deepundergroundpoetry.com
Alikabok
Minsan dumadaloy ang liwanag sa mga lumang kagamitang tambak sa ilalim ng maraming nakaraang taon. Dito maaninag ang mga kulay na namutla na sa makapal na balat ng alikabok. Pero walang liwanag sa ngayon, alas-nueve ng gabi.
Dala ng habagat ang tugtuging sasapit ang pista ng San Roque sa susunod na mga araw, ang boses mula sa mikropono, hudyat ng eleksyon ng bagong hermano at hermana. Patuloy ang pagka-tigulang ng lupa at ng pananampalataya.
Sa gayon, hindi ako nagbakasakaling ilapat ang mga daliri sa pulsong ubos sa kaliwang hinlalaki. Binilang ko ang tibok ng mga taon sa aking buhay, simula sa buo, makisig, kusog na daloy ng dugo na unti-unting humina, tila papalayo. At tumigil. Singkwenta'y tres. Limang taon sa kinabukasan.
Inulit ko ang pagpupulso, siniguradong pantay ang paghinga. Singkwenta'y sais.
Karamay ko ang araw sa pagsikat, paggising sa umaga. Sayang ang oras, ang panahon, napaka-ikli ng buhay para itulog lamang. Maski ang butakal na may sakit na kanser ay maagang gumising. Mahirap nang mabaon sa alikabok.
Dala ng habagat ang tugtuging sasapit ang pista ng San Roque sa susunod na mga araw, ang boses mula sa mikropono, hudyat ng eleksyon ng bagong hermano at hermana. Patuloy ang pagka-tigulang ng lupa at ng pananampalataya.
Sa gayon, hindi ako nagbakasakaling ilapat ang mga daliri sa pulsong ubos sa kaliwang hinlalaki. Binilang ko ang tibok ng mga taon sa aking buhay, simula sa buo, makisig, kusog na daloy ng dugo na unti-unting humina, tila papalayo. At tumigil. Singkwenta'y tres. Limang taon sa kinabukasan.
Inulit ko ang pagpupulso, siniguradong pantay ang paghinga. Singkwenta'y sais.
Karamay ko ang araw sa pagsikat, paggising sa umaga. Sayang ang oras, ang panahon, napaka-ikli ng buhay para itulog lamang. Maski ang butakal na may sakit na kanser ay maagang gumising. Mahirap nang mabaon sa alikabok.
Published 11th Aug 2016
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11th Aug 2016 5:07pm
Dust
Sometimes the light flows upon the old piles furnished under many years passed. Here the colours are visible, paled in the thick skin of dust. But there is no light at this time, nine o'clock in the evening.
The south-west wind carried the tune cometh the feast of San Roque in the next few days, the voice from the microphone signalled the election of the new brother and sister. Constantly getting older, the land and the faith.
That said, I do not hesitate to apply my fingers on the ulna pulse. I counted the pulse of the years of my life, beginning with the full, handsome, strong blood flow, gradually declining, apparently slipping away. And stop. Fifty-three. Five years into the future.
I repeated the palpitation, breathing evenly. Fifty-six.
I am consequential to the sun rising in the morning. It is a waste of time and good weather, life is too short to be spent on sleep. Even the boar with cancer will wake up early. He does not want to be buried in dust.
Sometimes the light flows upon the old piles furnished under many years passed. Here the colours are visible, paled in the thick skin of dust. But there is no light at this time, nine o'clock in the evening.
The south-west wind carried the tune cometh the feast of San Roque in the next few days, the voice from the microphone signalled the election of the new brother and sister. Constantly getting older, the land and the faith.
That said, I do not hesitate to apply my fingers on the ulna pulse. I counted the pulse of the years of my life, beginning with the full, handsome, strong blood flow, gradually declining, apparently slipping away. And stop. Fifty-three. Five years into the future.
I repeated the palpitation, breathing evenly. Fifty-six.
I am consequential to the sun rising in the morning. It is a waste of time and good weather, life is too short to be spent on sleep. Even the boar with cancer will wake up early. He does not want to be buried in dust.
11th Aug 2016 9:50pm
26th Aug 2016 10:10am
Thank you Lobo, I am encouraged by the RL add, I hardly have time to write these days.
26th Aug 2016 10:10am
Thank you Lobo, I am encouraged by the RL add, I hardly have time to write these days.
11th Aug 2016 11:35pm
I appreciate the original rendering & the addition in English,
since I might not have found a translator.
it saddens me that all things,
even a poem like this,
must pass to dust...
since I might not have found a translator.
it saddens me that all things,
even a poem like this,
must pass to dust...
18th Aug 2016 4:30pm
Anonymous
19th Aug 2016 10:06am
<< post removed >>
