Isang gurlis sa lalim ng pananampalatayang
'di masukat ang lawig ng silbi
sa isipang tumugo't dili
sa panghihimok ng musika,
ng balarila, ng metapora
maging sa sining ng pagpapasya.
Maingat na iwasiwas ang alabok
na marubdob na humahalik sa alaala-
munting mantsa na saksi
sa malimit na pagliligpit,
pagbitak at manaka-nakang pagsusumiksik.
Ano pa't nawika:
luoy na ang dahon,
at 'di na nais pang 'patirapa
sa pabago-bagong panahon.
(ang init ng panahon. tula pa.)
Showing posts with label ma-ye. Show all posts
Showing posts with label ma-ye. Show all posts
March 14, 2009
February 20, 2009
HABULAN
Sa muling pagsuka ng tinta mula sa panulat,
Hayaan mong bigkasin ng naninimdim na mga letra
Ang pagdadalamhating sikata’t lubugan ng araw,
Ulana’t arawan kasama ang ligalig na hanging
Yumayakap at nagpapanginig sa yayat na katawang
Kumibo’t dili sa makailang ulit na panghahalina ng bukas-
Bukas na ibinalot sa kumpol ng nangingitim na ulap.
Pumalahaw sa tinig ng piping mga langgam,
Sa masuyong pagsayaw ng damong uhaw
Sa kiming pagbati ng nagpapatihulog na bunga ng ipil-ipil,
Sa pag-uulayaw ng dalawang bubot na bunga mula sa puno ng kaymito…
Itangis ang namahay na hikbi sa puso,
Gaya ng pagtangis ng pitong bala kapag pinaputok ang mga ito.
Tumatangis ang tinta ng panulat,
kasamang itangis ang mga basurang tatlong siglo
ang bibilangin para lamang tuluyang maglaho,
-tatlong siglo para sa naputol na tinidor,
-tatlng siglo para sa styro
-tatong siglo para sa piraso ng straw .
Muli, sumusuka ang panulat.
Ilabas ang lahat ng mailalabas,
Pigilan ang mga kamay sa pagbusal sa umaagos na gripo
- ang trapo .
Dahil bibilang muli ng tatlong siglo
upang panulat at pagsusulat ay muling magtagpo.
Hayaan mong bigkasin ng naninimdim na mga letra
Ang pagdadalamhating sikata’t lubugan ng araw,
Ulana’t arawan kasama ang ligalig na hanging
Yumayakap at nagpapanginig sa yayat na katawang
Kumibo’t dili sa makailang ulit na panghahalina ng bukas-
Bukas na ibinalot sa kumpol ng nangingitim na ulap.
Pumalahaw sa tinig ng piping mga langgam,
Sa masuyong pagsayaw ng damong uhaw
Sa kiming pagbati ng nagpapatihulog na bunga ng ipil-ipil,
Sa pag-uulayaw ng dalawang bubot na bunga mula sa puno ng kaymito…
Itangis ang namahay na hikbi sa puso,
Gaya ng pagtangis ng pitong bala kapag pinaputok ang mga ito.
Tumatangis ang tinta ng panulat,
kasamang itangis ang mga basurang tatlong siglo
ang bibilangin para lamang tuluyang maglaho,
-tatlong siglo para sa naputol na tinidor,
-tatlng siglo para sa styro
-tatong siglo para sa piraso ng straw .
Muli, sumusuka ang panulat.
Ilabas ang lahat ng mailalabas,
Pigilan ang mga kamay sa pagbusal sa umaagos na gripo
- ang trapo .
Dahil bibilang muli ng tatlong siglo
upang panulat at pagsusulat ay muling magtagpo.
December 16, 2008
CALL FOR WRITERS AND ARTISTS
This serves as an invitation to be a member of Writers and Artists Guild-Cavite. A re-organizational meeting will be held on Thursday, 18 December 2008, at 4:00 in the afternoon at Emilio Aguinaldo College-Cavite, Education Room, 3/F, Building 2.
It will be co-presided by Mr. Santiago B. Villafania, 2008 National Book Award Finalist and Dr. Leopoldo M. Dela Cruz, Jr., author of Leben Antrieb.
Students (or anyone) with flair for creative writing and the arts welcome to this cultural event.
Agenda includes: election of officers and planning session for some future literary and artistic writing ventures.
For more inquiries, please contact Ma-ye Albiola (0918-7523778) or Mr. Villafania (416-4342)
join us and get published!
It will be co-presided by Mr. Santiago B. Villafania, 2008 National Book Award Finalist and Dr. Leopoldo M. Dela Cruz, Jr., author of Leben Antrieb.
Students (or anyone) with flair for creative writing and the arts welcome to this cultural event.
Agenda includes: election of officers and planning session for some future literary and artistic writing ventures.
For more inquiries, please contact Ma-ye Albiola (0918-7523778) or Mr. Villafania (416-4342)
join us and get published!
June 10, 2008
Puting Martsa
Hindi sapat ang luhang dumadaloy
Mula sa mga matang nag-kait ng pagtingin sa pumanaw na ulirat
Paglandasin man sa magkabilang bisig
ang dugo,
Hindi ito tatambal sa sakit na ipinabaon sa aking paglisan.
Lumuhod ka, ihingi mo ng tawad ang pagwasak
saking bukas na nangako ng tagumpay at ligaya
Itangis mo ang naninimdim kong obra,
Pati na ang lumulumang melodiya.
Awitin ang nagdaang lungkot at pighati.
. .at lisanin mo ang iyong kinalulugaran.
lasapin mo ang pait ng pagdadalamhati.
Ikaw na nagnakaw ng pag- ibig
Ikaw na umutas ng buhay.
yayakapin mo ang malamig kong katawan,
at isang siglo mong tatagayan ang bawat
alaala ng aking kamatayan.
Mula sa mga matang nag-kait ng pagtingin sa pumanaw na ulirat
Paglandasin man sa magkabilang bisig
ang dugo,
Hindi ito tatambal sa sakit na ipinabaon sa aking paglisan.
Lumuhod ka, ihingi mo ng tawad ang pagwasak
saking bukas na nangako ng tagumpay at ligaya
Itangis mo ang naninimdim kong obra,
Pati na ang lumulumang melodiya.
Awitin ang nagdaang lungkot at pighati.
. .at lisanin mo ang iyong kinalulugaran.
lasapin mo ang pait ng pagdadalamhati.
Ikaw na nagnakaw ng pag- ibig
Ikaw na umutas ng buhay.
yayakapin mo ang malamig kong katawan,
at isang siglo mong tatagayan ang bawat
alaala ng aking kamatayan.
June 7, 2008
hindi ko alam title
“No turning back miss, ‘you sure with this?” said by the woman in front of me. “Yes I am.” I said back, not looking on her eyes. “How many months is it now?” the woman said while taking the apparatus from her bag.
Sta. Barbara, this is where I was born and where I grew up. For every one, hometown is where their fondest memories were made. But for me, this is the place where Satan must’ve decided to flee when his kingdom in inferno burned down after it had been severely affected by global warming.
Here, you’ll see the typical stories you love to watch in your half-baked telenovela- live in action. A drunk man beating his wife, a mother who gambles from morning ‘til dawn, a teen age mom, kids smoking dopes, group of young men exchanging bullets on each other’s head, children of four to six years of age looking for scraps on a dumpsite, robbers, hookers... name it. Every element needed by a writer to make his story dramatically-tragic resulting to a spectacular rating is here in Sta. Barbara- my place, and I am Veronica. You might’ve seen me in one of your telenovela marathons, but I am no actress, not with this over used body and a tarnished name nailed on my forehead.
I was in third grade when mama left us, leaving me, my four younger brothers and my bed-ridden father. In my young mind, I knew then that a great responsibility has been put on my frail shoulders- putting something on our mouths in order for us to live. I quit schooling and tried various jobs, but none has given me money enough to take my family out of this filthy basin we’re in.
It’s been seven years now, there’s no any trace of sweaty neck or dirt on my innocent face, just scent of cheap cologne and lustrous make-up painted on my face. I am no longer taking leftover from garbage bags of fast food restaurants for our meal, I am no longer selling cigars on the streets to buy papa his medicines... for pulling off my underwear can buy a kilo of rice and few bags of fish crackers dosed with vetsin and salt, and making a man moan in ecstasy is enough to buy papa two tablets of his medicine... and this two-month old angel in my womb is the price I got to pay for striving to feed my family’s throbbing stomachs.
“This won’t hurt that bad, but will bleed pretty much.” The woman then parted my legs. Tears rolled and dried on my cheeks. I’m sorry little angel; I won’t have the chance to hold you... kiss you... I’m sorry...
My name is Veronica and I live here in Sta. Barbara.
A place cursed by its patron. Slaved by poverty. Overlooked by the government. Victim of fate. Forgotten by your God.
I am Veronica, living in a box of cruelty. Long been killed by rotten system of the society.
Sta. Barbara, this is where I was born and where I grew up. For every one, hometown is where their fondest memories were made. But for me, this is the place where Satan must’ve decided to flee when his kingdom in inferno burned down after it had been severely affected by global warming.
Here, you’ll see the typical stories you love to watch in your half-baked telenovela- live in action. A drunk man beating his wife, a mother who gambles from morning ‘til dawn, a teen age mom, kids smoking dopes, group of young men exchanging bullets on each other’s head, children of four to six years of age looking for scraps on a dumpsite, robbers, hookers... name it. Every element needed by a writer to make his story dramatically-tragic resulting to a spectacular rating is here in Sta. Barbara- my place, and I am Veronica. You might’ve seen me in one of your telenovela marathons, but I am no actress, not with this over used body and a tarnished name nailed on my forehead.
I was in third grade when mama left us, leaving me, my four younger brothers and my bed-ridden father. In my young mind, I knew then that a great responsibility has been put on my frail shoulders- putting something on our mouths in order for us to live. I quit schooling and tried various jobs, but none has given me money enough to take my family out of this filthy basin we’re in.
It’s been seven years now, there’s no any trace of sweaty neck or dirt on my innocent face, just scent of cheap cologne and lustrous make-up painted on my face. I am no longer taking leftover from garbage bags of fast food restaurants for our meal, I am no longer selling cigars on the streets to buy papa his medicines... for pulling off my underwear can buy a kilo of rice and few bags of fish crackers dosed with vetsin and salt, and making a man moan in ecstasy is enough to buy papa two tablets of his medicine... and this two-month old angel in my womb is the price I got to pay for striving to feed my family’s throbbing stomachs.
“This won’t hurt that bad, but will bleed pretty much.” The woman then parted my legs. Tears rolled and dried on my cheeks. I’m sorry little angel; I won’t have the chance to hold you... kiss you... I’m sorry...
My name is Veronica and I live here in Sta. Barbara.
A place cursed by its patron. Slaved by poverty. Overlooked by the government. Victim of fate. Forgotten by your God.
I am Veronica, living in a box of cruelty. Long been killed by rotten system of the society.
June 6, 2008
pangungulila
- vernice, tutula muna ako, may mai-post lang. 'di ko mahagilap 'yung artistic temperament, at wala rin akong ma-extract na creative juice sa isip kong trip mag- shut down. for now, eto muna..next time na lang 'yung may sense. :p
Sa dilim ng gabi’y pilit kong pinapagluha itong panulat.
Walang mababakas na liwanag
Mula sa palalong kaligayahan
O sa piraso ng pag-asang ‘di masumpungan.
Patuloy sa paglaganap ang dilim,
At ang mahihinang buto ko’y kagyat nitong tunawin.
Hindi ang init mula sa ningas ng apoy
Ang maaaring tumambal sa lamig na namuhay sa bawat kong ngiti,
O ang mabining halik ng hangin sa humpak kong pisngi.
Mananatiling payak ang pamamaalam ng buwan.
Siphayo, para sa bawat pagniniig ng kumot at unan.
Ipikit ang mapanglaw na mga mata,
Walang mabibistayang luha.
Walang awit, walang hininga.
Pangako, walang galit akong nadarama.
Sa dilim ng gabi’y pilit kong pinapagluha itong panulat.
Walang mababakas na liwanag
Mula sa palalong kaligayahan
O sa piraso ng pag-asang ‘di masumpungan.
Patuloy sa paglaganap ang dilim,
At ang mahihinang buto ko’y kagyat nitong tunawin.
Hindi ang init mula sa ningas ng apoy
Ang maaaring tumambal sa lamig na namuhay sa bawat kong ngiti,
O ang mabining halik ng hangin sa humpak kong pisngi.
Mananatiling payak ang pamamaalam ng buwan.
Siphayo, para sa bawat pagniniig ng kumot at unan.
Ipikit ang mapanglaw na mga mata,
Walang mabibistayang luha.
Walang awit, walang hininga.
Pangako, walang galit akong nadarama.
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