Poetry by Janis Claire Salvacion | September 4, 2011
Translation of Bugiot san Parag-uma by Harold Mercurio
My neck now stiffens
Looking up at the sky
For the rain to fall.
The mounds are now stricken by black ants
Where corn is planted
For it to grow.
The carabao wallows
In its bed of clay
To cool its body burning from heat.
When will the water system
Flow in the rice field
As promised by those in power?
Poetry by Harold Mercurio | September 4, 2011
Nagtig-a na akon liog
Paghinangad sa langit
Kun san-o mahuhulog an uran.
Ginhantik na an mga luho
Nga gintamnan mais
Paghaluna nga tumubo.
Lumukot na la an karabaw
Sa galot niya nga higdaan
Pagpapinit san nasusunog nga lawas.
San-o daw la maawas
Sa danaw an patubig nga
Ginsaad san mga gamhanan?
—
Phil Harold L. Mercurio is a faculty member at the Northwest Samar State University (NwSSU) in Calbayog City and an NCLA Coordinator for Eastern Visayas.
Poetry by Harold Mercurio | September 4, 2011
Poetry by Jhunorjim Caumbo Zandueta | August 28, 2011
Hinabi ang mga kulay, at dinampi sa may lona
Upang tingkad ay mabuhay at magkadiwa ang obra.
Ginuhit ang mga hugis, mga detalye at linya
Upang mapukaw ang tamis ng gunita’t ala-ala.
Bawat katha ay hinubog ng matalim na haraya.
Bawat obra ay bantayog ng tagumpay at ligaya.
Nililok ng pagsisikap, pinagtibay ng pag-asa
Ang pagtupad ng pangarap, at paghulma ng korona.
Ngunit makipot ang daang tinatahak ng malikhain
Bago anihin ang bungang itinanim sa dalangin,
Bago sumibol ang tinta at magliyab ang damdamin,
Bago matapos ang obra at mabuksan mga tabing.
Bawat pinta ay sagisag ng inipong karunungan.
Bawat kulay ay liwanag ng nabuong kamalayan.
Bawat dampi, bawat hampas, nahubog ang katauhan,
At ang pinakamimithi ngayo’y pinanghahawakan.
—
Jhunorjim Zandueta is a computer engineering student.
Poetry by Mark Daposala | August 21, 2011
Namatay ang makina ining Bao
sa pagsaka sa puntod sa Taguanao.
Halos wala koy madunggang tingog,
puyra ang pangagho sa iyang kasubo.
Samtang nagtulo akong singot
sa pagtunob sa gasolinador,
nitutok lang siya sa ukbang hapon.
Ug nasaksi kong nahiusa siya sa kinaiyahan.
Niagos ang mga yamog sa walog sa iyang dughan
nga gadutdot sa akong hunahuna.
Gigitik akong buot sa iyang agulo
samtang nagdul-it ang init sa akong kahilom.
Nagduka nalang ang salumsom,
gapadayon lang gihapon kog kubi ug susi
taman sa nahawoy nakong paglimbasog
og buhi ining tayaong Bao.
Nagtan-aw nalang ko
sa suba nga naghaganas sa Taguanao.
Ug kalit nauyog ang palibot.
Niplastar iyang kumingking
sa akong paa. Kini nikamang,
nikamang ug nikamang. Nasindol
ang kambyada. Nabuhi ang makina.
—
Mark Daposala was a fellow in the 18th Iligan National Writers Workshop. He is taking up graduate studies in English at Xavier University.
Poetry by Darryl Louie Pueblos Labial | August 14, 2011
Gikan ko namatay
tungod sa tanduay
sige pa, sige pa tagay lang ng tagay
tan awa, sakit na akong atay
Gikan ko sa kalayo
tungod sa marlboro
sige pa sige pa suyop lang ug suyop
tan-awa cge nag ubo
Gikan ko sa basura
sige og suka
sige pa, putak lang ug putak
tan-awa, mura nag wakwak
Hina-hinay kog baklay
padulong sa among balay
sige pa part, barag-barag ni bay
tan-awa mura na kog kalay
Salamat naa nako sa kwarto
splak daun diretso
sige pa, hagok lang ug hagok
tan-awa, gipaak ug lamok
Gi pukaw ko sa akong mama
para siya manga-saba
sige pa saba lang ug saba
baho rabag baba
Yati kaau ning ulo
hangover kaau
sige pa, sakit ug sakit
tan-awa absent na ko, kapait
Lami na kaayo magbag-o
ngano man lisod kaayo?
di na jud ma utro
pero lami man jud kaau
—
Darryl Louie Pueblos Labial is 22 years old, a philosophy graduate of Xavier University in Cagayan de Oro working as a volunteer for Campus Ministry.
Poetry by Allen Samsuya | August 14, 2011
You came up to me
inside the raincloud,
a couple of storms back,
and asked me of secrets
that only the sky and I
know of. I remember
telling you a handful
of stories like how lightning
is a few flimsy strings
that broke from the harps
of angels, how gardens grow
between the colors of a rainbow ,
how the moon really is
an island made of haloes.
It was a good talk. I remember
holding your hand as we walked
slowly towards that corner
where you gave me a kiss
and refused to say goodbye.
I remember watching you
step inside that single raindrop
that brought you back
to your part of the world
where you became part
of the flood once more.
—
Allen Samsuya had been a fellow for poetry during the 2009 Davao Writers Workshop, the 18th Iligan National Writers Workshop, and the 50th Silliman National Writers Workshop this year.
Poetry by Tala Alexander | August 7, 2011
The zero is a point
Barely seen, and easily overlooked
The point that no longer turns
For it is no longer a circle
The first is a line
The crack between the floorboards
The lined page of a notebook
Moving forward, moving backward
Back and forth like a creaking rocking chair
Or train tracks that run into the distance
The second is a meeting of two
The corner of a carpet
The edge of a paper
The lazy bending branches of a willow tree
Two forces together
Creating a curve
The third is a spiral
The water that spins down the drain
The wind that spins round and round
Pulling up dirt and houses
And dumping them where they don’t belong.
The fourth is simply time
Time that has always been
Time that always will be
Tick ticking around me
Both chasing me and being chased
By me.
—
Tala Alexander is 14 years old and a 9th grader at Manila Waldorf School-Quezon City, She is the daughter of Cynthia & Boyd Alexander.