15 september 2006. 4 n.u. Domestic
airport, habang naghihintay ng eroplano papunta sa Tacloban. Misyon: mag-facilitate ng theater arts
workshop sa 25 kabataan sa Negros. Lugar: Guian, Samar. Sponsor: MODE. Halos
lukutin ng lamig ng aircon sa terminal ang payat niyang katawan. Namumutla ang
mga daliri dahil sa higpit ng kapit sa bolpen.
I just don’t know
why I am here with so many people speaking in their native tongues with ease
and pride. How can I tell them that I bleed whenever I defecate. Fresh
oozing blood. Prick a balloon filled
with water and you will see how I bleed. First happened in Malibcong Abra in
1991. Fact finding mission. Bombing, straffing. Holes as big as classroom. Trees littered with bullet Holes, ashes and
charcoals of gutted huts. Blood, plenty of blood in my feces. Yes under guava trees near the river near the
house where we stayed I dropped pieces of waste topped with blots of blood.
The flowers along the road greets me with such ferocity…
why is my seat trembling is it connected to your trembling legs? She smiles at
me as she sips her barako coffee, it’s written on the styro – BARAKO. I remember figaro the chairs there I have
never seated upon. I transferred to
another seat, your trembling disturbs me, who are you man? Are you God? Does
God tremble? Two nuns pass in front of me, gliding to the comfort room. The God beside me is singing ‘dito ba, dito
ba ang dapat kong kalagyan’. It’s 4 am I left home 2 am. The taxi driver has
just been separated from his wife whom he has not loved but with whom he bore
five children. He lives now with a Cebuana he spotted at Ever Gotesco in
Commonwealth. Yesterday I went to China Bank, Palanca, Ayala to encash my check., Courtesy of the 56th Palanca
writing contest. I won third prize in Filipino poetry category. I also won third prize in a haiku writing
contest. I was pissed off by the way the
organizers handled the program which was supposed to start at 1 pm. I arrived
five minutes to one. The program started 2 pm and I got angry because they
edited my entry. They changed fangs with teeth and instead of the
second person point of view they changed it to third person, so detached that
it lost the immediacy and intimacy between the persona and the person he is talking
to. Well, that is not how the way haiku is written yawned by a god I met in jose
rizal’s alma mater. I’ll just go to the
CR… Davao bound passengers get on board the sound system blurts.
As I walk to the CR I see two nuns one fat the other not
so thin. They look familiar but the image is too faint to remember. It’s warm
here sitting on the toilet bowl. As I write this I hear: the plane engine whirling, the
gurgling of the bowl in the other nook, someone
somewhere is blowing his nose, and one
big solid fart. Bfffft. I swear that’s
not from me. My anus doesn’t have a muffler.
I’m now sitting at the back of the two nuns. On my left
are 2 abs-cbn’s crews talking too loud, actually shouting at each other. And
why are they always moving? The are so many gods here.
I transferred to the next seat, the woman at my back is talking in English but I hear her talking in Cebuano.
I have nothing with me only the bottle of mineral water
which costs gold. The woman beside me, no four sits away from me, is absorbed
in her laptop.
A, the taste of poetry once licked by the mind stays like
a permanent caress of Thai hot noodles in the mouth.
where are you roaming woman
you’re not here I know
your ears are plugged
with songs from foreign land
and your mind wanders like a bird
fleeing from brutality at home
™
a slingshot swings
on your breast
tugging at your neck
™
numbed fingers
spots of rust on silver benches
like moss on walls
Parehong petsa. Eroplano. Nakapagitna, lalake sa kanan (tabi ng bintana) at
babae sa kanan. Hawak pa rin ang bolpen at notebook. Pasilip-silip sa mga ulap.
My handbag is disallowed to be hand carried because it
contains the cell phone charger which I can use to strangle the pilot, the stewardess, the passengers, myself.
I see the sea swaying
waving as it weaves
the shore with bubbles
sea shells prostrate
as the waves roar
to wash and cleanse them
™
how do we know how
the birds bury their broken becks?
a ghost is just a fart of the imagination made real by
our constipated notion of what poetry should be
isang pagtakas din ang pag-uwi
sa mga gunita
pagtakas sa
binabalikan
™
poetry
I will miss the whiteboard
and the board marker
and the faces
and the eyes
and the hands
and the voices
of my students
who always talk
among each other
while I talk about poetry.
™
she wakes me up
by her beautiful face
and beautiful voice
“please read the instructions…” she points to the manual tucked at the back of the seat in front of me. Strands of her hair flutter
backwards and her smile glints like that in a close up commercial.
she turns her back and I gawk
at her crooked legs
™
opening its petals
before the eyes of the night
the speaker coughs continually
like throat itching, intruding
with the lulling violin of vivaldi
disturbing my intimacy with my imagination: I am embracing
the stewardess or is she the one embracing me?
Intruder: I want to pluck out
the eyeballs of the woman on my left
who keeps on glancing at my notebook,
who doesn’t know whether
or not the toilet is occupied.
™
thick smoke
swirls off from the slits
in both walls of the plane,
fire?
™
on the side facing the sun
shuts his window
sighing
I beg for the sun to spear
my left ear instead.
™
sinalisihan
ako
sa pila
pasakay ng
eroplano
ng lumba-lumbang
bunguton
na balot ng katad
ang buong katawan
(halos masinag naman
ang aking tadyang
sa nipis ng
suot kong
camisa chino)
katabi ko ang
lumba-lumba
isinara niya
ang lagusan
ng eyrkon sa
kanyang tapat
itinodo ko ang
nakatutok sa akin
nagsulat ako habang
pigil ang pangangatog
ng baba at tuhod
at ang katok ng ihing
gustong humulagpos
mula sa aking pantog.
™
tanaw ko sa bintanilya
ng eroplano
ang isla at dagat
ng guimaras
sana’y may kapangyarihan
ang aking daliri
na ikumpas
ang pagtalilis ng langis
sumagi sa isip ko
ang sariling sumisisid
sinisilip ang mga korales
at isda
carried like a baby, a shiny leather suitcase is ripped
by a rusty nail protruding on the iron luggage counter. How fragile fragile luggage is.
™
™
magdalena’s
hair
caressing
the feet
of jesus
–
the shore
™
alon-along
buhok
ni magdalena
hinahaplos
ang mga paa
hi hesus –
pampang.
™
dalawin mo ako sa aking pag-iisa at muling ipadama ang
init ng paglilingkod nang tapat at walang pasubali. mahabang panahon na rin ang nagdaan na hindi tayo nag-uusap
nakatinghas ang mga dahon
ng talahib itinuturo
ang diyos.
16 september 2006. 3 n.h. Loob ng van ng Van-Van, tabing bintana. Nagyoyoyo ang
ulo habang pilit iminumulat ang mata. Ayaw malampasan ang San Juanico Bridge.
ilang bata kaya
ang isinilid sa sako
at isinahog sa mga bato
at semento ng San Juanico?
Parang dambuhalang ahas na nagpapalikaw-likaw, nasaan ang
ulo? Ang buntot? Alin ang nasa Samar, ang nasa Leyte? Turn it into a howling wilderness, said
general otis. His troops according to him were massacred by the samareños. But
no, what did the Samareños do was an uprising. Burn everything that moves, commanded otis.
But I was asleep when the van passed through Balangiga. The passenger who promised to tell me where
that historic place felt ashamed to wake me up.
nasaan ang batingaw ng balangiga?
nagdiwang kami ng sentenyal ng aming kalayaan at hindi
ninyo pinigtas sa tagdan ng inyong yabang ang aming batingaw. Wyoming, sige kalembangin mo ang batingaw
upang madinig mo ang palahaw ng mga sanggol, ina, at amang pinaslang ng iyong
mga sundalo.
17 September 2007. 5:45 n.u. Nakaupo sa gilid ng dagat, ilang dipa ang layo sa
palengke ng Guian. Naglakad ng pitong
minuto mula sa opisina ng MODE. Binubusog ang mata sa kapayapaan ng umaga. Mabilis
ang pagtagis ng talim ng ballpen sa notebook
Mga limang dipa mula sa aking kinauupuan, may bangkang
papunta sa laot at isa pang ayaw umandar. Makailang beses nang binatak ng hukot
na mama ang lubid na nagpapaikot ng makina bago ito umarangkada, sa tapat ko may
isang lalaking nakasando may kung anong pinupulot sa tubig, hanggang dibdib
niya ang dagat. Sa kanyang likuran, dugtong-dugtong ang bahay na yari sa kawayan, nipa, kahoy, at
dahon ng niyog. Natatakpan ng mga sinampay ang mga bintana. Namumutok ang braso
ng isang binatilyong may bitbit na dalawang container ng tubig. Sa dulong bintana,
may isang babaeng nakakalumbaba, sa tabi niya isang batang nakatanaw sa dagat.
Nakapikit, sinisilip ko sa pagitan ng aking mga pilik ang
isang baklad, sa kabila nito may islang
balot pa ng halumigmig, mangasul-ngasul.
Isang dangkal mula sa aking paa, may talangkang nanginginain
ng hindi ko alam kung ano. Salit-salitang sumusubo ang dalawa niyang sipit,
parang boksingerong sumusuntok sa hangin. Kulay biyoleta ang kanyang mga sipit
at puting-puti naman ang kanyang mga gatuldok na mata.
pinipitik-pitik at tinitipon ng mga alon
ang mga dahon, damo, mangilan-ngilang plastik,
papel at iba pang basura sa tiyan ng bangkang nakagarahe
at sa mga haligi ng mga bahay.
nagkakantiyawan ang mga matadero sa aking likuran.
nangangamoy ang sariwang laman at dugo ng baboy at baka.
ang mga
mataderong ito ang tagapagbukas ng umaga
sa palengke.
naririnig ko mula sa malayo
ang paos na tilaok ng manok.
sa gilid ng sementadong pampang,
nakahilerang nakatanaw sa laot ang limang bata.
nakatukod ang kamay ng isa sa lupa,
nakasandal
naman sa kanya ang isa pa.
nakatayo ang
isang nakahubad, nasa kaliwang paa niya
ang buong bigat ng kanyang katawan.
™
walang hanggang galaw ang dagat
buhok ni magdalena ang mga alon
hinahaplos ang
mga paa ni hesus --
ang pampang na aking kinauupuan.
™
17 september 2006. 6:315 n.u. Gilid ng dagat. Isang minutong lakad mula sa
training hall. Nakayapak, dinadama ng talapakan ang lamig at kiliti ng
buhangin.
bihag ako ng kapanatagan
ng tanawing ito:
salaming dagat na sapo
ang anino ng bundok at ulap
at ang kabughawan ng langit.
mga huni ng ibon
at tilaok ng manok
mga pitik ng alon
tinatawag ng mga tagak
ang kanilang mga anak
tulad ng pagtawag
ni inang sa
akin.
™
pero saan ko
pupulutin
ang mga
nahulog na kabibe
nararamdaman
ko sila
sa ilalim ng
aking mga paa.
™
I don’t know what to do. I hear the chatting of the
participants and the chirping of birds. Now the radio rolls and rages, one participant
sings with agonizing anxiety. Another poem escapes. The waves waft through
again. Do I need to repair the remedy of roaring cobwebs along with the
blasting sound of another trivia which will save the people starving the frenzy
frenetic search for naturalization process can you still live and not believe
another day with a new morn to mourn for?
17 september 2006. 7 n.u. Training hall, habang
humihigop ng kape at hinihintay ang kasamang facilitator.
I’m with more than 20 out of school youths. Why are they
not in school. My heart bleeds. Here is
Edmon and Jericho who at first are like snails in their silence and shyness,
but look at them now! Look at Edmon’s eyes, feel the fire of his protest against Jericho’s using of
dynamite to catch fish. And look at Jericho, feel how he twitches his face and twists his
muscles as if you’re watching a real fisherman casting a net.
They are doing a phantomime, everything is so clear like an obra maestra
of a realist painter. Their bodies and eyes communicate as if you’re about to witness
an actual explosion. And they freeze for 30 seconds: feel the horror etched in Edmon’s
face, feel the triumph in jericho’s fingers!
And look at the other participants, how they portray the
corals – you can touch its roughness, the fishes, look at how they swim, touch
their fins, come. And how they explode!
and no words come yet from their mouths.
™
gusto nang bumagsak nang talukap ng aking mata, 2 na n.u.
Ala una ng umaga na akong natulog kanina pero kailangang lumikha kami ng tunog
at tinig para kami’y marinig. mananatili akong gising.
18 semptember 2006. 5:17 n.u. Gilid ng dagat
habang pinatutuyo ang anim na kabibe. Ipapasalubong niya sa mga kaopisina. Patunay na galing siya sa dagat, nagbanlaw ng
mga banlik ng kaluluwa at isip.
kulay ginto ang mga dahon ng bakawan
sa tama ng sinag ng araw; kumikintab
ang mga alon habang gumagapang palayo
ang halumigmig; nagsasayaw sa gitna ng dagat
ang anino ng bundok at ang unti-unting
nangangasul na langit.
patuloy ang pagsiyap ng mga pipit at iba pang mga ibon
piiiit
piiiiiiit
kikikukiyaaaaaaaaaw
kikikukiyaaaaaaaaaw
keeeeeeeeeeek
keeeeeeeeeeeek
sa malayo, tik tilaaaaaaa oooooooook.
gumagaralgal ang tinig ng bangkang de-motor. balot na
balot ang katawan ng dalawang lalaking nakasakay.
sumasayaw
ang mga anino
ng mga tulos
na kawayang
pinaglalambitinan
ng mga talaba
at tahong
parang isdang
palikaw-likaw
sa kumpas
ng mga alon
™
tambak ng lambat
mga palawit na tingga
kabibe koral
mga baklad
dinamita
baruto
isda
pigtas na tsinelas
butas-butas na dahon ng banaba
sumisigok ng poso
kuko
™
™nothing really happens but explosions everywhere, in
various intensity in various forms. Everything explodes, my heart is exploding
as my eyes send it with the images of broken nets, crushed corals, swimming plastics,
children with copper skins and lifeless eyes.
19 september 2006. 4 n.u. Nakasakay sa
tricycle, binubuo sa isip ang
katahimikan at hamog ng umagang binabasag ng atungal ng tambutso. Nakayakap ang tingin pinanggalingang
pinaliliguan ng madilim na usok mula sa tambutso ng sinasakyan. Nangingilid ang
luha, windang dibdib.
five minutes have passed
since the tricycle that fetched me
left the place where I slept
and I was still craning
my neck back to the sea
to the dorm where dante
and erwin still sleep
to the seesion hall
where you children of samar
let your voices roll
where you unrolled your hearts
twisted your arms
and legs
how should I feel now
that I’m again with my
childhood poverty is here to stay
but these youth you who are deprived
of voices are now becoming
the voice of the voiceless
I won’t wake you up
We’ve just parted and started
Summoning our snores
for 3 days released
our sweat and sorrow and joy
as we shook our bodies
thundered the world
with our voices
we danced danced danced
but yes I didn’t
dance
as much as you did
my mind and memory fenced with Abon, head of MODE in
Samar, the grand old man whom I once sat with, planning the future of this
country.
plans which didn’t make any impact
in your lives, I don’t know
but maybe it made a dent on the lives and beliefs of our
comrades and of ourselves. Maybe this failure has pricked our consciences, our
souls, our beings.
Why then should we surrender our faith to our fate? Nothing
can anymore defeat the once broken spirit that has now healed and become whole
again.
I looked back, beads of tear peeped through my eyes as I
caressed the sea, your smiles, your laughter, your silence that was ever pregnant with words and tears. But I
had no time to know you all, I can
memorize your names but will soon forget them.
But the soul once teased will remember everything, through this dreams
diary of a madman.
