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estelle deamor Dec 2014
Ha kamatuoran la,  gin-susumhan na gud ako,  
Diri ka pa ba gin-susumhan?  
Hin mga buhat nga balik-balik nala?  
Diri mo ba nahahalata?  
Nga utro-utro nala kita?  
Kun may napakiana ha imo, "Ano kumusta na?"  
An pirmi mo baton: "Adi asya la gihapon, waray pinagkaibahan han kakulop!"  
Ngan kontento ko na hito.

The truth is,  I am sick and tired.
Aren’t you sick and tired?  
Doing the same things over and over again?
Still haven’t noticed it?  
This has been like this again and again.
When somebody asks you, “How is everything with you?”  
Your usual reply is: “Oh nothing’s changed same as yesterday.”
And you’re happy as it is.


Usahay liwat nabati ako ha imo nga utro-utro an reklamo.  
Nga baga hin kadaan ngan guba nga plaka,  
Balik-balik an tukar, masakit ha talinga.  
Reklamo an imo pamahaw,  
Ngan amo la gihapon hasta panihapon.  
Kay kuno makuri.  
Kay kuno waray salapi.  
Kay kuno waray kapas.  
Kun may sweldo daw la an pag-rineklamo,
siguro maiha na unta nga nag-riko.

Sometimes, I will hear you complaining again and again.
Like an old and broken retro vinyl,
playing over and over again, it is hurting my ears.
Complaining is your breakfast,  
and it is your same meal for dinner.
Because it’s hard.  
Because we don’t have money.  
Because I am powerless.
If complaining will provide you a salary,
perhaps by now, you might quite be wealthy.


Nagkatapo kita kanina ha dalan han "Kada Adlaw"  
Asya la gihapon an imo sul-ot nga bado,
ngan an kabutang han imo buhok.  
Asya la gihapon an pagkakurumos han imo nawong,
Ngan an bubble gum nga hasta yana imo la gihap ginsisinamsam.  
Nangurog ako han kaluwad.
Tigda ako nahingasuka ha imo atubangan.  
Pasayloa, pero magpapadayon ka nala ba hito?
Diri ka pa ba ginsusumhan?  
Kay ha kamatuoran la,  Naamin ako Nga Oo.

*I came across you at the street called “Everyday”
You were wearing the same clothes,
And your hair was fixed the same way.
You were having the same wrinkled frown in your face,  
and was chewing the same bubble gum.
I cringe.
I suddenly felt vomiting in front of you.
I’m sorry, but will you keep on doing this?  
Aren't you sick and tired?
Because to be honest with you,  I think I am.
I have decided to put my entry to the 100 Thousand Poets for Change-Qatar last September 2014, as my very first submission here at HP. Hopefully you will enjoy my poetry in two tongues, Waray-Waray and English. This is my call for change.
damo na hin duro an 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘺 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘴 haak lamesa
takip-takip an kabutang pero dire ak nakakabasa,
han mga pulong nga akon nasurat,
mga letra nga nag buru-balighot ngan nag papaplanat.
waray na gihapon tinta an akon 𝘣𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘱𝘦𝘯 ubos na an paypay han 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘣𝘰𝘰𝘬 nga sinurat-suratan hin magka-durudilain nga pangandoy, mga pulong nga ha inop nala natutuman—mga pulong nga karuyag ko unta mabatian—
tikang haimo mga im-im, an katam-is han mga saad nga sugad hin dugos,
an mga hinumduman nga sugad hin daan nga telegrama, nga ha akon kasing-kasing nakahipos.
gintatapo-tapo na an mga surat nga linukot, waray na ka abrihi tikang han kaparong han lanterna han aton gugma.
nga an dagaang nga an hadi akon na aabat, tumaghom na tikang han imo paglakat.
ngan sugad han 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘺 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘴 nga buot mag pahinumdom, akon man liwat nangalimtan an pag-lara han gugma,
waray na punto an mga sinurat, ighahapil ko na la ada.
translation

Many sticky notes now clutter my desk,  
Covering the chaos, yet I cannot read the rest—  
The words I've written, the letters that twist,  
Tangled and scattered, lost in the mist.  

My ballpoint is dry, ink all but gone,  
The pages of my notebook, faded and worn,  
Filled with dreams that never came true,  
Words I once longed to hear, whispered by you.  

From your whispers, the sweetness of promises,  
Like honeyed vows I once held as bliss,  
Old memories, like telegrams worn,  
Stored in my heart, weathered and torn.  

The crumpled letters are thrown in a pile,  
No longer opened, no longer worthwhile,  
Like the fading glow of a lantern’s light,  
The love we once shared, now out of sight.  

The warmth I once felt now slips from my hands,  
Fading as you leave, slipping through the sands.  
And just like the sticky notes meant to remind,  
I too forget how love once intertwined—  
The words no longer matter, they simply fall behind.

01.26.25

— The End —