Cities

Poetry by | August 11, 2013

midnight
and the wantonness of wandering
in New York’s insoluble streets is history
it has been eight hours since
and I am still swamped in a Chinese bus
with twice the number of hours
seated in odds and evens
each with a repertoire of algorithms
I look at them and find no relevance
they look at me and find indifference
I turn up the volume
just as Bono rises at the coda
and bring my backpack closer to my chest
fur coat jostled, PETA be damned
every eight minutes
and I am brought back to the tropical fever
floured living woods
morphing into tall palm trees
bare and proud on a high noon
smooth stretches of asphalt
shaping into potholes and humps
converting devotees to drunken bystanders
daybreak
and a bump on my head stirs me awake
“Welcome to Chesapeake Bay!”
the signage knifes through the horizon
and the buzz and the bliss of homecoming
fades into a blur
I am home, aren’t I
but then again, never so
I look around and fish for a smile
the same fracture reverbs
no angle of intimacy in this excursion would bring us closer
so I plead for a window
and see the sun’s arms cradling the bay
an indefinite stretch of blue
there
up ahead
an exponential longing

Margaux Denice Garcia, a graduate of BS Education at the Ateneo de Davao University, was a fellow of the 2011 Davao Writers Workshop.

The Moon and the Sea

Play by | August 11, 2013

I saw the moon
bow before the sea
bestowing her diamonds
in an attempt to
calm her riptide
high
low
high
low
splash
splash
the surface glitters
the moon illuminating
and bold
yet the waves
never falter
’til the sea cried
to the moon
“never can you
bring me to
sleep.”

—
Krisini Nanini is currently taking up MA in Business Administration at Ateneo de Davao University.

Bahagharing Puti

Play by | August 11, 2013

Bahagharing Puti 
by Imer Caiz

Sabi mo, nakakabagot ang
puting dingding ng iyong kuwarto
Narito ako’t nakatingala sa
mga sulok, ipinipinta ang
Mahinhing hugis ng
pula mong kilay,
Mapagmalaking kurbada ng
dalandan mong labi,
Mapayapang tangos ng
dilaw mong ilong,
Mausisang batak ng
berde mong buhok,
Maaliwalas na haba ng
bughaw mong tainga,
Katamtamang bukadkad ng
lila mong mata
Nakalulungkot ang
puting dingding ng
aking silid

—
Imer Caiz was a BS Electronics Engineering student of the Ateneo de Davao University; recently relocated to Cebu City.

Father's Day Card

Poetry by | August 4, 2013

Alas onse sa gabii;
wala na si papa,
trabahuon na nako ning
card para sa iyaha.
Unta tungod ani
mu undang na siya’g uli’g sayo
sa buntag – gikan ila nang Bitka –
na dili humot batong,
ashtray, ug tuba;
kabalo gud si mama gud.
(pero pangga man na siya ni papa ba)
Unta pud maundangan
ang iyang pag hapak-
bakos,
dos por dos,
tsinelas, tubo,
kumo- sa akua
masking kabalo ko nga
mga panudlo to ni papa mao ing ana.
Ana ang mga silingan na
biyaan
na lagi daw si papa.
Pero dili mi oy!
Mu bag-o lagi siya…
wala lang puhon niya nabasa’g tarong
tung mga card nako sa una…
Oy! Pero nabasa to niya!
Siguro…

—
Alfredo Carlos P. Montecillo is a 4th year irregular student of Ateneo de Davao University.

Limos

Play by | August 4, 2013

Mga Tauhan:
Rick, 25, nars, nagtrabaho sa call center pero agad nag-resign
Nimfa, 28, pulubi, nagkukunwaring bulag
Mga taong dumadaan

Lugar:
Hapon. Sa labas ng simbahan. Sa may bangketa. May lata sa harap ng nakaupong pulubi. Tumutugtog siya gamit ang harmonika. May mga dumadaan na mga tao. Paminsan-minsan sila ay naghuhulog ng barya sa lata. At paminsan-minsan din ay palihim na nagrereklamo si Nimfa sa mga baryang hinulog.

Nimfa: (Sa sarili.) Ang babarat naman! Ang gagara ng mga damit pero singkwenta sentimos lang ang binibigay. Pero ayos na rin ‘to kaysa wala. (Bibilangin ang mga barya at mabilis silang ibubulsa.)

(Mapapadaan si Rick sa harap ng pulubi. Mahahalata niya ang ginagawa nito. Mapapansin ni Nimfa kaya’t pasimpleng hihirit ng…)

Nimfa: Limos… Palimos po… Maawa po kayo…

Rick: Anong palimos-palimos ka diyan? Hey! I saw you. I saw what you just did, Ate. Kitang-kita ng dalawang mata ko. Binibilang mo yung mga coins.

Nimfa: Kuya… Konting tulong lang po…

Continue reading Limos

Brothers, Part 2

Fiction by | July 28, 2013

He inspected the plant more closely, and he noticed that a tiny stem at the center had been cut. The stem was still oozing with fresh purple sap. He realized that someone had reached the peak ahead of him and picked the flower.

He heard footsteps on the grass, and when he turned his head, he saw Indirapatra, bleeding profusely from the wound in his arm and chest. The knees of the older datu gave in, and he fell to his side near Sulayman. His palm opened, and a purple flower slipped to the ground.

Sulayman sneered in disbelief. “This isn’t happening. You’re weak. How did you survive?”

“I may not appear as strong as you are,” Indirapatra said, “but I’m not weak. In fact, because of what you did, I found out I’m as strong as you, maybe even stronger.”

“I don’t believe you. You’re not stronger. You just deceived me. Tell me, Indirapatra. What did you do? Before we went up here, did you make a deal with a demon to help you get through the traps?”

“Don’t accuse me of doing such things, Sulayman. I got here on my own strength and skills.”

“How did you get through the crocodiles? Uncle has never taught you how to fight them. It’s only me whom he taught. Whenever you are with Father learning about statecraft and other worthless matters, Uncle would take me to the jungle and teach me how to capture and kill beasts.”

Continue reading Brothers, Part 2

11:12

Poetry by | July 28, 2013

inside our pockets
is the privacy of our own stones

outside our faces are the familiarities of
our traditions

when we party
we say the same words actually
we fear
other people’s anger
we cannot afford to disappoint the
visitors of our
common faith

the usual mess will be there
part of the party you know
sometimes we let go
we let loose what is too tight in our necks
we spit what is bitter outside the windows of our
tongues

there is always time for restraint in a few glasses of
alcohol
there is a time to make our mouths shut up
tying our tongues like ropes on
the railings of the house
of civility

personally i do not like this party where we turn into
decent fools
choosing the words
afraid of the truth
always fearing that we should have broken some rules
of engagement

most of the time we deny what our hearts are looking for
cold hands clasps another cold hands
empty heads bang with other empty heads
on hollow sounds of flattery

one time i left the room where the party was going on
it was 11:10 in the evening and it became too intolerable

i need to be alone in order to be free
i imagine you and i love this atonement
when you still do not mind
how i feel

i am complicating it with so much restraint
because even if i am now outside everybody
i still retain
the decency of what is right and wrong which i always
carry around.

—
Ric Bastasa, is presently working as MTC Judge of Roxas, Zamboanga del Norte. He finished his BS Chemistry in Ateneo de Davao and Law in Andres Bonifacio College in Dipolog City.