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.
Translated from Cebuano by John Bengan Original work In my hometown Matanao, there was a village they called Kasiawa. I grew up and came of age in Kasiawa. My childhood was a happy one since beyond the large houses, there was a “drier”—an area where they spread grains of rice, coconut meat, and corn out to dry. When there was nothing on the drier, the place would be filled with children, who...
Ikaw—ang langsanagapabilin sa lawas—sa pamangkot sa kamatayonsang imo amay. Hapos lang sadtoang makadakop sa dagatsang mga ginputos nga bangkay kag nagadamoang nagapundok sa tapangko ninyoagod makibalita. Ikaw, sa hunahuna—ara gihaponnga nagapabilin ang langsa bisan maugaang mga sinsilyo ukon bisan kapilahugasan ang bulutangan sang mga balaligya. Indi ikatingalanga indi ini maurot bisan...
Sadto nga tion, matulukan ang kabilugan sang adlawnga ginalubong ang kaugalingon sa kadagatan kag ginalagassang mga balud ang mga bata nga ginapalupad ang buradornga busluton. Indi ini magpadala sa hangin amo ginhaboysa tubi. Sa ila hunahuna, kon indi maglupad, ti tudluanmaglangoy. (Indi bala kinahanglan gamay ang mga buslotsang pukot nga ilubong?) Sa isa ka bahin, ginalumbansang manog-isda ang...
suno kay Estrella Taño Golingay sa “Heneral“ Mahangop sa pagbuhi sang baboy ang pagkataohanon. Kuno isa-isahon sa sugod ang mga nahanabo sa pag-abotsang buhion: amat-amat nga nagadakoang adlaw sa ibabaw sa kabukiran sang Roxas nga indi kilalahonsa tumandok nga ngalan kay Ilonggoang mga magbuhi; nagabadlak ang hulumayan, nagapadumdomnga ara lang ini kon indi pilion ang kamatayon;...
suno kay Jade Mark Capiñanes sa “A Portrait of a Young Man as a Banak” Paano mo masagadsad nga indisila makahisayod kag makabatyag sang kasulgan ukon nga kasubonggihapon nga panong ang makit-annga nagabalik? Matuod lamang nga indi silaisahanon. Madugay nanga nadula ang akon abilidadnga masaypan nga General Santos ang pila ka bahin sang Kamaynilaan.Hapos lang sa imo ipatultolang mga...
Saif speaks of the struggleTo the listening birds of the tugan,Words persuadingSheltered in frail nests.
Listen! The crescentAnd star calling azan.Once again, the birds returnLooking for twigsFor their nests.
The call is answered.The tugan is the final meeting place.
At dawn, the march beginsOn the path only the heart knowsTo the hills of warAnd freedom.
At the back of the truck,Guns clank againstThe metal floor. RocksAnd shallow cratersMock our short naps. “Assalamo alaykom!”Welcoming men smiling,Standing by the masjid.Kids waving at us,Forgetful of their white kupyasAnd beaded tondongsGathering dust. In my vision, Darapanan flashesParadise. The wrap aroundMy head removed,Loosened by swift, suddenWind. I hold my breath,To hear the chant of...
Your wounded bodyFits the old mattress.Your death corrupts time.Still is the hut, whileFighters stifle cries.In the forest, warGoes on, and the sunDries the wet puddles.Paradise awaits youNow. The peaceYou died for remainsA hopeful promise.Now we both returnBut part ways. I go backTo the forest. You, to Him.
The child’s eye peeks into the holesOne to anotherOf the masjid’s walls, innocentOf the terror of old nights,Of wounds and laments. The holes won’t showThe burning trees,No longer the lifeless scree.The smoke invisible,The spilled blood dries. Only the swaying leavesDew from yesterday’s rainFlash before his eyes. He seesAnd hears the river revived. As he glancesThrough the eyehole once more,He...
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...