Poetry by Errol Merquita | February 15, 2009
gibaligya ang among saging
sa Tokyo ug gitagaan
ug daghang bulig ang Manila
gipanitan, gihiwa-hiwa
gibahin-bahin nila
bisan sa panit
wa mi naangkon
apan tua mi nabilin
sa aping sa kutsilyo
isip usa ka lagom
nga salin
katong gihiwa
ninyo ang among yuta
ug ang among mga
sugilanon tua mi nabilin
sa aping sa lagaraw,
nagkadugo
nagkadugo pag-apil ang among
yuta.
Nonfiction by Leanne Alvarez | February 15, 2009
All romantic relationships are bound to hit nasty ground in the end — those that were mine, at least. I console myself with the idea that it’s how you loved in the moment that matters. Knowing that you have given yourself wholeheartedly and had possibly been made into a better person is reason to move forward. I tell myself that although I have lost, I have tried hard. At least I discovered who I am and what I am capable of doing. This I learned through someone who, at one point, I thought defined my being.
“You should meet my cousin.”
Nonfiction by Paolo Ray Bataller | February 8, 2009
What I’m going to do is just share you something because, by having said that you’re an atheist, you remind me of what I was then and the thoughts that I harbored and the journey that I had to go through. Perhaps, your statement is a blessing because it has challenged me to write down and crystallize everything that I believe about God.
But before I start, I just want to ask that you own your statement. It is so easy to say “I believe in God” but it is a wholly different matter to say one doesn’t. To say that you’re an atheist is itself a product of deep reflection and hence must not be uttered in jest or mere fun. I expect that you take your statement seriously because this is a serious matter to begin with.
Fiction by Tita Lacambra Ayala | February 8, 2009
There was this teenaged princess from Southeast Asia who, tired of all the political maneuverings and killings and dissent and poverty unsolved by parliament, sneaked out of the country incognito by wearing a wig and a tailored suit, her crown in a hatbox as hand-carried luggage. Landed in a small Philippine airport, found a small house to stay in the middle of a coconut plantation, then walked to town to pawn her crown.
The rural atmosphere suited her needs, also it was just like home—the land, the trees, the air, the trade. Helped a farmer by burning coconut shells for charcoal, sold these to the barbecue people out in the stands at the town streets, and saved up her money so she could get back her crown.
Poetry by Maryanne Lobaton | February 8, 2009
pale crimson and orange palette
painted in that endless canvas
with the final rays of the sun
sinking over the horizon;
the blades of cogon grasses turn
into dark, dancing silhouettes –
the best twilights, i left at home…
now, i see no velvet sunsets
and no dancing cogon grasses –
just a lone lightpost by the street.
Poetry by Maryanne Lobaton | February 8, 2009
used to being side by side;
withered bunch of blooms
forgotten by you, by me —
how do we say our goodbyes?
Poetry by Maryanne Lobaton | February 8, 2009
a single broken fork,
a couple of plastic cups,
lots of crumpled paper —
and you start to realize
that they’re all just clutter…
yesterday, they’re needed;
now, they’re nothing.
and you squint at the same thought
because it’s a lot like love,
where one is left behind –
broken and utterly
useless.
Poetry by Krizia Banosan Garcia | February 8, 2009
out of thick nothingness
you come forth
and strip me bare.
i adore the tears you make me shed.
i despise your guts,
and your pretentious innocence.
my thoughts lick you when midnight awakens
while you play beneath other women’s sheets.
bitter, bittersweet you fall upon me.
my mind chokes you to your sweet death.
i lie for hours as my thoughts skin you,
and taste your flesh.
upon my weary eyes you melt, helplessly.
i’m masked by my deceptive defense,
but you are the sole reality
that brings me to my knees.
you cleanse me when i am clothed with filth.
out of thick nothingness
you come forth
and strip me bare.