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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.
Jun Lit Sep 2021
You wanted to catch a bus for home –
You rode a chariot to Heaven, a ray of light?
You crossed the busy Northbourne –
You reached the other bank to River Life.

A mother leaves behind her children
their journeys to go on
A loving daughter of The Father
joins Him where tears are none.

Go! The traffic sign said – they say
Go – you did to the green pastures, your spirit’s hay.
Go – to the Shepherd’s bay
Go – rest from this tiring day.

So long, friend.
27.x.1994, 2330H

I wrote this poem on 27 October 1994. It's dedicated to the memory of Ms. Sonia Castro, then an AusAID scholar from the Philippines taking an advanced degree at the Australian National University. She perished in an accident on the busy Northbourne Avenue, in Canberra, ACT, Australia,
Jun Lit Aug 2021
Hindi mo na maririnig, tugtog ng lumang gitara,
awit ng batang kwerdas na kinulbit pag bagot na
ang mga talata’t salita, hindi mo na mababasa
sa tagtuyot na darating, tila mga dahong nalanta,
malalaglag, maiiwan lamang ay kupas na ala-ala

Di na matutupad, muling pagkikitang pinangarap,
sa mundong ibabaw, panahong tangi’y sasang-iglap
buhay na wari’y walang wakas, maglalahong ganap

Ganunpaman, hayaang lumipad ang aking paghikbi
'ka'y naging bahagi, kaputol ng pusod sa aking wari
Magpahinga ka na’t napagod kang anong tindi
Aalalahanin ka tuwina, kapatid na alalay ang ngiti.
Dedicated to the memory of my brod and friend, Bitagoras C. Nual, who we call Goras.
Translation:
Segment (For Goras)

You won’t hear anymore, the old guitar we played
the music of the youthful strings that were plucked when bored
the stanzas and words, you won’t be able to read ever
they’d be like wilted leaves that when the drought sets in,
will surely fall, and only faded photographs will remain.

A future reunion, we both dreamed of, now naught,
never forthcoming in this world where time ends in a wink,
where life we felt as if forever, ends as eyes blink.

Be that as it may, let my sobs fly to where you are,
a friend, a part of mine, a segment of my navel I felt
Rest now, brother, you must have been so tired
Someone like you, as unforgettable as your smile.
Jun Lit Aug 2021
The tears that dropped just yesterday
have not yet dried up, lawn's still wet.
One glance, your candle's lit, struggling.
The next, you're gone, the winds have won.
Hijacked in the midst of this storm  
that silently kills, we're helpless
as flame after dear flame flickers
and covid sweeps all who we love
and yes, everything that matters.
Suddenly, life is but a dream.
Jun Lit Aug 2021
You sneezed your disapproval away
and the phlegm of your mind came
raining down.
                                    I didn’t move a finger.
                                    I had my mask on.

The insignia of the emperor, I don’t have,
for the sun that guides my path is bright
but not blood-colored. Your gang judged,
anointed not - I don’t belong, we don’t.
Still I wasn’t moved.  
                                     I have my mask on.

There at the throne, the jolly Governor
sat, flanked by the nobles of Royal Court –
all smiling, like full-grained opaque
white corn, where within the holding cobs
the worms had spread the contagion,
boring the core to pitiful emptiness. But
I wasn’t moved. I won’t move.
I know too well.
                                    They have their masks on.
Jun Lit Jul 2021
The fountain of nectar still flows along the river
of wisdom, way, way beyond when coconut florets
have fallen. We dipped our cups and your words
have yielded the wines you brewed, mellowed
by the years you served head up high, but feet
always on the ground, forever resolved, pursued
the dreams. Strong in will, but still soft on sides
right of your heart. The few defeats only inspired
the lady knight in you to fight the battles in life.
The armor of the soul shines but you still kept
that motherly crown for all of those you cared
and loved dearly. Proudly, I met and knew and
served and was once a friend of that singular,
unforgettable Queen. Our wellspring of thanks
will never dry up for all your support and love.
Dedicated to the memory of Dr. Priscilla Chinte Sanchez (July 8, 1936-July 16, 2021), renowned food microbiologist, University of the Philippines Los Baños
Jun Lit Jul 2021
Lasaping mabuti bawat lagok, paulit-ulit
Namnamin ang pampagising na pait
Habang ang likas na tamis, nilalasang pilit
Sa ‘yong lalamunang sabik, ang init guguhit.
Tulad ng bawat pagtatanghal, sa isip di mawaglit
Todo-bigay ang birit, tila laging huling hirit.

Araw-araw mang nakikita ang Bundok Malarayat
Hindi nagsasawang sulyapan ang Silangan pagmulat
Bawat araw na tayo'y buhay, may dalang sigla’t galak.

Hwag nang ipitin ang kwadrong alas o otso
Di na magiging mahalaga kung sino nga ba’ng nanalo
Kapag ang mga kalaro sa pusoy ay wala na ni anino.

Hagkan si Habagat at yakapin si Amihan,
Daluyong ma’y ihatid, sa kabila’y walang ganyan
Di-pinansing hininga’y aapuhapin sa paglisan

Ang lupang hinamak, tinapak-tapakan
Ang lupa ring naghandog ng susing kabuhayan
Ang lupa ring hihimlayan sa huling hantungan.

Lasaping mabuti bawat lagok, paulit-ulit
Kapeng barako’y masarap habang mainit
Ngunit wala nang bisa sa huling pagpatak ng saglit

Lasaping mabuti bawat lagok, bango’y langhapin
Kapeng barako’y larawan ng pagbangon at paggising
Ng bawat araw, biyayang pasasalamata’t tatanggapin.
16th 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. The current COVID-19 pandemic has made us realize which things are really essential, who really matter and how volatile human life is, and that every single day when we wake up still alive is a gift in itself.
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