Tag: Nassefh Macla

I.

In their bamboo huts, where bullets
Could trace them, they tried to hide
Behind their mothers’ bodies as if
They could be infants in wombs again.

Their mothers’ pleas the only shield,
“Tama na! Mga sibilyan lang mi!”
But foes remained unmindful—the ears
Did not hear what the hearts refused to see.

Like dominoes standing, the mothers fell.
Blood ran to the edges of bamboo floors
Before they even hit the ground.
The children were left alone standing.

Datu Camsa sings their song in stillness,
They are now the birds of paradise,
Flying after their heads caught bullets
And their young hearts stopped to beat.

II.

Today they dance with Jamail. They swing
Their arms like leaves of banana trees
Of Tibungol swaying in the wind.
On the stage, they portray the birds

Of paradise, the children who were once
Like them but remained as children
Breathing now the quiet air of peace,
Behind them their watchful mothers,

Clasping hands with one another,
Remembering the previous nights –
The fumbling and the laughter
Shrill with surrender and innocence.

Papanok sa Surga still ring around
The hall. And in the huts left standing,
No traces nor shadows remain, only
The empty wind going and returning.

Mohammad Nassefh R. Macla is a Kagan-Bangsamoro native in Panabo City, Davao del Norte. His poem “Children of Homeland” has first appeared in Issue 85: Philippines of the Cordite Poetry Review, an Australian and international online journal of poetry review and criticism.

Under lilies’ round leaves
He hides
From bullets racing,
Left and right.

His pistol
Firm in his fist. The fiendish
Water stifles his breath.

The sun slowly ascends
Despite a spoilt slumber.
He rises

From the refuge
Of the river,
Witnessing fallen,
Armored comrades.

A revengeful morning!

In the mosque, he shoots
Presumed foes. Four
Defenseless carcasses
Floating
In their blood.

The water
Lilies in the river
Unmoving, but living.

Nassefh Macla is a Kaagan-Moro from Panabo City, Davao del Norte. He is a Creative Writing graduate from University of the Philippines Mindanao. This is in commemoration of the January 25, 2015 Mamasapano incident.

In her clinic in the camp, she whispers
Her prayers, hoping no one had been hurt.

But when the forest hushes from gunfire and grenades,
She hears howls of pain, Tabang! Tabang kamo!

Her instruments were all set, laid on the bamboo table – scissors,
Syringe, and bandages – waiting for the wounded.

A bloodied brother in front of her came with a headwound.
Scalp grinning, slit by a bullet. And she stitches it

The way her mother had sewn her pink abaya.
Curious eyes peeking, vision passing through amakan walls.

Veiled women outside covering their mouths.
Pink, sequined veil covers her head. “The color relaxes

The patient,” she remembers. As she buries the needle
In the warrior’s skin once more, she recalls how an old patient

Repelled her, refused her care, for she was wearing a veil.
She had not removed her tondong.

She had turned to another patient, since then.
She gave a slight smile behind her surgical mask

When “Alhamdulillah” came out of the wounded man’s mouth.
Fatima hears gunfire go off again as she washes her hands.

She closes her eyes and waits
For the forest to be completely silent.

—
Mohammad Nassefh R. Macla graduated from the University of the Philippines Mindanao with a degree in BA English, major in Creative Writing. He is a Kaagan-Moro writer from Panabo City, Davao del Norte.

Sa aking mapayapang silid, di ako pinatulog ng mga bangkay,
Hinila nila ako pabalik sa silya’t inutusang bigyan ng buhay
Ang mga titik, tumirik mga mata, nakatirik puting kandila,
Sinulat ko kanilang kwento, gamit kong tinta’y kanilang dugo.
Biglang buhos ang agos ng imahinasyon at gunita,
Di kayang makalimot sa karahasan ng kahapon. Nagmistulang musika
Ang kalansing ng mga basyo ng bala sa tuwing humahalik sa lupa.
Dambuhalang sigaw ng mga bomba, duweto ng mga baril at granada,
Mura ng mga sundalo sa moske, pintig ng mga takot na puso
Iyak ng kapatid na nawalan, hikbi ng naulilang anak,
Na pilit ginigising ang inang duguan sa inaakalang pagtulog.

Sa bawat higpit ng kapit sa baril at kalabit ng gatilyo, bitbit nila’y hibik at hindi galit,
Animo’y nagmamakaawa. Naisin mang ipakita’t iparinig ang totoong daing ng puso,
Ngunit nagsiliparan na ang mga bala sa gitna ng kagubatan,
Nasugatan na ang mga balat na kinalyo sa hirap ng buhay,
Bumuhos na ang dugo, umagos na ang mga luha,
Kaya ang pusong binalot ng tapang, lahing nagmula sa magigiting at mapangahas,
Alas! Bakit pa nga ba aatras? Dahas laban sa dahas.
Kung noo’y tinataas ang kamay na nakabukas ang mga palad,
Nakadaop sa batok habang ang lupa’y hinihila ang mga tuhod,
Di kalauna’y natuto na ring isara ang mga kamao at lumaban sa mga ahas.

Habang ang tugon ng karamihan
Di na daw baleng maging alipin basta’t pinapakain,
Walang pinagkaiba sa “di na baleng kitilin basta’t ililibing,”
Sa kariktan ng mundo’y nauhaw, nabulag ang mga duwag!
Handang isakripisyo mga prinsipyo kapalit ng kakapiranggot na habag.
Ibahin ang paninidigan nila. Bigkis sa sandata’y may simbuyo’t poot,
Kaya milagro kung maaninag kanila’y buto’t balat na tabas,
Pagkat magtataka kung pa’no napapasan ang mahahabang armas
Sandamakmak na bala, tig-iisang pusong laman ay pamilyang iniwan
Walang pagtiyak kung makakapiling pa nilang muli, makakasalo pa kaya
Sa noo’y pinaghahatiang kamote at tubig sa batis.

At nakabalagwit sa kanilang balikat ang anino ng nakaraan,
Mga kubong kumain ng bala, at dumura ng dugo.
Sa loob ay mga batang pinagkaitan. Dumi sa kanilang kuko,
Alikabok sa kanilang mga paa. Ngayo’y humalo sa dugo
Galing sa pusong sariwa na tumigil na sa pagtibok.

Nakita ang anak na lumipad dahil pinaulanan ng kanyon.
Nilapitan, tiningnan sabog niyang mukha di na maipinta.
Pinulot, kalong-kalong sa mga bisig – ngayon itatanong niyo pa ba
Kung bakit gano’n na lamang ang galit nila?

Mahigit apat na dekada ng pakikipagtunggali,
Di lang apatnapu’t apat na sawi ang dapat ipinagluksa,
Libo-libong mga batang walang kamalay-malay, mga kababaihang
Hangad lamang ang mapayapang pamumuhay,
Kung rebelde mang maituturing, sila’y mga rebeldeng ninakawan.
Ngayon ipagkakait niyo pa ba ang kapayapaang hinahangad nila?

Tayo’y namumuhay sa mundo ng kabalintunaan.
Mga taong sumisigaw, sila ang hindi napapakinggan,
Kailangan ng kaguluhan upang makamit ang kapayapaan
Si Fatima na nakatakip ang mukha, sumunod sa utos ng Panginoon,
sa Pransya siya’y hinuli’t pinagpiyansa,
Habang si Anna’ng nakahubad, nagbibigay-aliw ay binabayaran pa?
Ang mga taong nakabarong, mga kagalang-galang sa paningin,
Pangalan ma’y santo, nais naman ng kaguluhan.
At sino pa yung piligro’y di na bago sa kanila, mahahabang riple
Nakasabit sa dingding, mga mata’y susubok-subok sa dilim
Mga aparato ng bomba’y nakasilid sa pinaglumaang karton,
Kung sino pa ang mga terorista sa paningin ng iba,
Sila pa ngayon ang nagtitimon para sa katahimikan ng madla.

Tunaw na ang kandila. Sa dalawang pahinang naisulat,
Tila kumawala ang sapi na nagtulak sa aking idibuho ang mga gunita
Gamit ang mga palambang titik na nagkapit-kapit upang mabuo ang isang obra.
Dumungaw ako sa bintana’t nasilayan pitong talang makinang,
Sa pagtingala’y tila nga’y malayo pa ang dulo, napaisip ako.
Noo’y abot-tanaw lang.
Ngayo’y malabo na naman.

Nassefh graduated from the University of the Philippines Mindanao with a degree in BA English, major in Creative Writing. He has performed “Mujahideen” in several events, including Young Davao Writers’ LitOrgy and the recent Kumbira 2016 with the Davao Writers Guild.

I wished I was a statistician,
That I would’ve dealt with a list of n,
Say unsorted values of anything.
And find its median.
Or the median of its median.
That I would’ve studied numbers,
Across samples.
That I would’ve befriended Euclid and Mahalnobis,
And Charles Babbage so close.

I wished she recognized me,
And admired me like I do to her,
Or like when Statistics and Computer Science
Found usefulness from each other,
When both attracted to each other,
When both fell in love with each other.

Look how the Order Statistics was used
To make the work of a Computer Scientist easier,
Especially in sorting.
Or how Clustering in Statistics finds solutions
To some of her problems, given a list of data items,
Where she can use such strategy
To data mining, retrieval of information,
Or to web search, and image processing,
Partitioning the items into similar groups.
It’s as good as making her smile,
And making her laugh;
It’s as good as how I’m capable of caressing her
All day long.

If I was a statistician, I would’ve given every bit
Of my knowledge to her.
I would’ve shared a million times with her,
And that each of these times were likely to be medians,
Because each of these times
Would definitely be special.

But that’s if I was a statistician,
But I’m not.
I’m not a statistician at all,
So this Computer Scientist
Walks away from me now.

—
Nassefh is a UP Mindanao graduate. He didn’t take up any Math-related courses, although he wished he did.

Hello to yu der da new Germany car of my boss, my pileng is so bery comportable inside wen I draybing.
My boss Ahmad maybe lab yu because he rily buy you in bery big money from da bery cold Germany.
So dats why I take care of yu because I lab you too also layk my boss, because yu relax me bery much.
I think da taym when we go to da city of Cotabato to visit da first lab of my boss Ahmad, Madam Sawda,
What a so bery relaxing pileng while I draybing yu. In da taym of six hours of travel, I jas pil okey.
But when we arrive to da place, I see dat Madam Sawda is bery hot in da fever.
We sleep in der house in da city of Cotabato only one week and den go agen to his oder lab,
And when we action to go away por da next wife, madam is still coughing so bery hard.
And my boss Ahmad say he will sleep one day agen wid her to take care to her.
But Madam Sawda don’t say yes to boss Ahmad, she rily No No. She say dat my boss Ahmad must go.
She say dat my boss Ahmad hab responsibility to da oder wife. So my boss jas follow what madam say.
So we go away in da city of Cotabato after one week. I think in dat taym dat Madam Sawda will jealous.
Because maybe she will jealous to da oder lab of boss Ahmad now she is hot in da fever.
But you know Germany car, Madam Sawda is so bery understanding woman.
Maybe ebrything’s jas okey to her.

So I hab anoder agen a travel with my boss Ahmad today, but I think sad a little bit about it.
Today in da brayt day, we will going to da Tawi-tawi so dat my boss will be in his third lab, Hafsa.
I question in myself about Hafsa, da wife of my dead frend Khunais: why she marry my boss Ahmad?
I’m problemizing to my dead frend Khunais because if he is not dead, what he will say about this?
He don’t want dis to happen! Dat his first lab is now the sweetheart honeybunch of my boss Ahmad ?
Who is a so bery faithful to Islam ? complete all da salah and do da fasting in da Ramadhan;
Who is a so bery rich man ? give zakah always in da week and give his families bery bery big houses;
Who is a bery smart person ? da teacher of da big madrasah and writer also in da books.
Oh! But you know Germany car, Khunais is so bery understanding man.
Maybe ebrything’s jas okey to him.

But maybe opkors not my oder dead frend Ubaydah, when he will know dat Zaynab marry also to boss.
My dead frend is not hab many money; he only hab small nipa house in da Indangan.
Oh I’m is so rily sad about dat man. I praying before dat I can help in da financial to him, but no.
And now, I can’t think inside my mind Zaynab and der children and der lives when he is nothing already.
Dey will not hab food every day, no clothes por da little kids, even der small nipa hut
Wid jas many empty sacks of rice por the roof is a little bit surrendering last time I go der.
My boss Ahmad is so bery good person; he take out Zaynab and da kids from der small nipa-hut.
My boss Ahmad is so bery good person; he give new house and many foods, and clothes por dem.
Yes, my boss is so bery good man; he marry to Zaynab and he adopting her children.
Oh! But you know Germany car, Ubaydah is so bery understanding man.
Maybe ebrything’s jas okey to him.

I never never ever want to say about Aisha because I don’t want to cry, no anymore.
Da bery first time I will know dat she will marry to my boss Ahmad, it break my heart like a glass.
But I don’t angry to my boss Ahmad por sure and also not to Aisha;
Because it is da ama of Aisha dat say to her dat she marry to my boss Ahmad than me.
I am nothing, Germany car. I am nothing but just a driver and servant; I don’t hab many money
Dats why I am only da man who don?t marry to da rich lady like Aisha.
I am so bery hurting when my boss Ahmad say to me inside da SUV about his wedding to Aisha.
He don’t know we are bery sweet boyfriend and girlfriend to each oder when we are still young kids.
I am so bery bery hurt dat time. I am angry. So bery angry dat I think something bad.
I think to drayb porward and hit da SUV of boss Ahmad straight to da Davao Light post in da highways.
Or if not, I think dat time to resign as driver, and end da six years of service to my boss Ahmad.
But I think agen. If I do dat all, what it will happen? I think maybe I jas hab to be happy to dem.
Yesterday, I see her. She say to me salaam, and I say salaam to her too and we smile in each oder.
You know Germany car, I think I’m an understanding man. Ebrything’s jas okey to me.
I so rily lab my boss Ahmad, because he is so bery good to his many families.
Although he hab many labidabs, he hab a sweet heart to me and others, dats why I like him.
If I will be rich someday, if da God is bery bery kind to me, I want to be like my boss Ahmad.
Not jas because he hab many wives, but because I want to help other people.

—
Nassefh is a Bangsamoro Kaagan native from Panabo City. He is a Creative Writing student in UP Mindanao. He is yet to consider having four wives in the future.