Hunghong

Poetry by | March 16, 2008

Wa gayod maskin dukot,
maskin lawog
sa lubot sa hungot.
Nagkagod apan
wa maskin tansan.
Kay sa kalisod,
Ang kapid-ang tawo nagsaguyod
wa pa kapabulad
sa ilang mga mulo
ngadto sa dako-dako
nga gialirongan
og gipatalinghogan
sa mga manuplaay
nga nagdako
sa kahamugaway.
Sa may kinadak-ang pako,
sila nagapanghunghong,
nagapatubo
sa gahom, namasak
sa ekonomiyang lusak.
Ug tungod sa ilang kabungol,
nangaslom na
ang hiyos
nga mga tungol.

Maturity

Nonfiction by | March 16, 2008

We all mature: one way or another. It is one of those simple facts of life we can never escape from. There will come a day when we realize that we have changed the way we view things — for the better, we hope. Just recently, that day made itself known to me.

Like Dorian Gray and Lord Henry Wotton, I used to value physical beauty above others. This was to me a tendency unconsciously observed. Do we not, as children, often choose playmates that look as pleasant as their genes or their parents’ money can make them? I was guilty of this. Aren’t we all?

When I was in grade school, there was this girl whom no one liked too well. I was not exactly the popular kid, either, but I thought I was better off than she was. At least I had some friends. She, on the other hand, was the sort others would run away from, as if she had a deadly and contagious disease. She was the perpetual ”it” of the oh-so-many playground games we played when we were kids.

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Sunday Class

Nonfiction by | March 16, 2008

That January Sunday promised to the most charmless, cheerless day in years. The weather seemed hesitant, and the time passed by slowly and clinically as though the world was flat and on lithium.

I had set an afternoon appointment with a classmate from high school — a huge crush of mine back in the day — who, for some reason or other, deemed me geeky yet accessible enough consult for her thesis.

She gave me a call late in the week, quickly explaining the requirements for her Bachelor’s degree in Communication Arts.

How could I have said no? Or do you see why I couldn’t say no? Full to the brim though my calendar appeared, if this was the same hazel-haired, hazel-eyed young woman who, if my recollection serves, had the habit of biting her lower lip whenever she talked….

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Gravity

Poetry by | March 9, 2008

Climb a coconut tree
With no thought of gravity to pull you down
Let your feet grip tightly to its body
Forget your children
Crawling on the ground
Like beasts waiting to be fed on your sagging breasts
As your skirt calmly sways in the wind
Continue reading Gravity

Chameleon

Poetry by | March 9, 2008

with your long thin legs and strong curled tail
you said you
don’t belong just in this goddamn tree
you belong somewhere you can show off
how attractive you are to predators
but can get away from them
with your defense
the ability to change color
your long thin legs may have taken
you somewhere but
under your light-colored skin
resides the earth-colored tone
you have long forgotten
and can never change

Lihim ng Puso

Poetry by | March 2, 2008

Hindi ko nais isipin na sabihin itong lihim kong pagsinta;
Hindi ko alam ang aking nakikita sa iyong mga mata.
Subalit nararapat lamang na ang pagsintang ito’y aking ikubli,
Sapagkat hindi mo dapat malaman na sa puso koy ika’y namumukodtangi.
Hindi bale ng nasasaktan ng palihim ang puso kong ito,
Wag lang malaman ng ibang mga tao.
Kaya’t sa poong maykapal aking ipinapanalangin,
Na ang pag-sintang itoy liparin sana ng hangin.
Kaya’t nararapat lamang na ang pagsintang iyo’y aking kalimutan,
Para ng sa ganun ang puso kong ito’y hindi na masugatan.
Subalit hindi ganoon kadali ang paglimot sa isang sinisinta,
Sapagkat hindi ito kagaya ng paglimot sa lyriko ng isang kanta.
Hanggat hindi nawawala ang nararamdamang ito,
Wala akong magagawa kundi patuloy na itago, ang lihim nitong puso.

Dark Pink Harvest

Poetry by | March 2, 2008

A grandmother’s remembrances of last summer

Peering through a picture window
I saw pastel-hued balloons float in the air
anchored to chairs built so low
uprooted children are ill-fitted sitting there.
I gaze at you and I standing opposite ends of a rainbow.
I am writing history.
You are certain
in this country
there is a treasure of stories to know.
You finally understood why you had to go.
Sipping sambong in a screened porch
embraced by life-filling green,
alone I stare at your raiment of dark pink torch
more lovely than I can ever imagine.