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...
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...
to Mufti Ismail Menk When grenades rumbled in Lanao forests,I thought the dream would remain a dreamIn slumbers during nights of sweat and pain.The nights when more eyes were rather awake,Peeking at open windows, than asleep and calm. Now those eyes are fixed onto you, sparklingLike dew over leaves when the sun rises.I am the eagle observing everything. In this place where a Maranao sits with a...
Sa akong yutang natawhan sa lungsod sa Matanao, adunay usa ka sityo nga ginganlag Kasiawa. Sa Kasiawa ako nagdako ug nakabaton og buot. Malipayon ang akong pagkabata kay luyo sa mga dagkong balay, adunay drier o bularanan sa mga humay, kopras, ug mais. Kung way nakabulad sa driermapuno kini og mga bata nga di maluyag dagan-dagan. Ang among mga inahan na lang ang maugtas og binadlong. Wa gyoy...
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...
Failing to gallop over a huge rock,He thinks he would never knowHow to run again. He remembersThe mouth mysteriousThat a while ago whisperedTraces and routes. He would no longer mindThe uncut beard, but home,How his youngest scratchesHis stomach, stretches,Before lying down on the bamboo bed;How his little girl at middayPicks Rambutan leavesAnd imagines them as money bills.How his wife tries to...
The year was 1999, February had just begun, and the tide swelled oddly in Babag after a night of heavy rain. Frequently, there is a slow, unobtrusive silence in the way the water rises to shroud the unevenness of the marsh. The rocky streets, the takâ and kayagang mounds, and the tangkong patches hide under the stillness. All sorts of brackish water fish and mudcrabs glide along footpaths and the...