Nathara M. Mugong
For my brave little Thara
(Sinama-Simunul original poetry)
Mili ma jambatan,
nengge kami tallungan,
nakat kappar
tudju ni Sambuwangan.
Dasehean’ baanan aa sukudan:
mag usaha,
mag pasiyar,
saga mag tulak ni pangiskulan.
Pag soddop mata ullow,
putput atiyup, “Toot-Toot!”
sinyas kappar sekot na pasuhut.
Angalembe, anakkop, abehot;
lamud na galak maka susa,
pasal magokat na,
palakkat na min bihing bey katanaman.
Taabutan kami ma tangnga sallang tonga bahangi,
ni turul sahaya bulan maka mamahi.
Saga aa halam magtuli,
sakahaba kasangoman,
magsuli-suli.
Subu pabuka’, paanda kalibutan.
“Minga na kita bi tongod?”,
panilow ku ni pagbalik-balikan,
ni sussa ya baanan lahat talabayan,
si ngissa si Inah ya Bud Duwa Bullud,
patanna sekot ni pu’ Basilan.
Teybaliyu warta bilu,
maka tahik landu tallak
agon tapatandingan ku;
minsan aku minga-minga katudju,
tatau ku sigam tahun labey tahun masi takila ku.
Maingkan sallang landu lawak na
maka sollog palaran mbal niya hondongan na;
waktu maglabey,
ginisan kappar ma tahik iti magsulabey.
Sabannarna talow aku labbey,
ni gawi ku mba aku makasempey.
Pagtulak bey ni pagbeyaan
minaan ma jambatan mba na bey kabalikan.
Pandang mata ku na ya taytayan,
nunggu duwa alam.
Tiyup-tiyup baliyu,
ma kuwit ku patapu,
pangentoman bey tagna’ si lae pabayang ma aku.
Saddopan mata ullow maka timpu bey dahu,
dasali du ni kabayaan le’ ku.
A Small Boat Floating
English Translation
At the dock,
stood the three of us,
boarding a ship
bound for Zamboanga.
Among us were fortunate individuals:
some seeking livelihood,
others on vacation,
and those pursuing their education.
As the sun dipped below the horizon,
the ship’s horn blared, “Toot-toot!”
signaling its imminent departure.
There were waves, hugs, and the struggle of heavy luggage;
excitement mingled with worry,
the fear of separation,
of being adrift from familiar shores.
We reached midnight in the middle of the sea,
guided by the moonlight and stars.
Many could not sleep,
and the night was spent
exchanging stories.
Dawn broke, revealing the landscape.
“Where are we?”
I repeatedly asked,
curious about the islands we had passed.
Inah would recount the tale of Bud Duwa Bullud,
near the island of Basilan, where it stood.
The sky was blue,
And the water so clear,
I could almost see my reflection appear;
no matter where my journey may steer,
I would recognize them, year after year.
Yet, the ocean is vast,
with its ceaseless currents;
time had marched on,
with different ships traversing these waters.
Honestly, I am scared I might stray,
fearing that I will never reach my way.
The journey we once shared on this dock
would never be replicated.
My eyes beheld the bridge,
connecting two distinct realities.
The wind,
caressing my skin,
awakened a flood of memories within.
Sunsets and the days that have passed,
For both, I am yearning.