Babae Gali Ka

Poetry by | April 17, 2016

Abi ko lakin-on ka
Kay naga hampang ka
Sa mga sip-onon
Nga mga laki na bata
Sagwa gamay balay ta.

Abi ko lakin-on ka
Kay ginasaka mo lubi o mangga
Sugo sa mga salawayon
Nga solterito,‭ ‬bata-bata
Ang panimuot nila.

Kagab-i,‭ ‬gipangita ta ka
Kay ang kalibutan dulom na
Nakit-an ta ka sa internitan
Upod sa laki mo nga barkada
Daw nalipay siya sa iya nakita
Pero ikaw daw sa wala ya.

Gi-bira ta ka pag-gwa
Palayo sa daw gisilaban na talan-awon
Kay nahadlok ako nga
Mahig-kuan ang putli nga huna-huna
Sa inosente pa nga bata.

Pero,‭ ‬ambot,‭ ‬ngaa
Sa mga nag-labay nga panahon
Nakibot ako sa akon nakita
Naka-sakay ka sa gihingadlan mo na kuya
Nagtingala ako kay hugot ang kapyot mo sa iya.

Tan-awa ang natabo sa imo bala
Sa nag-agi nga mga bulan
Halos nanimaho kana sa angso sa imo bata
Daw halos wala ka gipakaon sang imo bana
Nga naga hulat lang sa tunghol sa iyang ina.

Kung namati ka sa akon bala
Indi ka tani magka-agum sang kapobrehon
Tani naka-human ka sa imo pag-eskwela
Kag may trabaho sa opisina
O kon maka larga ka sa Amerika.

Pero ang tanan natabo na
Gali babae ka,‭ ‬dali lang nakuha sa mga tikal niya.

—
Charlie A.‭ ‬Dayon is a professor at Gabriel Taborin College of Davao Foundation,‭ ‬Inc.,‭ ‬run by the religious Brothers of the Holy Family.

Creed

Poetry by | April 3, 2016

Your body
is the terrain of stories told,
of valleys and creeks and rivers
on which the sweetest waters flow.
Your mouth
is the temple, where the pulpit
dwells; the gospel is written
on your tongue and guilty prayers
sneak between your teeth.
You are religion.
You are faith.
The unknown is your child and
Your eyes
hold the map of a universe
that only existed in the wildest
of my dreams.
So,
tell me
How is it that I
can lose myself looking at you
only to be found, again, faithless?

—
David Jayson Oquendo is studying Electrical Engineering at Mindanao State University-General Santos City.

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.