Papercut

Poetry by | February 8, 2009

out of thick nothingness
you come forth
and strip me bare.
i adore the tears you make me shed.
i despise your guts,
and your pretentious innocence.
my thoughts lick you when midnight awakens
while you play beneath other women’s sheets.
bitter, bittersweet you fall upon me.
my mind chokes you to your sweet death.
i lie for hours as my thoughts skin you,
and taste your flesh.
upon my weary eyes you melt, helplessly.
i’m masked by my deceptive defense,
but you are the sole reality
that brings me to my knees.
you cleanse me when i am clothed with filth.
out of thick nothingness
you come forth
and strip me bare.

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In Thy Glory

Fiction by | February 1, 2009

gloryI start my day with Subhanallah and feel the last bead of my pasbih with Allahuakbar. They agreed to forego the dialaga. The wedding is set a month from today. Baba said the mahr is more than generous enough.

You could give your friends, apart from your cousins and other family of course, their adat. No worries about that, Sittie Mouhminah. How much would they want? Give me your guest list too. We are drafting the probable guests. Your Mama has started on some relatives from her side of the family. Compose yourself, atakolay. This one is way better than him. Bangsa, atakolay. Bangsa.

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You Think It Must Be Worth Heaven

Poetry by | February 1, 2009

You think it must be worth heaven
at the end of the month
when swollen skin begins to heal,
and strings begin to melt.

That first day,
before it rises, is the birth of a lizard
working to delight a scarlet rose
to bear a heavy bulge of pain.

There is heaven
when you play after recovery
from morning woods
to evening calls.

But when your scarlet rose fails
to bear a heavy bulge of pain,
lonely is the heaven
your lizard is worth to fend.

The Girl and the Butterfly

Poetry by | February 1, 2009

Walking in the garden,
I saw you and I asked,
“How does it feel to be a butterfly?”
You said,
“I don’t know”, asking me back,
“You, how does it feel to be a girl?”
Then I answered,
“I don’t know. I’m a boy.”
And as you flew away, you said,
“See. ‘Cause I’m a moth, not a butterfly. Shhhhhh!”

The Third Kind

Poetry by | February 1, 2009

i powdered my nose
you did the same
i applied cheeks’ tint
you followed suit
i swiped mascara
you wanted it too

i painted my lip with rouge
you looked at me and said,
“May I paint mine too?”
i stared back in a second
too dazed to react
but then again i said
“Sure…why not?”

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Poetry Night 2

Events by | January 25, 2009

Poetry Night 2
Poetry Night 2
Our second Poetry Night, held at Wings and Wedges in Matina Town Square, was a smashing success. Students from UP Mindanao came out in full force and comprised most of the readers and audience (though we did get good representation from Ateneo de Davao, University of Southeastern Philippines, Davao Writers Guild, and other young professionals, as well.) All in all, our crowd had grown by around 50% more than the first Poetry Night.

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Reflections

Nonfiction by | January 25, 2009

When I see myself in mirrors, I don’t notice my mother’s nose, my father’s eyes, or my aunt’s lips. I do see my reflection but I don’t recognize myself. What I see is my father, what I recognize is a molded reflection of my father’s.

My father may not always have been there for me, but I believe he made sure to be there at the exact moment I had a weak grasp of what was going around me—he made sure to be there to help strengthen my grasp of what was worth gripping, of what was worth holding on to. Here is how I knew.

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Oda sa Sa-Ya

Poetry by | January 25, 2009

Ano ka sa akin?
Kundi bituin
Na nagniningning
Sa umaga
Na di nakikita
Ngunit di nawawala.
Isa kang tubig na naiipon
Sa gitna ng mga bato
Na sinisipsip ng tag-init
At ibinabalik ng mga hamog.
Isa kang dahong bagong silang
Kapalit ng mga dahong nalanta.
Musika kang banayad at masaya
Na sa loob ng mga bakanteng
bahay ng kabibe nakatira.

Isa kang masayang alaala.

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Niadtong Tuiga

Poetry by | January 25, 2009

(Paghinumdum sa 2008)

Maniradug tarung sa balay
Sukna sa iyang mama kanunay
Samtang wa pa sila naabot
Lisod na kuno ang panahon karon
Ang kinaiya sa tawo dili kakumpyansahan
Bisan unsa na lang ang buhaton
Aron lang gayud makalingkawas
Sa nagmantinir nga kahimtang

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Beginning with Inkblots

Nonfiction by | January 18, 2009

inkblotsTo write is to be in service to the moment, a moment that seeks to captivate and allure as well as to express the complex nature of emotion. I have written for as long as I can remember because I have found the necessity—no, rather, the conscious desire and comfort to see my thoughts and feelings materialize on paper and hence become my reality through which all can awaken and develop a sense of meaning and value.

I write because I feel the urge to enter into the practice of rediscovering the simplicities and complexities around me through the aid of both imagery and words, each story and each poem pulsating with life, striving to describe, to impart insight, to prove, to share—for life, I believe, is in itself the lifeblood of all things written and to be written.

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