Poetry by Orlando Sayman Jr. | August 12, 2012
to light up
like a firefly
to signal
my desire
to light up
like a firefly
to eat you
alive
to light up
and die
to light up
—
Orlando Sayman, Jr. is a Job-Enabling English Proficiency Monitoring Specialist at USAID-GEM, and is a regular contributor in Dagmay. He misses looking at fireflies.
Poetry by Zarah Meneses | August 12, 2012
You don’t know how
painful it is for me
to feel you, covering your head
with a pillow, hoping
that your wails of pain
become a secret, like
how you shroud the hurling marks
in your face with
concealers, powders and
smiles of charade.
Last night too, I heard
you packed your things without
even telling me what went wrong.
I am here, I am here
lying beside you and trying
to make you believe that
I couldn’t hear
your wails of pain.
—
Zarah Meneses studies in Xavier University Ateneo de Cagayan.
Play by Alfredo Carlos P. Montecillo | August 5, 2012
Mga Tauhan:
Kaloy: Isang konduktor sa terminal ng jeep. 18 years old na binata. Payat. Ang suot niyang t-shirt at shorts ay nababahiran ng grasa. Makakaaway niya si…
John: Pasaherong uupo sa front seat. Mas malaki ang katawan kumpara kay Kaloy. Mayaman ang porma niya. Mayabang umasta. Kaaway ni Kaloy at ni…
Manang: Isang matandang galing grocery.
Tagpo:
Ang tagpo ng istorya ay sa isang terminal ng mga jeep.
(Bubukas ang telon kasabay ang pagtugtog ng background music na parang nasa terminal ng jeep. Papasok mula sa kaliwa si Kaloy. Mayroong multicab-jeep [sideview]sa background. Sa loob ng jeepney ay may mga nakaupo na.)
Kaloy: O kayo diyan! Maam! (sabay turo sa isang manonood na babae)
Dito po, lalarga na! Sasa, Sasa, Panacan, Tibungco, Lanang! Sasa, Sasa –
O boss dito o. (sabay gabay sa isang lalake papunta sa likod na pasukan ng jeep)
O, O, O! Paki urong naman diyan! (papaluin ni Kaloy ang kilid ng jeep) Paki urong para makaupo si bossing! O, O, O! (papaluin nanaman ang jeep)
(Habang pinapaurong ni Kaloy ang mga tao sa loob ng jeep ay papasok si John mula sa kanang bahagi ng entablado. Sasakay siya sa front seat ng jeep. Maglalagay siya ng headphones sa ulo niya at makikinig ng musika.)
Kaloy: Sasa, Sasa, Panacan, Lanang! Miss, pwede pa o, Sasa ba Sasa? (magtatanong si Kaloy sa isang babae mula sa manonood)
Ser! Lanang? (magtatanong si Kaloy sa isang lalake sa mga manonood) Tibungco? Bakante pa doon o.
(Magmumukhang pagod si Kaloy. Iikutin niya ang tuwalyang dala niya para magpahangin. Papasok ang isang matandang babae mula sa kanan ng entablado; may daladalang punong grocery bag. Kukuhitin ng matanda ang likod ni Kaloy. Lilingon si Kaloy sa matanda.)
Poetry by Allen Samsuya | August 5, 2012
Moonlight was our perfect alibi for breaking
this quiet darkness. Ancient nights when olden
rooftops made for a dozen water beds
and we had no need for mattresses and pillows
beneath our backsides and our heads. Back then,
we spent our nights learning how stars unravel
the direction of our home. Back when our eyes
were keen enough to watch snowfall from halfway
across the globe. Now, old and bitter as those cheap
wines we used to buy, I can’t climb a tree house
to save my life. My Love, I have my eyes squinting
skywards all night long. I swear I will see you soon.
Tonight, I chase your footprints across the surface
of the moon.
—
Allen Samsuya is a graduate of Creative Writing student from the University of the Philippines- Mindanao. He was a fellow for poetry in the 2009 Davao Writers Workshop, the 18th Iligan National Writers Workshop, and the 50th Silliman National Writers Workshop. His works have appeared in Philippines Free Press, Philippines Graphic, Sunstar Davao and the Best of Dagmay Anthology.
Poetry by Michael Angelo Lopez Marquez | August 5, 2012
Nakamata ko’g kadlawon
kay milinog among katre,
sa dihang gisusi ko,
si ate giyarok ang softdrink.
Misugilon ko ni Nanay
sa hinay midangoyngoy siya,
gitawag dayon niya si Tatay
og si Ate ilang giistorya.
Misinggit si Nanay og
si Tatay hapit si Ate laparuha,
sa hilabi nilang kasuko
si Ate mihilak, nipahipi na lang.
Sa kadaghang giyawyaw nila
usa lang akong nakat onan,
dili moinom og softdrink kung sayo pa
aron dili sayo mosakit ang tiyan.
—
Michael Marquez is president of the University of Southeastern Philippines English and Literature Evening Society. He was a Fellow of the 2011 Davao Writers Workshop.
Poetry by MJ Tumamac | July 29, 2012
Lumubog ako
sa dagat
ng mga tuyong dahon.
Sumisid ako
upang likumin
ang mga tagong yaman.
Sa pag-ahon,
gumawa ako ng kastilyo
at nagsaboy ng mga dahon.
Hindi ko napaghandaan
ang pagdating
ng alon ng mga dahon
na kumain
sa aking mga yaman at kastilyo.
—
A poet for children from General Santos City. MJ Tumamac is a member of Kuwentista ng mga Tsikiting (KUTING) and Linangan sa Imahen, Retorika at Anyo (LIRA).
Fiction by Armando Fenequito Jr. | July 29, 2012
“Dito na lang ako. Mgkita na lang tayo bukas,” paalam ko sa aking mga kaklase.
“Bakit dito ka lang? Parehas lang naman tayo ng ruta na sinasakyan, ah?” Tanong ni Jackie na isa sa pinakamalapit kong kaklase.
“Ay, may pupuntahan rin kasi ako.” Pangiti kong palusot sa kanila. Nakakahiya kasing sabihin sa kanila na kulang na naman ang aking pamasahe. Ilang ulit na rin nila akong pinautang ngunit hanggang panaho ito’y hindi ko pa rin nababayaran.
“Sige! Mag-ingat ka diyan, ha.” Sabay nilang binigkas sa akin.
Nang ako’y humiwalay sa kanila ay binaybay ko ang isang napakatahimik, at walang katao-taong daan sa Aurora. Wala masyadong tao na nagdaraan dito. Napakadilim pa ng lugar na ito kahit alas-singko pa lang ng hapon. Kasi nga naman, walang ni isang poste na magliliwanag kahit sa isang bahagi man lang ng lugar. Kaya walang tao na tumitira sa lugar na ito. Pero ito lang ang daanan na medyo malapit sa aming tinitirhan.
Fiction by Emiko Escovilla | July 22, 2012
Angela and her sons were on their way home from the mall when Poi, her youngest, asked a question.
“Ma, why don’t you and father live together anymore?”
From her left, Angela could see that Banjo, her eldest, was also anticipating her response. She had a feeling he had always wanted to know, but never had the courage to ask. Unlike Banjo who was ten, Poi was only seven and had the benefit of not knowing what tact meant.
“We just weren’t happy with each other anymore, and we didn’t want to keep fighting. So we chose to live separately.”
“But why weren’t you happy with Papa? Don’t you love him?”
Of course she did. But after Eric, her husband, lost his job, she found it more and more difficult to do. He suddenly started hanging out with his friends more, drinking more and learning how to smoke. She tried to pass it off as stress, but when he came home drunk one night and hit her, she decided it was enough. She couldn’t be with a man who had the will to hit her, because if he’d already done so, what was to say he wouldn’t do it again?
Her children deserved a better image of their father, though. That part of his character she would never tell them.
“Sometimes, things happen to people,” Angela said, “and sometimes, Poi, people change because of it. When your father changed, it became difficult for both of us to be happy.”
She wasn’t sure if her sons understood, but they left it at that. For the rest of the ride home, Poi annoyed his brother who was playing with his PSP.
When they reached home, the boys raced into the house while Angela was left to pay the cab driver. She handed over the money and was about to get out when the cab driver suddenly spoke.
“Have you talked to your husband ever since you separated, ma’am?”
The question struck her since she couldn’t remember when she last talked to Eric. She opted not to answer the cab driver and with a polite smile, exited the cab.
That night Angela couldn’t sleep, thinking of the cab driver’s question. When had she last talked to Eric again? Was it after their last session of the annulment trial? How long ago had that been? How had he been doing since? Was he able to turn his life around?
Eventually the guilt of not having talked to her former husband consumed her and she decided to try and talk to him. She called him the next morning despite all her apprehensions. When after the first time he didn’t pick up, she didn’t try to call him again. Angela didn’t want to force the issue.
Maybe two years was too short a time for the wounds to have healed.
—
Emiko Escovilla was born in Davao City and is currently enrolled in the AB English program of Ateneo de Davao University.