I listen to the sky speak of tenderness
in a dialect dappled with stars. I listen
to trees talk eagerly of cooler winds
and true love among everything else
that is awfully missed in this part of town.
Like an ancient thief prying for the word
that reveals Earth for all its treasures,
I listen so I can learn about the night
and its most careful gestures so when
it is my turn to speak I can say – Yes,
the world insists on darkness and difficult
magic. And yes, there is music to ease us
in our sleep. In my dreams, I learn of time
as the heartbeat of angels spoken with
indelicate accents of light, and although
I have yet to offer what little I have left
of prayer, I keep my fingers unfurled,
my palms open to promises of better days
and lovelier afterhours. Yes, let us talk of love.
Let us talk of prayer. Let us talk of things
we have yet to offer. Because when this part
of town slowly yields to slumber,
it will be to the drone of rainclouds drifting
over a thousand fluorescent flowers.
—
Allen Samsuya was a Creative Writing major at UP Mindanao. He was a fellow for poetry at the 2009 Davao Writers Workshop, at the 18th Iligan National Writers Workshop, and at the 50th Silliman National Writers Workshop. Some of his works have appeared in Philippines Graphic, SunStar Davao and the Best of Dagmay anthology.
In solitude, she picks the pebbles one by one, big and small, round and edged, and stacks them in the middle of her garden. Not to build a tower and climb its circular stair; to raise a fountain into the sky is not to defy the gods but to honor them with air and water spiking and sprouting from the land. The stones swell up and the mound takes the shape of the layering years when the mosses have not yet reached the necks of her sculptures. She looks at them now and then squinting from the sun’s glare wondering how long it will take the merchants to be lost on her side of the island once more.