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By: SDV/Ferdiand S. Panerio+


Pagmulat sa dapithapong umaga,
Dahil sa haplos ng simoy na kay ganda.
Kay sarap limiin, damhin sa guniguni,
Ang lamig **** tagos hanggang dibdib,
O Maragusan, himbing ng aking pagiisip.

Hindi ka lamang lupang sinilangan,
Kundi sabsaban ng likas na kayamanan.
Luntiang paraisong sa puso’y nakaukit,
Sa bawat patak ng hamog, ikaw ay iniibig.


Maragusan—tahanan ng aking alaala,
Sa bawat ulap, bulaklak, at bituin
Maragusan—huwaran ng ganda at sigla,
Sa iyo pa rin, puso ko’y mananahan.
By: Ferdinand S. Panerio+


O~ what has become of us?
This silence—deafening,
But where is this silence taking us?

The stillness feels cursed,
Have we built a congress of vanity and greed?
Only a few stand uncorrupted.

Is this a nation crumbling from within?
My beloved homeland drowns in swelling debt—
Born not from service, but from selective aid
Where the needy get crumbs, and the well-fed get feasts.

Silver tongues speak of promises,
But their pockets remain hollow, unsatisfied.
Projects for the people, they say—
Yet the people ask, where is it?

I love you, my country.
But what are we to do?
How do we rise and lift you,
When you no longer lift us?
(From the lips of Faith herself/ with +)

Thou speakest of return, beloved,
As if love were coin to be re-earned.
Did I not stand — when thine world burned?
Did I not kneel — when thou wert crowned?

Yet still thou strayed, not with feet,
But with heart that feared its own beat.
And now — thou askest what may return?
O love... 'tis not mine alone to yearn.

I gave thee my vow, whole and bright,
But vows alone shall not birth light.
What thou seeketh lies not in me —
But in thy war for sovereignty.

Return not to me —
But to thyself first.
Then shall I rise...
If thou art truly rebirthed.
By: Ferdinand S. Panerio +

Rendered in High Old Tongue
Thrice-born am I — aye, thrice I stand:
Myself, the Shadow, and I unplanned.
Inward storms dost fiercely clash,
Where soul meets soul in mirrored ash.

Banished afar from hearthstone’s light,
From kindred dreams and love's delight,
All things once held in gentle grace
Hath withered in time’s cruel embrace.
Lonely, I sup the bitter draught,
Where sorrow lies in silence quaff’d.

Madness, folly — such jesters grim,
Did weave with me a fatal hymn.
Yea, I took Queen Faith to be my bride,
While Honour slept and Shame did bide.
Now, dost disgrace seek mine end?
Shall I in shadow’s mire descend?

Nay! Awake, O soul, from slumber deep!
Cast off the chains where cowards weep!
For lo — my blood, though marred by strife,
Still sings of land and sacred life!
My country’s call, like thunder’s cry,
Doth rouse the fire in slumbering eye.

No more shall I in silence tread,
For I am thrice, yet never dead!
The Exiled returns — not bowed, but free,
To die — or live — for sovereignty!
By: Ferdinand S. Panerio- FSP+


In the tongue of longing and grace

I withdrew mine self, for I was torn asunder,
Bleeding in silence—mine eyes, a well of sorrow.
Was it wisdom that did visit, or but a stir of mine own spirit?
Oft have I become a vessel—yet ne'er sought the glory thereof.

I took upon mine shoulders all my misdeeds,
Aye, even mine follies and grievous errors.
For I am not perfect—nay, I am but a man,
Oft tempted, yet bound by the burden to become more than flesh.

When I yearned to change mine wayward path,
Lo!—a struggle from within did rise.
Could it be but emotion that warred in my soul,
Or a shadow deep inside, that refuseth to be made new?

Mine hope did wane, and I beheld no dawn.
I sought the end—I desired death’s quiet song.
Darkness did surround me, and I wandered lost,
The pain within, too vast, too cruel to name.

But in the mountains—yea, in EMC—
Through nights and days that turned once more,
There came a moment, mysterious and profound:
Was it the Master’s Call? Verily, I knew not—but I trembled.

And lo, mine soul did awaken—
Thus was IID born from the hush of stillness,
And local-wide did follow, and at length, SBDA.
I know not why I travailed still,
But I held fast to the path, though full of wonder and woe.

Art I yet feeble within mine heart?
Alone, once more, and then again—
Yet something stirs inside me, soft and solemn,
A comfort not from man, but from the hush between thoughts.

And truly, I declare:
How my soul doth yearn for the mountains still…
(A Metamorphosis of the Heart)
Ferdinand S. Panerio+

In mine beginning, I wast but a lowly worm,
Creeping upon the boughs of mortal opinion,
Judged at each meagre movement mine,
“Why art thou thus? Thou err’st yet again.”

When I dared utter words of thought,
Mine breath met queries sharp and cruel—
“Hast thou no wisdom?”
As though all were critics, and none a kindly soul.

When mine heart unfurled its wings of feeling,
“Thy grammar is amiss,” quoth they,
As though the soul must needs be written right,
And love be scorned should letters fall awry.

When silence I embraced for solace’ sake,
They calleth me stone—
Heartless, cold, unfeeling.
Yet I but sought shelter in mine hollowed hush.

Slowly, confusion did cloak me whole,
A silken shroud, a cocoon of selfsame doubt.
There, mine tears did flow in quietude,
And I dared dream of flight, though wings I’d not yet known.

And lo! I am now a butterfly unsteady,
Wings I bear—yet be they dream or verity?
For even in the height of mine ascent, they cry:
“Thou fliest too high... or seek’st thou only notice?”

What is truth, indeed?
At every turning of my soul’s becoming,
A question clings,
And thus, amidst this metamorphosis—
Mine heart remaineth lost.
(Isang metamorposis ng damdamin)
FSP+

Sa simula’y isa lang akong munting uod,
Gumagapang sa mga sanga ng opinyon,
Hinuhusgahan sa bawat hakbang,
“Bakit ka ba ganyan? Mali ka na naman.”

Kapag nag-iwan ako ng komento,
Sinusuklian ng tanong—
“Wala ka bang alam?”
Parang lahat ay kritiko, wala ni isang kaibigan.

Kapag ibinuka ko ang pakpak ng damdamin,
“Wrong grammar,” anila,
Na para bang damdamin ay dapat tama ang baybay.
Hindi raw sapat ang puso kung mali ang anyo ng salita.

At nang sinubukan kong manahimik,
Inakusahan akong bato—
Walang puso, walang pakialam.
Samantalang ako’y nagpapahinga lang sa sarili kong lungga.

Unti-unti, ang kalituhan ay naging balot,
Isang kokon na pumulupot sa aking katauhan.
Doon ako natutong umiyak nang walang ingay,
At umasa sa paglipad kahit di pa sigurado kung kaya.

Ngunit heto ako ngayon—isang paruparong alanganin,
May pakpak nga ba talaga o panaginip lang din?
Dahil kahit sa paglipad, may tanong pa rin:
“Masyado kang mataas… o baka naman nagpapansin?”

Ano ba talaga?
Sa bawat yugto ng aking pagbabago,
May tanong na kasabay,
Kaya’t sa gitna ng aking metamorphosis—
Ako’y nalilito pa rin…
Wrong grammar
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