Paghidaw

Garo pagbutwa

nin saldang sa aldaw

na mauran-uran

para sa tindera sa saud

na purungot

sa magian na lata

nin kwarta



an pagkamoot

sa pagkatawo

nin sarong pandok

na dae pa natatan'awan.



Saldang,

magpasilag ka na man.

Tibaad lamang

manumpungan an hinahalat.

Signal Fire - Snow Patrol

Signal Fire - Snow Patrol Mp3

Paglaom

Esperanza, ano ka baya talaga?
Asin ano an saimong tuyo?
Hanggang sain an saimong
kapangyarihan? Ta'no ta

mawot asin hagad ka
nin kadaklan ngunyan?
Dawa si isay, kahubenan,
orog na an magagadanon.

Habang-buhay kang nagdudurog
sa puso nin kinaban.
Sa kastilyo nin mga hade,

sa pusali nin pobre.
Paglaom, dahil sa imo,
nahuhuri an kagadanan.

Names by Jorge Guillen

Daybreak. The horizon
half-opens its lashes
and begins to see. What? Names.
They are over the patina

of things. The rose
today is still called a rose,
and the memory
of its passing, haste,

a haste to live longer.
May we be lifted to an enduring love
by this unripe power
of the Moment, so nimble

that on reaching its goal
it runs to impose Afterwards!
On guard! On guard! On guard!
I will be! I will be!

But the roses, Fast-closed
lashes: ultimate
horizon.Perhaps nothing?
But the names remain.

Mga Ngaran (dinakitaramon ni Jan Kevin de Quiroz)

Saldang. An sirangan
minumuklat an saiyang pirok
asin nakakahiling. Nin ano? Mga ngaran.
Sinda nangingibabaw sa takla

nin mga bagay.An rosas
ngunyan inaapod na rosas
asin an agui-agui
nin saiyang kawaran, paghidali,

an paghidali sa buhay na daeng sagkod.
Mawot ta na mabuhay sa nagdadanay na pagkamoot
kaining hilaw na kapangyarihan
nin Momento, marabas

na sa pag-abot sa padumanan
ini madalagan para mag-impunir Taod-taod!
Alerto! Alerto! Alerto!
Ako magigin! Ako magigin!

Pero an mga rosas? Nakapiyong
na pirok: ultimong
sulnupan. Tibaad mayo?
Pero nagdadanay an mga ngaran.

Bubutungon Kita

Bubutungon kita pataas hanggang
sa tanos an satuyang tindog.
Sa puon, matios kita
hanggang sa makanuod magkamang.

Bubutungon kita pataas hanggang
sa makanood kita nagtukaw
asin makatanaw; makangaran
nin mga bagay-bagay.

Bubutungon kita pataas antes na
kita tatao na maglakaw
asin maghanap nin mga kasimbagan
sa mga kahapotan na dae napupuho.

Bubutungon kita pababa
pag satuyang naaraman an kasimbagan -
na kita luway-luway na bubutungon
antes na may natatada sa satuya.

Bubutungon kita pababa
puon sa liog sa supog na
kita, minsan, naghanap kasimbagan
para kita malinawan -

dae kita sisimbagan sa gabos na oras,
dikit-dikit na bubutungon nin daga
an satuyang abaga hastang
kamang na sana an nagigibo ta.

Bubutungon kita pababa;
an satuyang lawog nakaduta sa salog -
asin garo nakikihuron an daga sa satuya,
"Napungaw ako sa saimong kamot asin tuhod."

Bubutungon kita pababa
hanggang sa an hinanghos hinulbot na;
an paghiling, dikit-dikit minadiklom,
igwa kitang kamot; bitis na nakalubong.

-dyankayben-
12/7/09

Rima LXVI - Gustavo Adolfo Becquer dinakitaramon ni Jan Kevin de Quiroz

Saen ako gikan? . . . Tuntunon
an pinakamasakit, pinakamangerhat na dalan:
an mga marka nin tiil na duguan
sa kagapuan;
an mga purukit na walat nin kalag
na dulot nin matunok na tinanom
an mahatag saimo nin agihan
pasiring sa sakuyang pinaghalean.

Pasaen ako? . . . Umagi
sa pinakamamundo, pinakamadiklom na gubat;
an lambak nin daeng-untok na niyebe asin daeng untok na kamunduan
na nagdadanay.
Duman kun saen may solo-solong gapo
na mayong ngaran,
sa ineerokan nin paglingaw,
duman ako itatalbong

(Spanish)
Rima LXVI. De dónde vengo...

¿De dónde vengo...? El más horrible y áspero
de los senderos busca:
Las huellas de unos pies ensangrentados
sobre la roca dura,
los despojos de un alma hecha jirones
en las zarzas agudas,
te dirán el camino
que conduce a mi cuna.

¿A donde voy? El más sombrío y triste
de los páramos cruza,
valle de eternas nieves y de eternas
melancólicas brumas.

En donde esté una piedra solitaria
sin inscripción alguna,
donde habite el olvido,
allí estará mi tumba.

(English)

Rhyme LXVI

Where do I come from? . . . Seek out
the roughest, most horrible path:
the prints of feet bloodied
on hard rock;
the tattered remnants of a soul
laid bare by thorny bramble
will show you the way
that leads to my cradle.

Where am I going? . . . Pass through
the saddest, most somber wilderness;
a valley of eternal snow and of eternal
melancholy mists.
There where you find a solitary stone
without any inscription,
where oblivion dwells,
there my tomb will be.

Sa Erokan nin Paglingaw by Luis Cernuda dinakittaramon ni Jan Kevin de Quiroz

Sa erokan nin paglingaw,
sa mga hardin na mayong saldang;
kun sain ako magigi na sanang
sarong agui-agui nin gapo na tinalbong sa may awot
kun sain dinudulagan nin duros an kapirotan.

Kun sain an sakuyang ngaran babayaan
an saiyang hawak sa kalamias nin oras,
kun sain mayong mga kamawotan.

Kun sain an pagkamoot, an mangerhat na anghel,
dae papatadumon an saiyang pakpak
na garo batbat sa sakuyang puso,
nakangirit, magayon, habang mas nagkukulog.

Duman, kun sain mawawara an kahandalan
na naghahagad nin sadiring among,
isusuko an sadiring buhay sa saro pang buhay,
na mayong ibang nahihiling kundi an kaatubang.

Kun sain an kaogmahan asin kamunduan mga ngaran sana,
langit asin daga sa palibot kan memorya;
sain, sa wakas ako mapapalibre, na dae nagmamangno,
napuho sa alupuop, sa kamayoan,
kamayoan na garo kublit nin omboy.

Duman sa harayo,
sa erokan nin paglingaw.

-dyankayben-
12/07/09

Ika na Dae Nahihiling

Pag nagduros makusog,
siguro Ika sarong dakulang
kamot na nagkakayab
para ako takigan.

Tibaad Ika sarong nilalang
na kadakol talinga
na naghihinanyog
sa samuyang inagrangay.

Magin an buta pareho ko,
na namamaanan kang
dakulang kamot

o nilalang na dakol talinga.
Magin ako o an buta,
dae Ka nahihiling.

The Man Who Can't Be Moved - The Script

Going Back to the corner where I first saw you
Gonna camp in my sleeping bag I'm not gonna move
Got some words on cardboard, got your picture in my hand
saying, "if you see this girl can you tell her where I am"

Some try to hand me money, they don't understand
I'm not broke I'm just a broken hearted man
I know it makes no sense but what else can I do
How can I move on when I'm still in love with you

Cause If one day you wake up and find your missing me
and your heart starts to wonder where on this earth I could be
Thinking maybe you'll come back here to the place that we'd meet
And you'll see me waiting for you on our corner of the street
So I'm not moving, I'm not moving

Policeman says, "son you can't stay here"
I said, "there's someone I'm waiting for If it's a day, a month, a year"
Gotta stand my ground even if it rains or snows
If she changes her mind this is the first place she will go

Cause If one day you wake up and find your missing me
and your heart starts to wonder where on this earth I could be
Thinkin maybe you'll come back here to the place that we'd meet
And you'll see me waiting for you on our corner of the street
So I'm not moving, I'm not moving,
I'm not moving, I'm not moving

People talk about the guy that's waiting on a girl
There are no holes in his shoes but a big hole in his world

Maybe i'll get famous as the man who can't be moved
Maybe you wont mean to but you'll see me on the news
And you'll come running to the corner
cause you'll know it's just for you
Im the man who can't be moved

Chorus 2x

Going Back to the corner where I first saw you
Gonna camp in my sleeping bag I'm not gonna move

Maguindanao

that stupid war: rough study by ~yatoy on deviantART

Nin huli ta an buhay
yaon sa saiyang kamot,
paghona niya kaya niya
na tulos ining ratakon

asin bawion.
Siya na bako man kaglalang,
hinuhugot an hinangos
hale sa daghan

nin mga tawong
mawot sana man magkontra
sa kaputikan.

Sa likod nin lente,
saindang nahiling an balang
may ukit nin saindang ngaran.

Mamundo maging Burak

Mauran makusog,
dangan masaldang nin pwerte.
Mahayop an duros asin
haros mapugto an kugos

na nagtatao sakuya nin buhay.
Aking sadit na sana
an minatino sakuya
kun bako an putakti

na lantad akong hinahabasan;
minadulok sana pag may kaipuhan.

Sa poon, masakit. Ibinubuyangyang mo
an saimong sadiri, maray na sana
ta dae ka mapapasupog
pag dae ka tinitino.

Maray pa an politikong
puro ka-lapaan an imahe,
pinag-uulayan mantang huya ako,
nagpu-porbar na hapihapon

an saimong kipot na daghan
para haleon an kulog boot
asin mga kaanggotan,
pero duros sana an naghahadok.

Doorstep

Love, here I am.
The wounds have healed
and my callused feet
have now grown well.

I have grown tired
of seeking you, Love.
Oh those cold, restless nights
that I've spent in search of you.

Love, here I am.
Deliver yourself to me
for I have prepared
a cozy home for you.

And the sun,
has gone down again.
But I;ve heard not -
not a single knock on my door.

Love, here I am.
In the morning,
I hope, I could find you
waiting at my doorstep.

Photo Courtesy of Maryam Xelene del Pilar

Daydream

On the other end of the room
that promised the growth
of the human mind,
you sat down away from me

at the other corner,
thinking of something else.

How I want to unravel
the mystery beneath those buttons
and uncover you
like a never-before-read book,

with worlds waiting
for me to discover them.

How I want to peruse
the very features that lie in wait
for me to unwrap;
I will not wear them down

rather, hold them dearly.
I will trek each curve with passion

that keep the climbers hiking.
And your hair will live freely
between my fingers all the while
I'm kissing you.

Now, it's your turn to write something about this...(Guernica by Pablo Picasso)

Please e-mail me at these addresses:
unholy_gm@yahoo.com
irose103008@yahoo.com

The Breeze tells me, Loved One... by Antonio Machado

The breeze tells me, loved one,
of your pure white dress . . .
My eyes may not see you,
but my heart awaits.

The wind has brought me
your name in the morning;
the echo of your step
resounds on the hill . . .
My eyes may not see you
but my heart awaits.

In the somber towers
the bells are tolling . . .
My eyes may not see you
but my heart awaits.

The falling hammer
tells me of the black box;
and the place for the grave,
the sound of the spade . . .
My eyes may not see you
but my heart awaits.

Rokeby Venus (ekphrasis)

Painting by Diego Velázquez


I could only but wonder
what hands carved your ardent curves.
The young seraph hides its tower
upon seeing you.

How I wish you would at least
turn to look at me
or that Cupid
move the mirror to the left.

The mirror spells envy
to every other breathing woman
as you look at it.

How I sometimes wish
I were a god that could morph
into a mirror myself.

To A Cough

You who always bother and pester
my chest, lie somewhere
near my heart. You,
whom I can't

get rid of. But my persistence
in ousting you from my throat
deprives you of getting near
my heart. My friends tell me

that it is you I always utter.
The pain that accompany you
remains with me still.

You are a curse.
I ask you to leave me
but you insist in dwelling.

Frustration

You clog the veins of my pen
and cease its blood from flowing.
You are a monster - frightening
that whenever you draw near,

my hands lose the strength
and I get buried under the earth
with soil covering my feet
up to my mouth.

Seeing what there is in front of me
pains me and I push my mind
to think that it's not there -
human despair; all the horrors

gather around me while my usefulness -
my body shrinks to a pair of eyes.
What good is there then for having a mind
that can cut the dark,

if it is only the shadow
of what there is
that it could cut?
And the thereness lay before me.

To A Deaf and Blind Muse (A Un Sordo y Ciego Musa)

You, who cannot hear
my singing, then what use
is there for writing my songs
and heaving breaths?

You, who did not choose
that in the mornings,
you could not hear
the rooster crowing,
the birds singing
and my heart that vainly
tries to let its voice
reach your heart.

You, who was chosen
not to hear the evils -
the explosion of bombs
and the cries of the wounded.
I envy you for being pure
in soul - for having not heard me
cursing your fate
as you can never hear me.

It must have been hard -
I know for there are times
that I walk beneath hurricanes
but you. who never saw
how happy the world has been
for having captivated a muse
in your form.
And you never see the sun setting;

that with all its grandeur,
you may ask me how it felt.
I'd spell out in your palm
the heat that it gave me.
Oh lovely muse, be not afraid.
You may not know the singing of birds
or the setting of the sun,
but this I promise you:

That at the end of each day,
I'll grab your hand and open it.
I'll spell in your palm
how everything felt.
Love is not something to hear,
also not a figure to see.
But I will let the warmth
reach you.

I'll grab your hand
and place it on my chest.

Amnesia II

I used to run along
in the fields
together with the winds
that made me feel safe.

They blew my hair away
and I closed my eyes;
raised my arms and glided
through the gentle breeze.

My feet slid over the grass
and knocked off
the residing dew on the tips
of the blades.

There were those mornings
that I went to te fields.
I whistled to summon the winds
but they did not respond.

On a hot summer morning,
the blades of grass were dry
and the earth cracked
under every stepI make.