Communicating Love and Hope

Poetry by | August 17, 2014

The world is so busy
Everybody chases their dreams to be wealthy
Looking forward, it truly makes them happy
But no, it ain’t enough
 
See the busy world
There’s so many broken homes
There’s so many ailing hearts
There’s so many failing dreams
These hearts are longing for love
 
Communicate love, communicate hope
The world gets better if we
Communicate love, communicate hope
And we’ll truly be happy.
 
See the busy world
Many suffer from too much hunger
Many lives were shattered in war
See the eyes of our young children
These hearts are longing for hope
 
Communicate love, communicate hope
The world gets better if we
Communicate love, communicate hope
And we’ll truly be happy.

 

Ms. Edday, a young Blaan woman, wrote the song as an inspiration from the Sarangani Big Brother Volunteers, a nationally-acclaimed educational program spearheaded by the province. She wrote in her blog, “I am looking forward to record it in the future to strongly convey the need of communicating love and hope everyday as we live in this busy world.

Ang Bituin Ng Masa

Poetry by | August 17, 2014

(Alay kay Ate Guy)

Pagkalikha’y ayon sa aming kulay
Sa sukat na aming kapantay
Sa amin di kaiba ang buhay
Ikaw ay kauri’t kaugnay

Sa iyong pagkinang
Nabago ang pagtingala
Dati’y nasa langit
Ngayon nasa lupa

Iyong tinig
Ay aming himig
Ginintuan sa pandinig

Sa iyong mga titig
Kahit walang tinig at pandinig
Kaluluwa’y naaantig

Iyong kahinaan, iyong kalakasan
Iyong pagbaba, iyong pag-akyat
Iyong kasawian, iyong tagumpay
Iyong larawan ay sambayanan
Mahugnay ang kaunlaran
Daang taong inaalipin
Kasawian pighati’y iyong inangkin
Pag-asa’t pangarap nagpapaningning

Sa paglisan ng ginintuang tinig
Hayaang magpahayag likhang sining
Hayaang pagtanggi’y iyong angkinin
Pambansang Alagad ng Sining
Nang masa’y patuloy matanglawan ng ningning

Mr. de Vera is a veteran Davao-based artist. He began his career sculpting wood and stone but later gravitated to painting watercolor, oil on canvas, and even lacquer acrylic.

Drenched Wishes

Poetry by | August 17, 2014

(Thoughts on a cool October eve.)

Do not expect the rain to fall
Just because the Northern winds
Blew to your direction —
It may change its course.

Do not expect the rain to fall
Just because the Southern fields
Are prepared and overturned—
It may not ready to receive its grace.

Do not expect the rain to fall
Just because the golden seeds
Have flourished and grown – –
It may be waiting for some more time.

Do not expect the rain to fall
Just because the ritual dances
Were performed and shown —
It may be out of synch and tune.

Yet, when it falls,

Do not expect the rain to stop
Just because the Northern winds
Change its direction –
As a cosmic process, it has to grieve.

Do not expect the rain to stop
Just because the Southern fields
Are under inundation –
Avarice and greed, too, have its price.

Do not expect the rain to stop
Just because the harvested riches
Need time for accumulation –
Fortune for anyone is never adequate!

Do not expect the rain to stop
Just because it heavily drenches
Spirits and egos overblown —
What else is there for its cure?

Bayan Muna representative Carlos Zarate used to be a working journalist. He continues to write an occasional column at a national broadsheet.

Attack on Words

Poetry by | August 10, 2014

I am beneath your words
I climb up
Holding on to each word you say
I cling
To the nice adjectives
I am beneath your words
I stand up
With my chin up I look straight
I stare
On paragraph walls
I am beneath your words
I run fast
Sprinting towards the blockade
I hit hard
Your privilege speech –
down it came
yo ur
p er
su as
ive
e
s
s
a
y

—
Rory is a physics teacher in an international school in Indonesia.

Twosome

Poetry by | August 10, 2014

The pen
danced
on his paper
carving
wounds
to etch
scars irremovable.
He defeated her once more.
The paper cried
with every
stroke
and point
but waited
till the pen
drained
every gram
of his blood.
She won at last.

—
Reil is a second year BSED-Math student from Ateneo de Davao University. He was a fellow of the Ateneo de Davao Summer Writers Workshop 2014.

Igpapanas

Poetry by | August 10, 2014

ang chalk nga gunit mo abog
apan dili niini masulat
ang mga oras nga ikaw nagmata
aron makaplagan ang mga natun-an
sa mga studyanteng
mas gipalabi mong tabangan
kaysa bana mong
nanginahanglan pud sa imong kamot
ang igpapanas nga gunit mo basa
apan dili niini mapapha
ang mga adlaw
nga ikaw nagyawyaw
aron pakan-on ug mga kalimuhagan
ang mga batang mas gipakaon mo pa
kaysa mga anak mong gusto pud magpahungit
ang libro nga gunit mo baga
apan dili niini mapilde
ang kabaga sa mga panit
ilalom sa mata mong
nahago sa pagbasa
aron makatudlo pag usab
sa mga mag-aalam
nga mas gimahal mo
kaysa sa sarili nimo nga
gagukod pud ug gugma
abog na ang chalk
basa na ang igpapanas
baga na ang libro
apan ikaw
padayon sa pagtudlo
padayon sa pagbilar
padayon sa pagkalimot
nga aduna pay puy lain
nga nagatawag sa ngalan mo

—
Reil is a second year BSED-MATH student from Ateneo de Davao University.

Massacre

Fiction by | August 10, 2014

Twenty Innocent’s Days had passed since the first time I lit a candle in the Basilica of San Pedro Calungsod. They say that time heals all wounds but I can’t seem to get the meaning of that because every year is a suffering, every year is a curse. I tried to run but I failed for I cannot run from my own feet. This guilt and shame, I feel inside me like a knife, every time I remember their faces the last night I saw them alive. Yes, I killed my family! I killed the people who loved me. I killed them all!

I first attacked my frail and sensitive Lola Corazon. I disjointed her shaky knee bones after making her realize that her life is already meaningless because she’s old. I twisted her thin arms after I played nasty jokes and cursed her when I was annoyed. And I purposely broke her spinal cord when I made her realize that she was just causing us pain and problems and that her only consolation was to die. She did not have the chance to scream or cry for help, because I did it as secretly as possible that my mother would never know. She was my first victim!

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