Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Jun Lit Sep 21
Tila namanhid na ang babahaang landas
walang patid ang agos ng luha, habang walang habas
ang malupit na lilik-panggamas -
patuloy ang tila nag-aamok na pagwasiwas.

Kahit mura pa ang uhay
ng nagbubuntis na palay
Namúti na ang katiwala ng mga bunso't panganay:
Walang sinanto ang pakay
ng aninong sumalakay.
Sinimot pati ipa. Ang imbakang burnay
tuyung-tuyô, tila balóng patáy.

Ubos na ang mga ninuno sa Purok
Ang mga inanak at inapo, tila mga but-o ng kapok
nangalat na sa malalayong pook
Hindi na tumalab ang mga erihiyang tampok
Ang lamping ibinalot, balót na ng usok.
Ang binalot na kapirasong pusod, bakas na lamang ng balok.

Karipas na ang binatilyong habol ang mutyang pailaya.
May baon pang pagkain, pagsasaluhan pag nagkita
Ngunit mabilis na napawi ang tanawing kasiya-siya
Ang natapong lomi, natabunan na ng aspalto’t palitada
kasama ng mga bakas nina Utoy at mga kabarkada
sa ilang dekadang araw-araw na pagbagtas, nakasipit at gura
mula sa Baryo Balintawak hanggang Lumang Baraka sa Lipa -
Di na makilala. Wangis ay mistisong pilipit. Ay! Pilpinas pala!
The original version was the 17th poem in my series "Kapeng Barako" - Kapeng Barako is brewed coffee in Lipa, Batangas, Philippines, often of the 'liberica" variety and roasted traditionally in large metal vats. The series includes poems that focus mostly  on my memories of Lipa, the place of my birth, childhood and teenage years.
This year, I reviewed those of my poems that mention or discuss history. While the original poem actually refers to the forgotten massacres and related events during the latter part of the Japanese occupation (World War II), I came to realize that the events of the Martial Law years seem to have been forgotten also by our people, especially with the recent attempts at historical revisionism.
Change is indeed inevitable. However, forgetting the past and/or revising history, will eventually prove quite costly for a country or people, culturally and in many other ways.
Jun Lit Sep 2021
Pilit hinahabol ng gunting-pamugot
ang tanging dugsong na duguang pusod,
huminto’t tumigil, piniringang may-takot
ang pangalan ng saksi sa mga sagot -
pusod, di-makita, hila ng sanggol na supót,
nag-anyong kabayo, takbo nang takbo
ngunit di abutan, kawatang kangkarot,
akmang tatakas sa malupit na bangungot  
mabuti’t nag-iwan ng aklat, Gat Patnugot,
at tila ebanghelyong liwanag ang dulot -
kapag namulat ka’y mahahawi ang ulap at ulop
Kay sarap lumayang tila tsokolateng malambot.
Translation:

Nightmare

The scissors appeared running, relentlessly
after the bloodied umbilical cord - the only
remaining link, pausing, stopping worriedly
blindfolding the name of the witness to the answers –
the navel-umbilicus, concealed, trailing the infant
uncircumcised, disguised as a horse, galloping, trotting,
but unable to catch up, with the thieves running,
attempting to escape from this nightmare so dreadful
but the Hero Author-Editor luckily left a book, eventful
and like biblical epistles to the heathen, giving light
clearing clouds and fog as your eyes open bright.
How sweet it is to be free, like choco mallows delight.

Written as a response to San Anselmo Publications' Martial Law Weekend Poetry Challenge; inspired by an image depicting the book "The Conjugal Dictatorship of Ferdinand and Imelda Marcos" by Primitivo Mijares, a scissor covering the name of the book's owner to whom the author wrote a dedication, a horse figurine and a chocolate marshmallow - all on a table in a corner of some room.
Andrei Corre Sep 2021
Grant me witnessing all ‘round I go
Let me be uncomfortable
In my sadness
In my spite
In my veins our ancestors’ strife
Their oppression chiseled in depths
Of my subconscious—mayn’t I forget
In my every privileged sigh
In every nightmare’s death
And all of my trivial achievement
That their blood inks this gazette
That my soul echoes their last breath  
For justice—mayn’t I
Move idly and yield
To transient relief
To false gods
To defeatism
That my heart numbs
To the cries of my people
To the destruction of our homes
To the monarchy of traitors
Let me hear it everywhere I go
Let me be uncomfortable
49 years ago, the Philippines succumbed to Marcos' Martial Law.
KyleB Apr 2021
Sometimes I am naked
and look at myself.
My tan skin looks less brown than it looks grey
like ashes;
Perhaps it's grey like the burned cultures,
the damages traditions
and bombarded destinies.

When I put my dark hand
onto someone's fair skin
I see the ashes
and I'm reminded of histories we'll never get to cherish.
Zack Ripley Mar 2021
Pain has always been there
To help remind us that we're alive.
But not all pain hurts the same.
A broken heart starts with a shock.
A bullet, a hole of fire.
A stab or slice, a sting.
A punch or kick, an ache.
But the worst pain isn't physical.
It's psychological.
Over time, you may forget the pain
Of being shot, stabbed, or punched.
But you'll never forget the words
That were said or the fear you felt.
The point is,
There are different types of pain.
But none of them hurt
or heal the same.
Janna B Dec 2020
When I called
I said I needed resolution
When we met
That’s what you gave me

I could see it cost you
When you wanted to hold me.
Your hands reached for me
but made do with air.

We were so short lived
innocent of body but
falling in love is not innocent
when married to others.

Your child needs to see you
And you need him
You will continue
wife of coercive control
and I will let you.

Today I’ve woken
With a calm about me
Tentative tranquility.
I’ll never forget you.
Jim Marchel Sep 2020
We will never forget...

The last day dawns on my life
And I don't know it
As I wake up to golden rays
Of sun knocking on my eyelids.

I kissed my wife good morning,
Got up out of bed
And tucked her in again.
Naomi spent 10 hours last night
Delivering a new mother's firstborn.
I didn't tell her good morning
And I wish I told her I loved her
But I didn't want to wake her.

I sipped my coffee on the way to work
As if it were any other day,
My only worry was if I had spilled any
On the new pink and white
Polka-dot tie my daughter Elise
Had bought me for my birthday
Last weekend
Or the new Bostonian shoes
My wife gave me
With the card that read,
We love you from top to bottom!

I walked into the conference room
And checked my watch:
8:36.
I was 9 minutes early
To the most exciting moment
Of my career:
My first pitch as project manager
For the new country club going up
East of the city in Glenwood Landing.

I was 10 minutes early
To the most helpless moment
Of my life.

At 8:45 I said good morning
To many fine ladies and gentlemen...
Bankers, lawyers, city representatives,
A union boss, some secretaries,
And a stenographer in the back.

The same words I would never again say to my wife and child...

And immediately I was thrown
Through the air
And knocked against the righthand wall
Of the room.
I was utterly confused
And my face burned
From the coffee I had been holding
That now stained
My beautiful polka-dot tie.

It would be nothing compared to the heat I would soon face.

Outside our 111th-story window
Rose an obsidian plume of smoke.
We all knew something terrible
Had happened just a few floors below.

The fine ladies and gentlemen
Of a moment ago
Quickly turned into uncivilized beasts
As the lights went out
And the piercing scream of the fire alarm
Shouted louder than the new mother
Experiencing the pain
Of her first childbirth.

Smoke very quickly came from below
And filled the floor with the foulest odor
I had ever smelled:
Burning rubber, sulfur,
And burnt hair.
Others in the room sealed the door shut
With expensive overcoats and undershirts
From Armani and Burberry.

They tried the phone countless times
But the line was dead.
I looked down at my watch
As a bead of sweat fell from my brow
And landed on my new tie:
9:11.

Today's date.

The fire alarm got tired of yelling
And the room was filled with an
Uncomfortable rumbling sound...

Flames...

...and the hysterical wails of the
Fine ladies and gentlemen in the room.
Some prayed, some wept together,
Others wept alone.
The one thing we all had in common
Was the persistent coughing
From the obsidian smoke
Slicing our lungs.

I looked down at my watch:
9:23.
The heat was now almost unbearable.
We huddled around the window
Jack or John or Jim smashed
With the powerful throw
Of a mini-refigerator.

When I gazed out the window
At the same sun that kissed my eyelids
This morning,
I was calm.
I thought of Naomi, who was
Surely watching on television
As her family called her to make sure
Her and I and Elise were alright.

Daddy's alright, baby girl.

I'm alright, Naoms.

9:31...
Gary or Greg was the first to jump.

I'll make it home to you, angels.

9:32...
Sophia or Cynthia was next.

Please, God, get me out of here...

9:33...
Jack or John or Jim
And Patty or Peggy
Were each other's last hug
As they fell
Like two stars from heaven.

9:35...
I couldn't see
And I couldn't breathe.
The sunlight was the last thing to kiss me.

Before I jumped
I felt my girls.
I touched the tie on my neck
And the shoes on my feet.

I love you both

From top to bottom.
Written 4 years ago, I always repost this on 9/11.

#neverforget
Madeleine Apr 2019
My daughter
I am so proud of you
Never forget that
Next page