Makaubos

(Orihinal na naipaskil Biyernes, Disyembre 10, 2010, ng 10:19 n.g.)

Isang tulang naisulat matapos pagmasdan ang ngumingiting silay ng buwan na nagpapanginig sa laman.

Tila ka isang multo.
Nguni't hindi katulad ng mga multong bigla na lamang sumusulpot
Nakatitig sa akin gamit ang mga matang tinatanglaw ang apoy ng poot.
Hindi ka katulad ng mga multo ng aming angkan
Na nagpaparamdam gamit ang mga alaalang iniwan nila noong sila'y nabubuhay.
Hindi ka katulad ng mga multo ng baliw na lungsod
Sumusulpot, nananakot, naghihimagsik, nagpupumilit muling mabuhay
Sa ilalim ng mga ilaw dagitab ng isang mundong mas patay pa sa kanya.

Tila ka isang multo.
Nguni't hindi katulad ng mga multo ng aking kabataan
Na nakikita ko sa pananakot ng aking mga magulang
Ukol sa mga Bumbay, mga pulis, mga security guard, mga Intsik.
Hindi katulad ng isang taong grasang ibinabalala sa aki'y nangangagat
At kakapit nang walang likat
Hanggang hindi ko siya nabibigyan ng barya.
Hindi ka katulad ng mga babaeng multong lumulutang sa karimlan
Na sumisigaw ng dugo't katarungan
Matapos iwan ng mga minamahal at mga gumahasa.
Hindi ka katulad nila.

Ikaw ang multong nabubuhay.
Ang multong hindi nalalaman na siya'y patungo nang walang hanggan
Kahit umiiral pa sa kanyang sariling lunan.
Ikaw ang multong likha ko
Nguni't hindi ko talaga likha
Sapagka't kung akin talagang gawa
Ay magagawa ko ring masira.
Ikaw ang multong patuloy na nananahan sa gunita
Sapagka't ikaw ay hindi ko magawang mayakap
Kahit posible naman ang magkadaupang-palad.
Ikaw ang multong laging bumabalik sa tainga ang bungisngis
Kahit na ang bulong mo'y hangin na ang uminis.
Ikaw ang multong nahihimlay ng payapa
At natitiyak kong anghel ka ngang talaga.

Nguni't sa tuwing maglalakad sa gabing pusikit
Sa gunita'y hindi mapigilang maramdaman ang sakit
Pagka't ang pangangarap sa iyong pagbabalik
Nagbibigay lang sa akin ng kaunting ulik-ulik.

Kaya narito, ang pluma ay muling nananahimik
Dahil ang panginginig sa iyong pagbabalik
Upang ang kaluluwang sawi'y muling mahindik
Ay nagdudulot sa aking mag-ulik-ulik
At mawalang-saysay ang lahat ng aking titik.

Eat! Restaurant
64 E, Calzada Esteban Abada
10:09 ng gabi.

Dysfunctional Sonnets 1 & 2

Created Saturday, November 20, 2010 at 1:38am

Zenith of my dreams now quite vague,
May probably pass by like a plague,
And perhaps deem me unworthy of thee;
Anguish be mine like worthless Montague,
Rage consume me for I shall not be free.

Has it occured to thee how it pains me
And vexes me when you seemingly flee?
Amazement never falters whenever I glean
How your pensive eyes penetrate and see;
Lighting on my dark countenance so mean.

Does it pain you if I seek so boldly?
Kindly be patient and please forgive me.
O, how can I condense into mere words,
In these paltry lines what I feel for thee?
Not a moment passes by without fleeing birds.

Tenaciously, nay, forcefully, I truly wish
Never may I lose your countenance so waifish;
And let me, my lady, just once to remind you,
A promise that I'll ceaselessly live for you.


Created Sunday, November 28, 2010 at 7:28pm

If someone asks you why one should not cry
Answer them thus: for tears blur our vision
Dim our minds and expose us to a lie
No one can disabuse of such notion.

Or perhaps because we as a rule forbid
Not only sadness but emotion and be tepid;
Like a fire that ceases when fuel runs out
Our lives are worse while feeling than without.

O, foolishness perhaps to stare at the moon
Divulging grave secrets forbidden since noon
Verily now I imagine its sharp crescent
Have become thy smile lighting my descent.

Every evening, therefore, I wander and seek
And yet I cannot find and thus I so grieve;
Your smile, I imagine framed by your cheeks
Radiate that light and hope, my reprieve.

Or maybe indeed I have fallen truly mad
After all, it is nobody but you to be had
Under this existence of wars and pain
Zeus be my witness, I live for you til I'm slain.

Flashes

The metal behemoths and puppies
still snake around the concrete pastures
While the faces of deranged hippies
Fly about the back of my head in raptures

They warn me like persistent fireflies
That the hour of Cromwell's passing is nigh
Yet I'd rather remain here with my cries
And wait for him to help me, and then die.

For hope is gone.

A picture...
A memory long frozen in the recesses
A soul...
A perpetual desire to break free
A screen...
A manifestation of portents unfathomable
A heart...
A particular blob of flesh we always cry on

The pitch-black canopy of the night sky
Of the ghetto of wisdom and capitalist excess
Ironically baptized after a revolutionary society
Rejected by these ghettoes and wenches

Plays its colors and produces illusions of that color
That Hitler's acolyte splashed on our sidewalks
That indicates health, fertility and excitement
That is the rallying call of my queer siblings
That is the color of the yogurt which reminds me of you.

Yes you. You never left my mind, though you never acknowledge it.

My cruel Rosalind, you are not imagined.
You are in the same plane of existence as I am
Yet I have been as significant as a dead ram
To my greetings you give a mere blank stare
In the room of the deceitful master that I dare
Stand up, sit down and try to comprehend
The words of a sage that I have not a hand
Kill me with longing, yes, I have expected
But with empty eyes, worse than executed.

Or maybe it is just the conceits
Of my soul's countless defeats
That asks the sage biting his nails
To be more benevolent with his hails

Or perhaps it is about time
Of my demise dictated in rhyme
To let go, go on, on with the flow
That shall make me bury my sorrow.

Yet how could it be?
I cannot forget thee.

Mi fantasma

I found every day disturbingly heavy
Ever since I made an oath to be free,
For you and your life to be left in peace
And flourish while my joy has ceased

Though I find it idiotic, grandly pathetic even,
For a wretched soul to act as to a heathen,
I deem it a burden I carry with deep sorrow
At knowing you'll never be mine any morrow.

Yet how can I blame your innocence and dream?
I do not have the heart to steal of its own gleam;
So it be, so it be, a vagabond heart am I eternally
As long as you remain and live with all glory.

My only little hope, in this hell of frustration;
For a few moments, cast on me your kind eyes
So at least I receive the last ounce of inspiration
In surviving and battling hordes of pain and lies.

Kaibigang Pandong

The Assassination of Governor Bustamante and His Son, Felix Ressurrecion Hidalgo


Ilang ulit ko nang hinanap ang iyong libingan
Nguni't hindi kita matutunang matunton.
Mahirap unawain ang mapait na katotohanang
Sinuklian ang katuwiran ng pagkabuhong.

Mapait isiping kung paanong ang katarungan
Ay napasasailalim sa kasamaan ng kaluluwa,
At paanong ang relihiyon ay ininis at sinisikaran
Ng mga mismong ministrong walang-wawa.

Tunay nga marahil na isang malaking parikala
Na ikaw, Kamahalang Kinatawan ng Hari,
Ay ipagkanulo't paslangin ng iyong mga kauri
At itangis ng mga indiong ni hindi mo kilala.

Kahimanawaring mabuti nga na ang aming nuno
Napagalaw ng mga musa ang mabunying kamay,
Upang ipaalala sa lahat sa aming mga nabubuhay
Na martir ka ng Simbahang kubkob ng diyablo.

Hindi mo man kami dinulutan ng ilaw ng paglaya,
Kami nama'y tinuruan mo ng sinag ng reporma;
Sa iyo ay magsimula ang sanrekwang pagdurusa
Na idinulot sa amin ng mga prayleng walang-hiya.

Na sa katapusan ay pagbuhatan ng isang pagbalikwas,
Na sa mapait na kinsapitan ng Espanya'y magwakas,
At sa bayang ito'y hindi na muling pasasailalim pa
Sa mapait na lason ng isang balintunang Iglesia.

The Franciscans, Dominicans and Augustinians came out from their convents, each as a body, carrying in their hands crucifixes and shouting, ‘Long Live the Church! Long Live King Felipe V!’… they were joined by people of all classes and proceeded to the Church of San Agustin…

The governor who was roused from his sleep and informed of the arrival of the mob sprang up and ordered the guards to keep back the crowd… He dispatched an order to the fort to discharge artillery at the crowd; but he was so little obeyed that, although they applied a match to two cannons, these where aimed so low that the balls were buried in the middle of the esplanade of the fort.

Without opposition, this multitude arrived at the doors of the palace… As for the soldiers of the guard, some retreated in fear, and others in terror laid down their arms. The mob climbed up by ladders and entered the first hall, the halberdiers not firing the swivel-guns that had been provided, although the governor had commanded them to do so…

{tThe governor} attempted to discharge his gun at a citizen standing near and it missed fore; then the governor drew his saber and wounded the citizen; the latter, and with him all the rest at once attacked the governor. They broke him right arm, and a blow on his head from a saber caused him to fall like one dead.

- Volume 44, The Philippine Islands: Emma Blair and James Robertson

Epitaph to a Caricature

Dulce es la muerte por la propia patria,
Donde es amigo cuanto alumbra el sol;
;Muerte es la brisa para quien no tiene
Una patria, una madre y un amor!

You have enchanted my every waking moment
Since I first met you in a browning parchment;
For one single line that you have manifested,
Signals a beateous glow thine had of me divested.

I wonder how it came that for months of twelve,
Greater no less has been my sole desensitization;
That it came to a point that I would rather delve
In admiring and pining for you, highest adoration.

Is it really a trap, this feminine and sparkling allure
So that every little memory cuts as a poisoned knife?
Can it not be a single glance of eyes verily demure,
Willing to save a wretched soul from ceaseless strife?

I deemed it grand failures of mine, yet I do not desist
Despite your distance you seem to be my sole star
That in every single deemed glance I cannot even resist
Of hoping you still remember me even though we're afar.

For many reasons, you appeared to me a mere Paulita
Who though admirable nevertheless abhors my poor pen
And yet it is my plumage that exalts you still without end;
No Isagani nor Crisostomo, but I venerate you, my Clarita.

...Feliz la que muere llorada, la quedeja en el corazon del que la ama una pura vision, un santorecuerdo, no manchado por mezquinas pasiones que fermentancon los años! Vé, nosotros te recordaremos! En el aire puro denuestra patria, bajo su cielo azul, sobre las ondas del lago que aprisionan montanas de zafiro y orillas de esmeralda; en sus cristalinos arroyos que sombrean las cañas, bordan las flores y animan las libélulas y mariposas con su vuelo incierto y caprichoso como si jugas en con el aire; en el silencio de nuestros bosques, en el canto de nuestros arroyos, en la lluvia de brillantes de nuestras cascadas, á la luz resplandeciente de nuestra luna, en los suspiros de la brisa de la noche, en todo en finque evoque la imagen de lo amado, te hemos de ver eternamente corno te hemos soñado, bella, hermosa, sonriente como la esperanza, pura corno la luz, y sin embargo, triste y melancólica contemplando nuestras miserias!