Category: Poetry

Mirra-Edora Esmael

Once, I offered myself to the stars

I scooped up scraps of me
Ugly edges, opened cracks
Faults, flaws, and ruins
But they slip eagerly between the hands
How unfair it was! How unjust!
When I finally solicited bravery
The fingers have gone tired, they trembled,
Unable to carry all the thunders I rolled
Beneath the corners of my flesh and bones
Still, I gathered these and held them tight
I took it on a ride to the depths of the night.

dogs howling
lamppost flickering
air sweeping
people
dust
and leaves
on empty streets
echoing
mechanical
squeak, whirr;
a staccato.

I toss myself under the watchful skies
Abandoned and stripped my mind
But the moon has fallen asleep
How unfair it was! How unjust!
When I finally solicited bravery
It has grown tired of people’s tears,
It got bored of people’s whims,
So I asked, instead, the stars
Pleaded them to accept, to hide,
All the sins, chunks, and scars —
To string constellations with tonight.

trees slouching
walls whispering
air thickening
melting dew
light
and soil
on silent streets
echoing
mechanical
thrum, whirr;
a staccato.

Distant, diamond eyes pierce me
Like mirrors, doubting, suspicious
Questioning the unshapely fragments
I dragged and hid in my shadows
So I took the tail of a wandering star,
Scraped down the worst parts,
And offered them up above
But they don’t weave constellations anymore
How unfair it was. How unjust!
When I finally solicited bravery
The stars have grown tired of waiting,
And I am left with my rubbles, begging.

One star took pity,
And so it called and asked me:

“What do you think makes me shine?
Is it air, space, or time?
Is it me who created this light?
Or is it the darkness where I lie?
What do you think makes me twinkle?
My light that hesitated to travel?
The black spaces that ate my sparkle?
Or your eyes, which failed to discover,
All these fragments creating my flare?”

eyes drooping,
earth snoring,
air blowing,
bursting colors
shapes
and skins
on lonely streets
echoing
mechanical
hum, whirr,
slowing down,
singular sound;
a staccato.

 

Aminah Fernando Kunting

Conclusion

Sometimes,
the buzz of the world suffocates.
Sometimes,
I have to focus on simply breathing.
I force myself to feel
the air enter my nose,
visualize it go down my lungs
and feel them expand.

Sometimes,
I have to close my ears.

Most times,
I try to find the peace.
Mostly,
I swallow my pride and anger
and hope people learn what it means to be kind
Mostly,
I grapple at air and old wisdom
trying to remember what sabr means.

But
most often,
I simply shuffle my feet,
and tell myself this is all momentary.

Other times,
I blink
and
everyone is older
then I wonder,
where has all the time gone.

in those times,
I regret this:
“I could have done better”

and yet,
time always seems to catch up
right
before the promise.

Still.
often, lately
for now,
I keep my pace
steady.
I
watch one foot ahead of the other,
walk as steady as I can
to the end.

til before then,
I yield to gratitude.
remember:
I am not
whole,
yet.
and it is
not
the end,
yet.

 

I Dread

When, inevitably, I shall be asked to spell fear;
I will show you Gaza—
hands, scratched and bruised,
blistered.
still searching under the rubble
for any sound of life.

If I were to be asked to spell fear;
I will show you Gaza—
fractured lungs, desperate for air
wheezing
still laughing at little joys
of seeing children alive.

If I were to be asked to spell fear;
I will show you Gaza—
battered arms and legs, unable to walk or grasp
immovable
still with a smile to pass, they have fought
to hold their right.

If I were to be asked to spell fear;
I will show you Gaza—
disfigured shapes, all just a mass
ignored
still a full life left behind them
always hoping for the truth

If I were to be asked to spell fear;
I will show you Gaza—
damaged, scarred, maimed
patient
still seeking to relieve others of their hardship
despite of

If I were to be asked to spell fear;
I will show you Gaza—
lips, despite despair
consistently moves: “Hasbunallahu Wa Ni’mal Wakeel – حَسْبُنَا اللَّهُ وَ نِعْمَ الْوَ كِيلُ”
repeating
“Allahu Akbar”. “Allah is sufficient for us.”
Continuously. Relentlessly. Despite of.

If I were to be asked to spell fear;
I will show you Gaza—
because I cannot spell fear
without unearthing and unveiling its true manifestation:
that even in ruins,
with grace and quiet,
will not falter and break in this dunyaa.
that, even in obliteration,
still trust Allah.
despite of.

 

“Abd, Abd”

I keep forgetting
it is not how much I do
nor how much I forgive;
it is not how many
orphans I feed
or the number of
sunnah prayers I pray;
it is not how lacking I have behaved
or how patient I have tried to become;

I keep forgetting
it is not me or my deeds
but
rather,
Allah’s Mercy
Allah’s Greatness
Allah’s forgiveness

that keeps me
here,
still.

…

The flower opens quietly
its petals ruffle slightly
as the wind blows

the stem stands firm
and rooted to the ground
irrespective of where the head sways.

 

Jahara A. Solaiman

Ramadhan in Gaza

A crust of bread for them,
Already a blessing,
While we,
With our ingratitude,
Whine of the plenty
That is our iftar spread.

The sunset Adhan of Maghrib
A reminder
Of having made it through
Yet another day.
To us, just a signal that
To eat, we may.

Their Taraweeh,
Prayed in the open
On the hard earth,
Amidst the rubble
And the rumble
Of an explosion unexpected,
While we on full stomachs
Wait to roll up the mat
And head home.

Them,
Aware that,
To fast another day
They might not,
Nor sight
The crescent moon
Heralding the Eid,
Nor have their kin
To celebrate with.

They,
With their tribulations
Spanning the years.
May Heaven be the reward
For their tears!

A Grocery Shopper’s Thoughts on Grief

Grief comes
Consumed in cups
Sometimes in spoonfuls
But otherwise,
No exact serving size.

It comes packed in boxes
Or in jars and cans
Tightly sealed, yet
Ready to be opened
At a moment’s notice.

The ingredients are a mix
Of mostly tears,
A smidgeon of hurt and regret
Or a dash  of memories
That leave a bitter aftertaste.

Always in stock,
Life’s store shelves
Are full of it
Ready for either the frugal shopper
Or the impulse buyer’s taking.

Grief comes in
In a variety of packaging,
And a hefty price tag,
But no “Consume Before” date on the label

So Sanggibo a Ranon a Piyatay  o Satiman a Tadman
(A Thousand Good Memories Destroyed by A Single Mistake)

Treasured memories
Are a-plenty.
In the thousands,
More maybe.
Overflowing the heart
Till they were
What it only knew..

But it only took
Just one mistake,
A careless word
A mindless deed
A single blow
To painfully shred
A whole,
Delicately pieced together.

Such is human nature.
One misdeed
Makes a stranger out
Of those thousand joys.

Ode to the Marawi Fog

Hand in hand
The fog and cold go
Like lovers at the promenade
On a winter morning stroll.

Oblivious to the shivering throng,
The pair smother all creation
Nonchalantly,
With the misty cocoon
Of snappish cold.
A veneer of glossy damp
airily drifting.
The sun must have been sent away,
For this pair to bask
In their icy honeymoon.

Alican M. Pandapatan

Siya ang Ilaw at Haligi

Dulot ng walang katiyakan
ng pag-ibig at pananagutan
mag-isa lamang siya-
kumakayod, nag-aalaga
at naghahanapbuhay.

Pinupunan niya ang
kumakalam na sikmura,
pinupunan niya ang nagkulang
atensyon at pagmamahal
ng mga inosenteng batang
iginagapang ng ‘sang magulang.

Solong magulang, di umaayaw.
Tingin ng karamihan mababaw
mga pinagdaraanang hirap,
kutya’t panghahamak.
Siya ri’y nawawasak.

Inaayos ang sariling basag
para sa pagpapanatag
at sariling pagpapatatag
ng kalooba’y di maduwag
at ang pamilya’y di mabuwag.

Siya ang haligi at
siya rin ang ilaw
ng tahanang kanyang
pinatitibay– nagliliwanag
sa madilim na bukas
ng kanyang mga anak.

Karimlan sa liwanag

Siya ang bukal.
Hulmahan ng isipan at diwa,
pandayan ng kasanaya’t asal.

Patuloy na kinakapos
ng mga gahamang said
kaya naman baya’y ‘di makaraos
hindi makausad.

Ika nga, edukasyon ang sagot
Bakit ito’y nilalagot?
Salaping badyet na kakarampot
mismong namamahala ang kumupit.

Liwanag bang maitururing
ang tahanang hasaan ng dunong?
Kung imprastruktura’t pasilidad
ay gawa sa mababang kalidad.

Kung ang mga sandigang aklat
di napapanaho’t salat
paano nito pamumukadkarin
ang tigang na kaisipan?

Lumulubo ang bilang ng mga bata
nag-aabang ng aruga’t kalinga
sa mga pampublikong paaralan
nagbabasakali’t nagsasapalaran

kung bukas ay mababago
ang buhay ay uunlad-lalago.
Kapag ito’y hindi nagbago
ang baya’y mananatiling bigo.

Kinikitil ng dilim ang liwanag
ang balon ng pag-asa
na patuloy na nililigalig
ngunit siya’y kumakasa

Siya ang bukal.
Hulmahan ng isipan at diwa,
pandayan ng kasanaya’t asal.

Ani

Nagbabanat kami ng buto
ng baya’y patuloy nakatayo
signipikanteng bumubuo
manggagawang nakataas-noo.

Maliit man ang kinikita,
minsan ay wala ng nakikita
sa pinaghirapang ginawa
binabaling sa sarili’y awa.

Ah, tagaktak ang aming pawis
sa pagsasaka ng sobra’t labis
matamasa ang ninanais
bunga at ani handog ay tamis.

Kami nama’y pumapalaot
kahit madilim di natatakot
upang makakuha’t maghakot
ng preskong isdang maalat-alat.

Dini, ang buhay sa tubuhan
sentimong pakyaw-bayad sa amin
kulang pa sa’ming kailangan
didildil na lang kami ng asin.

Tinapon namin ang mga gulay
Nakakalungkot ang naging lagay
di pwedeng itambak sa bahay
‘pagkat nabubulok itong bagay.

Bakit laging may kakulangan?
Suliraning walang katapusan.
Lumalala ang kakapusan
sustenabilidad’y kasagutan.
Mayaman ang bansa sa ani
Kulang ng programa siyang sanhi
nitong ekonomiyang sawi
kaya suporta ay minimithi.

Pamahalaan

Palasak ang kaliwa’t kanang balita
Ang gobyerno ngayon anti-maralita
Masang nagdarahop at nababahala
Ang bansa ay hindi na pinagpapala
Habang ang ilan ay nagpapakasasa
Ang karamihan tunay na nagdurusa
Laan kanino ang serbisyo’t sagana?
Ang elitistang mayaman sa pamana?
Ako’t tayong lahat ay isang sistema
Nahahabi isang baya’t magkasama.

Digmaan

Kinirot ang damdaming payak
nadudurog sa nagkalat na larawan
mga batang Palestino
nagmistulang mga surot na tiniris

Oh, Mahabagin! Saan ka na?
inuubos ng galit ang aming pag-asa
maisalbang mga anghel sa lupa,
ito ba ay nakatadhana na?

Idinadaing ang pagtigil
sa karumal-dumal na pagpaslang
kwalateral sa labanan
di masinop, di maarok ng budhi
marahil di tao ang makagagawa.

Kayo! Saan na nga ba ang humanidad?
abang kapwa tao pinapanood
tila isang likhang pelikula
lamang ang tambak na katawang
walang buhay ni hininga.

Hanggang ang ilog patungong dagat
hindi nagaganap, hindi nababatid
kalayaan at kapayapaan ay
malayo at hindi kayang taluntunin
ng tanaw.

Habang umuulan ng bala’t bomba,
ilang anghel pa kaya ang masasawi?

Aisha L. Kunting

A glance at the clock as I notice the time,
how late it is on a Friday and yet she is still at the office at 11:59?
No doubt finishing a never-ending workload that is anything but light,
‘Has she eaten dinner yet?’ I wonder again as the clock strikes midnight.
A knock on the door— only one person it could be.
“Assalamualaikum,” she greets sweetly as soon as she sees me,
but it’s impossible not to notice the tired and bloodshot eyes.
Regardless, she smiles— which I’ve come to know as one of her forms of disguise.
So exhausted she doesn’t bother to change out of her work clothes.
She lays on the couch, surely tired from the workload.
But despite the million other things occupying her brilliant mind,
She asks, “How was your day, anak?”
Only I prayed yours was as happy as mine.
Mothers deserve the world and more for all the things they have to endure.
Despite their flaws and imperfections, a mother’s love remains pure.
See, mothers don’t work this hard just to earn money and spend it on themselves.
They don’t stay up at night burning the oil just to afford expensive hotels.
Don’t wake up early and cook for the family because they are forced or compelled—
these amazing mothers sacrifice their time to keep their families fed and well.
Working hard for the trials of today despite the uncertainty of tomorrow.
Bearing the aches that come with life to spare her family from sorrows.
There is no way to properly describe all her pains,
and no words will be big enough to even begin my thanks.
A mother’s time is precious— precious as a diamond in a bed of sand.
I would give up all my fleeting time just to hold her motherly hands.