Ang Pluma Ko’y Balisong

Poetry by | January 22, 2012

Ang pluma ko’y balisong
Ng isang mandirigmang makata,
Hinulma ng nagbabagang puso
At nag-aalab na mithi;
Pilit mang sakluban 
Ay ‘di mapupurol.

Ang pluma ko’y balisong
Na tutusok sa bawat manhid na dibdib,
Nang ang sakit ay madiin
At nang matutong masaktan at lumaban.

Ang pluma ko’y balisong
Na hihiwa sa mahigpit nilang pagkakahawak,
Puputol sa kamay ng mga nagmamani-obra
At lalagot sa ideolohiyang sila ang bubuhay sa atin.

Ang pluma ko’y balisong
Na palaging nakasikbit sa gilid,
Ipapares laban sa kanilang mga baril
Ngunit magtatagumpay kahit pa sa kamatayan.

Ang pluma ko’y balisong
Isang malakas na boses at ‘di mapapaos,
Ang talim nito’y sing-talas ng mga matang dilat–
Patuloy na naghuhukay sa loob ng bawat isa
Nang masilayan ang mga bayaning nakahimlay.

Ang pluma ko’y balisong
Na patuloy na magtatalop sa makapal na balat
ng nakaraang pagpapakasasa,
Huhugis ng mga tulos upang gawing marka sa sukat
ng kalayaang ‘di matatansya.

Ang pluma ko’y balisong 
Isang tansong pamana mula sa rebulosyunaryong mga ninuno,
Isang tunay na hudyat ng kalayaan at ‘di isang huwad na panulat.

Ang pluma ko’y balisong
Maparam man ang aking panandaliang buhay,
Ang mapula nitong kaluluwa ay walang humpay na magpapasalin-salin
hanggang sa diwa at puso ng mga makatang isisilang pa. 

Ang likido nitong pula ay patuloy na dadanak sa papel ng ating
kasaysayan.

—
Anneliese O. Lomboy studied AB in English at the University of Southeastern University.

Epiphanies

Nonfiction by | January 15, 2012

Back in the time when I still traveled, I found myself in a business meeting in a small town outside of Nice in the South of France. The meeting lasted a few days, over which time I met colleagues from other parts of the world. That being my first (and so far, only) time in Europe, I decided to extend my stay for just one more day to see the sights that I could take in.

What can you do with just one extra day? If you’re along the main train lines in Europe, plenty. I headed down to the station, took a look at the map, readied my coins, and journeyed as far as I could to both ends of the line. On one terminal point was Cannes, the same city famed for its movie festival; on the other end was the small Italian city of Ventimiglia. In between was the city of Nice and…wait for it…the principality of Monaco.

With not much time to plan, I just went wherever the train and my feet took me. In that one day, I covered ampitheaters, plazas, roadside cafes, restaurants, museums, and churches.

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Nocturne

Poetry by | January 15, 2012

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.

Kalit

Poetry by | January 15, 2012

kalit ug hait
ang sagpa sa hangin
dihang nabalitaan niyang
wa na iyang inahan.

kalit siyang nabungol
sa gikusgon sa sagpa
sa pulong,
sa kahapdos nga karon pa niya
sukad nahinagbo,
sa syagit nga gapakahilom
sulod sa iyang dughan.

bug-at

ang dag-om sa iyang huna-huna.
may gibug-aton kini nga di matimbang
sa maskin unsang pulong
ug malitok lamang sa hilom
nga paglanab sa iyang luha.  

wa niya damha
nga karong taknaa,
kalit

mahagsa ang langit

—
Gratian Paul R. Tidor is a young poet and visual artist from Dipolog City.

Tingog nga Gaunos sa Sulod

Poetry by | January 15, 2012

Di na ko makadungog sa mga tingog
sa akong mga higala dinhi sa Burgos.

Di na ko makadungog ni Dodong
nga kanonay gaaghat kanako’g laag.
Wala na’ng hagawhaw nilang Toto ug Imok
nga makatakod kanako’g agak-ak.
Wa na’ng mga higayon nga magtigi mi’g
patag-asay og ihi (Kon itandi sa sulog
sa suba, dagayday ra among agas).

Di na ko makadungog sa mga tingog
nilang Yani ug Ai-ai nga nagtamudmod
nga di sila makakuyog dungan namo.
Sagad gabagutbot mi kay mora mi’g
gitanggong sa balay kon moulan.
Ug bisan tuod nga mora mi’g iro’g iring
sa paglalis, mosubang pod ang adlaw
nga kami makasinabtanay taman sa pagtuliyok
sa among utok, mora’g nalabyan og bagyo.

Apan sukad milabay si Sendong, wala na’y
laing madunggan gawas sa mga danguyngoy
sa ilang ginikanan, ang mga uwang
sa mga sakyanan, ug nangabilin nga tingog
sa akong mga higala nga galanog duyog

sa sulog. Hangtod karon, padayon ang haguros
sa akong kasubo. Wa’y kataposan ang unos.

—
Mark Daposala was a fellow at the 18th Iligan National Writers Workshop. He is taking up graduate studies in English at Xavier University.

Lag-Ok's Papayas

Fiction by | December 25, 2011

Once there was a man named Lag-ok who owned a beautiful orchard. He had all kinds of fruit trees. There were mangoes, bananas, durian, rambutan, lanzones and others. But his favorite of all was papaya.

Lag-ok loved his orchard very much that he built a tall bamboo fence around it. That way, no one could take any of the ripe fruits from his trees. He wanted all of them for himself. He would sell the big ones in the market and get plenty of money. He would keep the medium ones for eating, and the small ones, he would allow to rot away on the ground to serve as fertilizer. He shared with no one and he gave nothing away.

Continue reading Lag-Ok's Papayas

To Mama

Poetry by | December 25, 2011

You look upset today Mama.
And I know why.
Do you want to hop on a time machine?
To get an abortion? A ligation?
Or a mere adoption if you feel forgiving?
 
Your brows, like two itchy bristly
black caterpillars writhed and met
as you tried to burn a hole
through my report card with your glare
and set me aflame.
 
But then you didn’t like the poem
I wrote for you as appeasement
For it used such apt metaphor
for your black-dyed hair that sparkles with dandruff
that outshines the star-sprinkled night.

You shouted at me, Mama, and I comforted myself
with the thought of your head
your sparkly flaked head shaking vigorously,
showering down bits of fake snow on the floor.
And you won’t have anyone to sweep after your mess,
but yourself, Mama.

—-
Prescilla Dorado studies writing at UP Mindanao.

Solitude

Poetry by | December 25, 2011

I say
this solitude is a cold,
slow bullet
piercing your heart

violet on your favorite white shirt
the blood blossoming into a somber flower
red and black
noiseless on your throat
muffled by your sobs

Tremble
Cower
Clamber up some secret hiding place
Fall into yourself
deeper some more
Gasp for the name of God

and with a last breath
say your prayer

forgive

this stranger
warming your heart

—
Janice Joy Chiongson teaches English at Philippine Science High School Southern Mindanao Campus.