The writers/contributors of UBOD 2020 Online, a project of the National Committee on Literary Arts of the National Commission for Culture and the Arts.
(Short Story for Children) “Pag napandungan nin panganuron si Mayon, magdara nin payong,” tugon pirmi sako ni Nanay, kun mahali sa harong. Maski tig-init, payong man giraray an sakong gamit. Pansagang sa saldang na malanit sa kublit. Kun naglalakaw man ako sa hapon, sugkod ko an sakong payong. Pantakot sa nanghahapag na ayam. Alagad, mas maugma kun tig-uran. Ta pag-ibiniklad ko na an payong na...
Tuwing sumasayaw ang Recto sa trapik,lugar ang aking dibdib ng mga pagtataksil.Parang ganito: isang gabi, sa interseksyon ng Tayabas at Lucban,sa ilalim ng lamig at himig ng mga kulisap,hilera ang mga puwang sa pagkukrusng ating mga labi. Hile-hilera ang banta ng ating mga matangnananawagan sa mga huli:huling banggaan ng mga siko;huling umpugan sa bubong ng mga dibdib;huling sagasa ng mga labi sa...
This is how I remember. Wood planksnailed to wood planks to make an opening,And Love slipping into simpler planesFragments on the drying ground in the after-rainThe kamias fruit scattering green remainsand a red drapery of flowers in an afterthoughtA calling out, “Neneng! Neneng!”And the wide paved stairs still unplacedna un memoria of a childhood barefooted raceWe paused at the silhouette of...
I let those little green trunks of asparagusdie from too much waterAnd when I finally had the courageand mindfulness to say something,the sulterito vanished into the clinic Maybe tomorrow I could finallyexplain to him the conundrum of thirst—How similar we are to little stems of thornsGuilty of thirst at only the most desperate second,hiding behind thick-skinned carcasses,knowing at once we will...
THERE is a color clouded underneath the walls of the roomput a foot, shove the shoe or a toe underneath its cloakin a graying green refracting light, it is imitating a rippleand the outside is there merely serving to contrast and nothing moreit sits and says that there—that there, is an internality,there—outside, she points—you will see an inside Is this not where the light breaks and changes...
We never really talk about our bodiesWithout eyes, all that’s left are the little of your cheeksfitting the curve of my hands; my arms,a hanging pretense of wings; the sole of your foot,a slope. The heel is a hill turned downward.The nape of my hips, a waterslide. Your hands on my pelvis, a firm request to waltz.There are many ways to encircle me–a hugor the resolute limbs you rest on...
Did you not thank me first, stranger? I hadn’t known it was the day of reckoning You had never asked me to spell it out for you By the watchtower, I confided an old photograph In a moment, I thought you saw through me againwhen I turn around I hold back my smile. You, as usual, were expressionless Have you seen enough? You have been here, where we are We discarded the blue light, raised the...
After Arkaye Kierulf’s Horses Ta cre yo na silencio,cae aqui escondido el maga palabra;el tantiada de un nana y con el dolor,cae el maga cosas bueno, pirmi escondido;amo este el rason por el pensamientoque dificil el mundo; sino el deberas,necita sabe lang tu busca con el secreto.Ta cre yo na creada, cae este comotomada de agua. Y cae el verdadta depende na de aton pensadasi bastante para canaton...
How are the sunsetsOf the old mujahid?Melancholy overThe dormant, rusted boloThe sole unyoung rifleSpangled with scarsFrom trenches forgottenGnaws at his bonesThe growing dark.When will the sunset everSlip out without notice? The last rays through curtainHoles before himStays his solitude.His dead war comradesMarch in single file.He hears bombsFlight of bulletsSmell of earthDamp grass again. But...
I. In their bamboo huts, where bulletsCould trace them, they tried to hideBehind their mothers’ bodies as ifThey could be infants in wombs again. Their mothers’ pleas the only shield,“Tama na! Mga sibilyan lang mi!”But foes remained unmindful—the earsDid not hear what the hearts refused to see. Like dominoes standing, the mothers fell.Blood ran to the edges of bamboo floorsBefore they even hit...