–Alang kang Harlene
Kon duna lang pako ang kamingaw
Paluparon ko kini nganha kanimo
Ipahunghong sa imung mga dunggan
Ang kamingaw nga gibati ning dughan ko
Kon duna lang pako ang kasakit
Hangyuon ko kini pagbiya sa akong kasingkasing
bisan sa makadiyot
Tungod kay nasayod ko nga diri na kini mopuyo
Sa samad nga gibilin sa imung pagpanaw
Kon duna lang pako ang kalipay
Tultulan ko kini paingon sa imung kiliran
Tungod way sama kaanyag ang mga balud sa baybayon
Sa dihang anhi ka pa sa akong tuparan
Ug kon duna’y mga pako ang gugma
Suguon ko kini pagkab-ot sa mga bituon
Arun ipurong-purong sa maanyag
mong pahiyom ug katawa
Akong balos sa pagtudlo mo kanako
sa kahulugan sa tim-os nga pagpangga
Apan kining tanan walay mga pako
Busa luomon ko na lang kini sa akong dughan
Ug diha’y akong ukbon sa panahon nga kanimo mingawon
Apan ikaw, ikaw, duna ka na may mga pako
Palihug pagduaw kanako
bisan na lamang sa akong mga damgo
Arun masayran mo…
Ang kamingaw, kasakit, kalipay
ug gugmang gibati ning dughan ko
Kenneth John L. Flores is a senior high school teacher of Manuel S. Nasser Sr. NHS in San Isidro, Davao Oriental.
It was a Saturday and a payday. The sun was asleep that day and the dim clouds hinted rain, but I was up early for my Master’s and I had to beat the previous night of writing a thesis proposal and singing lullabies for my one-year old girl. My sleepy face invited a debate from my wife whether I should go to school or not. I won so I took a freezing bath and packed my bag. San Isidro was a one-hour drive from Mati City and the ride entailed enduring the meandering road that I had gotten used to.
My classes proceeded with lectures and hasty reports prepared by my preoccupied classmates. For fairness’ sake, I hoped they also struggled on the way to school.
I could not go back home without buying groceries and pasalubong for my six-year old girl so I had to join the rush at the supermarket. I went out of the market still alive, gladly. I carefully tied my box of groceries to the back of my motorcycle and headed home. While I was on the way, I was so mindful of my load that I checked it with my left hand from time to time. I was worrying that the knot was loose. I tied the box with the interior of a motorcycle wheel cut into a strip, a sort of a rubber tie, which got tighter while I travelled. At the time, it had grown a bit short.
I was worried that my load would unravel by the time I reached the road construction at Badas. The repair had been taking forever. The government seemed to have a lot of money to spend. The sky was also growing dark, like cellophane filled with water and would burst any time.
Continue reading The Rain