep my eyes on the shadow of my open umbrella. I stay indoors, stay away from the windows.

Today, the news tells me you are scheduled to be lonely. I part my curtains and look up.

Later, when the roads turn slippery with your sadness, I will put on my shoes, soak myself in your tears. It is difficult not to miss you when the evening sky is speechless, when your silence travels down my cheeks, like a request.

I cannot forgive you. That day, if you had not refused, I would have given you a present. I would have carved my love in stone.


Conchitina Cruz is an Assistant Professor of the University of the Philippines Diliman. “Alunsina Takes a Walk in the Rain” first appeared in her book of poetry collection, Dark Hours, which won the 2006 National Book Award for Poetry.