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Jun Lit Jul 2021
Ang Lipa ng aking kabataan, tila kumakatawan,
sumasalamin sa mahal nating Inang Bayan

Ilang tampalasan na ang dumaan
Kolera eltor, malaria, pesteng balang
Mga sundalong Hapon, mga sakang
Malulupit na kampon ni Kamatayan
Dumaan pa ang sakit na kalawang
sa dahon ng kapeng inaalagaan
At bukbok sa bungang manibalang,
nanlalaglag, di na pakikinabangan.

Ngunit ibang klase itong ngayo’y salot
Bala ay di nakikita, mala-bola daw ang balot
at tila may mumunting galamay na nakakakilabot
at masusundan ka, sa’n ka man sumuot.

Binago ng COVID ang ating kapalaran,
pananaw, pagkilos, pati kabuhayan
Nakita kung alin at sino ang dapat pahalagahan
at kung sino ang tunay na karamay at kaibigan.

Kung sa nilagang kape pa ang pagtutularan
kitang-kita kung alin ang latak at alin ang matapang.
Nawa’y may masalok na pag-asa sa Silangan,
Nawa’y may malagok tayong kaligtasan.
15th 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.
Jun Lit Apr 2021
My dear friend is a frontliner
Serving, without break, no breather
Battling COVID, this war's unfair
Friend's hero, I'm a follower.
A translation of the original Tagalog - Frontliner ang Kaibigan Ko
Jun Lit Apr 2021
Frontliner ang kaybigan ko
Naglilingkod walang preno
Kontra bayrus ang g’yerang ‘to
S’ya’y bayani at idol ko.
Dedicated to my friend Dr. Ariel Jalil Ahmed Lescano and to other medical frontliners in the Philippines (especially) and elsewhere. Rough translation:
My Friend is a Frontliner
My dear friend is a frontliner
Serving, without break, no breather
Battling COVID, this war's unfair
He's hero, and I'm admirer.
The poem is in Tagalog (with borrowed English & Hispanic words) written in traditional dalit - a poem with a stanza of four lines, each line with eight syllables.
Jun Lit Apr 2021
The saints would want me to forgive. That I have
done. Uphill trek, great effort, conquered the summit.
But then the witch doctors have asked me also to forget,
just forget, like nothing happened. The gray amnesia
intensely urged by incessant chants of choral animé
of aging cherubims would make it difficult, quite
difficult, to explain myself, to myself, with all honesty,
how I got the scars that run deep to the core of my unholy,
(Why not just say sinful? But what is a sin, anyway?),
heart. Unreal these demands. Abnormal? Unnatural.
Unnatural such reactions. Like a Shylock, I would have
yelled, nay, sworn (did he swear?) - a Jew also feels
pain, and bleeds - red blood, not green, not yellow –
when pricked, wounded, ******, slashed, crucified.
But I am not a Jew. Neither a Christian. Nor a Muslim.
Not a saint. Just a human.

Just a human. Not an Avenger or any superhero.
Can’t fly. No imaginary avian wings like those
of Caucasian angels. Not bat wings like those
of soot- or ember-colored devils. Outside an airplane
only my thoughts soar across the blue skies
and above the numerous species and varieties
of clouds. No cloudy mind.

Just a human. Blindfolded Science, not blind nor blinded,
called the species I belong to, just one, **** sapiens.
Wise human. Subspecies **** sapiens sapiens.
Wise, wise human. Made up of matter. That matters.
A lot. Matter not essence. Matter of fact. A living thing.
Not a germ nor a microbe nor a god but surely omnipresent.
Not a plant but may be green-minded. Needs plants.
Not a fungus but may be fungus-faced. Occasionally
attacked by the whitening, not by the illusion of being white,
but by blotching, thanks but no thanks to Tinea versicolor
Not a protist. I just protest. And protest I must.

Just a human. Classified as a hominid. A mammal. Highest
Form? Who said so? Aristotle? Highest? No! Form? Yes -
an animal. Not a microbe. Not a plant. Not a fungus.
Not a protist. I just protest. And protest, protest, I must.
Not a virus. Not white, not black, an Asian, a Filipino.
Not your virus. But like all humans, afraid, very much,
of the new coronavirus. But I am
Not the virus.

Afraid of coronaviruses, and all other deadly viruses,
because I am. Just a human.
Jun Lit Mar 2021
Naampat na ang dugô,
patay na ang mga bayanì
Pipi’t ampaw nakatayo
ang katahimikang naghahari
Tulog ang diyos, Impô,
mga aswang nakangiti
Matatapos na ang “Aba po!”
lasing pa rin ang kudyapi

Kahit matapang ang kape
Di mahulasan ang kapre.

Ginayumang mamamayan
Tila bulag, tanga’t mangmang

Kapag may nagugulantang
Lalayas na rin, ‘kita’y iniiwan.

Ito
ang alamat
ng taumbayang niloloko
at patuloy na nagpapaloko;
ng bayang pinagsamantalahan,
ng bayang pinabayaan.
14th 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.
Jun Lit Mar 2021
Binabaran ng mainit
na kapeng barako
ang naiwang tutóng
sa lumang kaldero,
walang panamà
ang kaning binudburan
ng niyadyad na tabliya
sa panlasa ng até at bunso
magkasamang nagmimiryenda
- matamis na bukayo
matamis na ala-ala . . .

Tanyag ang tamis ng sintunis
singkom man o lado
limot na ang hagupit
ng mga Hapones na malulupit
ng kahapong ayaw umidlip.
Nag-aanyaya ng pag-akyat
ang puno ng bitungol, halikayo
manibalang pa ang iba
ngunit tamang-hinog na pangkulunggo
sa mga isipang nahihilo’t nalilito.

Maghapon lamang ang kabataan -
mabilis, mabilis na dumaan
Orasyon na ngayon, wika ng impô
Huwag magpapaabot ng sireno
Pag di’y sip-on ang aanihin n'yo!

Opo, opo,
Dala-dalang buslô
Taglay ang naiwang litrato
sa sulok ng isipan, ng balintata-o.
Sa lahing hindi sumuko,
magkakasama tayo.
Brewed Coffee Poem 13 - 13th in my series "Kapeng Barako" (Brewed Coffee) - focusing mainly on my memories of my childhood in old Lipa City (Philippines); this one has been, in part, inspired by my reminiscence of one of my elder sisters, Ate Malen, as well as other members of our clan.
Jun Lit Mar 2021
Pardon us, reckless,
Frightened you, forest warrior
Come back, hatch your troop.
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