regla sa buwan ng hunyo

Although, it was never discussed in class, after reading the poem of
the same author of Liham ni Pinay Mula sa Brunei, by Elynia S.
Mabanglo a page beside it with a poem entitled Regla sa Buwan ng
Hunyo captured my fancy that made me want to read on. With the title
alone it was already intriguing as I read the poem it was about a
womans menstruation. As a girl it is common knowledge that it is a
cycle that happens monthly the agonizing pain and the hassle of
having menstruation and the cramps is unlike any other that no man
will ever know in his entire life. It is like a curse that all
women should bear, but only one thing can stop this and that is
preganancy. And in the poem Regla sa Buwan ng Hunyo, is about a
woman who is having an unwanted preganancy and after some months is
to give birth to a child that can make or break her entire life.And
although, menstruation is viewed to be a curse( for me at least) she
wants to have her period for this is a signal that the child is
gone. For having a child is a huge responsibilty, it is another
person's life at sake and to have an unwanted pregnancy numerous
women are finding ways to run from such duty and that way is to
abort the child and to erase the proof of love. Having an unwanted
pregancy as stated from the poe is like a contract, tesatment a
curse that canot be redone and erase and should not be killed in
any way. Having a child unawanted or wanted should be given the
freedom to live and to be given the life that the child deserves no
matter what odds and consequences are at stake.

Ang mga Kagilagilalas na Pakikipagsapalaran ni Juan de la Cruz
		Jose F. Lacaba Isang gabing madilim puno ng pangambang sumakay sa bus si Juan de la Cruz pusturang pustura kahit walang laman ang bulsa BAWAL MANIGARILYO BOSS sabi ng konduktora at minura si Juan de la Cruz. Pusturang-pustura kahit walang laman ang bulsa nilakad ni Juan de la Cruz ang buong Avenida BAWAL PUMARADA sabi ng kalsada BAWAL UMIHI DITO sabi ng bakod kaya napagod si Juan de la Cruz. Nang abutan ng gutom si Juan de la Cruz tumapat sa Ma Mon Luk inamoy ang mami siopao lumpia pansit hanggang sa mabusog. Nagdaan sa Sine Dalisay Tinitigan ang retrato ni Chichay PASSES NOT HONORED TODAY tabi ng takilyera tawa nang tawa. Dumalaw sa Konggreso si Juan de la Cruz MAG-INGAT SA ASO sabi ng diputado Nagtuloy sa Malakanyang wala namang dalang kamanyang KEEP OFF THE GRASS sabi ng hardinero sabi ng sundalo kay Juan de la Cruz. Nang dapuan ng libog si Juan de la Cruz namasyal sa Culiculi at nahulog sa pusali parang espadang bali-bali YOUR CREDIT IS GOOD BUT WE NEED CASH sabi ng bugaw sabay higop ng sabaw. Pusturang-pustura kahit walang laman ang bulsa naglibot sa Dewey si Juan de la Cruz PAN-AM BAYSIDE SAVOY THEY SATISFY sabi ng neon. Humikab ang dagat na parang leon masarap sanang tumalon pero BAWAL MAGTAPON NG BASURA sabi ng alon. Nagbalik sa Quiapo si Juan de la Cruz at medyo kinakabahan pumasok sa simbahan IN GOD WE TRUST sabi ng obispo ALL OTHERS PAY CASH. Nang wala nang malunok si Juan de la Cruz dala-dala'y gulok gula-gulanit na ang damit wala pa rin laman ang bulsa umakyat         Sa Arayat                       ang namayat na si Juan de la Cruz WANTED DEAD OR ALIVE sabi ng PC at sinisi ang walanghiyang kabataan kung bakit sinulsulan ang isang tahimik na mamamayan na tulad ni Juan de la Cruz

gabi ng isang piyon

Tula: Sa Gabi ng Isang Piyon

Sa Gabi ng Isang Piyon (In the Night of a Peon) is a Tagalog poem written by Lamberto E. Antonio in 1946. It is about the life of a Filipino laborer. 

SA GABI NG ISANG PIYON

Paano ka makakatulog?
Iniwan man ng mga palad mo ang pala,
Martilyo, tubo’t kawad at iba pang kasangkapan,
Alas-singko’y hindi naging hudyat upang
Umibis ang graba’t semento sa iyong hininga.
Sa karimlan mo nga lamang maaaring ihabilin
Ang kirot at silakbo ng iyong himaymay:
Mga lintos, galos, hiwa ng daliri braso’t utak
Kapag binabanig na ang kapirasong playwud,
Mga kusot o supot-semento sa ulilang
Sulok ng gusaling nakatirik.
Binabalisa ka ng paggawa — 
(Hindi ka maidlip kahit sagad-buto ang pagod mo)
Dugo’t pawis pang lalangkap
Sa buhangin at sementong hinahalo na kalamnang
Itatapal mo sa bakal na mga tadyang:
Kalansay na nabubuong dambuhala mula
Sa pagdurugo mo bawat saglit; kapalit
Ang kitang di-maipantawid-gutom ng pamilya,
Pag-asam sa bagong kontrata at dalanging paos.
Paano ka matutulog kung sa bawat paghiga mo’y
Unti-unting nilalagom ng bubungang sakdal-tayog
Ang mga bituin? Maaari ka nga lamang
Mag-usisa sa dilim kung bakit di umiibis
Ang graba’t ‘semento sa iyong hininga...
Kung nabubuo sa guniguni mo maya’t maya
Na ikaw ay mistulang bahagi ng iskapold
Na kinabukasa’y babaklasin mo rin.

another invitation to visit tondo

ANOTHER INVITATION TO THE POPE TO VISIT TONDO 
Emmanuel Torres 

Next time your Holiness slums through our lives, 
we will try to make our poverty exemplary. 
The best is a typhoon month. It never fails 
To find us, like charity, knocking on 
all sides of the rough arrangements we thrive in. 
Mud shall be plenty for the feet of the pious. 

We will show uoi how we pull things together 
from nowhere, life after life, 
prosper with children, whom you love. To be sure, 
we shall have more for you to love. 

We will show you where the sun leaks on 
our sleep, 
on the dailiness of piece meals and wages 
with their habit of slipping away 
from fists that have holes for pockets. 

We will show you our latest child with a sore 
that never sleeps. When he cries, 
the dogs of the afternoon bark without stopping, 
and evening darkens early on the mats. 

Stay for supper of turnips on our table 
since 1946 swollen with the same hard tears. 
The buntings over our one and only window 
shall welcome a short breeze. 

And lead prayers for the family that starves 
and stays together. If we wear roasries round 
our nexks 
it is not because they never bruise our fingers, 
(Pardon if we doze on a dream of Amen.) 

But remember to remember to reward us 
with something . . . more lush, greener than all 
the lawns of memorial parks singing together. 
Our eyes shall belss the liveliness of dollars. 

Shed no tears, please, for the brown multitudes 
who thicken on chance and feast on leftovers 
as the burning garbage smuts the sky of Manila 
pile after pile after pile. 

Fear not. Now there are only surreal assassins 
about who dream of your death in the shape 
of a flowering kris. 

may day eve

May Day Eve
Nick Joaquin
Republic Period
The old people had ordered that the dancing should stop at ten o'clock but it was almost midnight before the carriages came fill up to the front door, the servants running to and fro with torches to light the departing guests, while the girls who were staying were promptly herded upstairs to the bedrooms, the young men gathering around to wish them a good night and lamenting their ascent with mock sighs and moanings, proclaiming themselves disconsolate but straightway going off to finish the punch and the brandy though they were quite drunk already and simply bursting with wild spirits, merriment, arrogance and audacity, for they were young bucks newly arrived from Europe; the ball had been in their honor; and they had waltzed and polkaed and bragged and swaggered and flirted all night and were in no mood to sleep yet-no, caramba, not on this moist tropic eve! not on this mystic May eve!-with the night still young and so seductive that it was madness not to go out, not to go forth-and serenade the neighbors! cried one; and swim in the Pasig! cried another; and gather fireflies! cried a third-whereupon there arose a great clamor for coats and capes, for hats and canes, and they were presently stumbling out among the medieval shadows of the foul street where a couple of street-lamps flickered and a last carriage rattled away upon the cobbles while the blind black houses muttered hush-hush, their tile roofs looming like sinister chessboards, against the wild sky murky with clouds, save where an evil young moon prowled about in a corner or where a murderous wind whirled, whistling and whining, smelling now of the sea and now of the summer orchards and wafting unbearable childhood fragrances of ripe guavas to the young men trooping uproariously down the street that the girls who were disrobing upstairs in the bedrooms scattered screaming to the windows, crowded giggling at the windows, but soon sighing amorously over those young men bawling below; over those wicked young men and their handsome apparel, their proud flashing eyes, and their elegant mustaches so black and vivid in the moonlight that the girls were quite ravished with love, and began crying to one another how carefree were men but how awful to be a girl and what a horrid, horrid world it was, till old Anastasia plucked them off by the ear or the pigtail and chased them off to bed-while from up the street came the clackety-clack of the watchman's boots on the cobbles, and the clang-clang of his lantern against his knee, and the mighty roll of his great voice booming through the night: "Guardia sereno-o-! A las doce han dado-o-o!" And it was May again, said the Old Anastasia. It was the first day of May and witches were abroad in the night, she said-for it was a night of divination, a night of lovers, and those who cared might peer in a mirror and would there behold the face of whoever it was they were fated to marry, said the Old Anastasia as she hobbled about picking up the piled crinolines and folding up shawls and taking slippers to a corner while the girls climbing into the four great poster-beds that overwhelmed the room began shrieking with terror, scrambling over each other and imploring the old woman not to frighten them. "Enough, enough, Anastasia! We want to sleep!" "Go scare the boys instead, you old witch!" "She is not a witch, she is maga. She was born on Christmas Eve! " "Saint Anastasia, virgin and martyr." "Huh? Impossible! She has conquered seven husbands! Are you a virgin, Anastasia?" "No, but I am seven times a martyr because of you, girls!" "Let her prophesy, let her prophesy! Whom will I marry old gypsy? Come, tell me." "You may learn in a mirror if you are not afraid." "I am not afraid, I will go!" cried the young cousin Agueda jumping up in the bed. "Girls, girls-we are making too much noise! My mother will hear and will come and pinch us all. Agueda, lie down! And you, Anastasia, I command you to shut your mouth and go away!" "Your mother told me to stay here all night, my grand lady!" "And I will not lie down!" cried rebellious Agueda, leaping to the floor. "Stay, old woman. Tell me what I have to do." " Tell her! Tell her" chimed the other girls. The old woman dropped the clothes she had gathered and approached and fixed her eyes on the girl." You must take a candle," she instructed, "and go into a room that is dark and that has a mirror in it and you must be alone in the room. Go up the mirror and close your eyes and say: Mirror, mirror show to me him whose woman I will be. If all goes right , just above your left shoulder will appear the face of the man you will marry." A silence. Then: "And what if all does not go right?" asked Agueda. " Ah, then the Lord have mercy on you!" " because you may see - the Devil!" The girls screamed and clutched one another, shivering. " But what nonsense!" cried Agueda. "This is the year 1847. There are no devils anymore!" Nevertheless she had turned pale. "But where could I go, huh? Yes I know! Down the sala. It has that big mirror and no one is there now." "No, Agueda, no! It is a mortal sin! You will see the devil!" "I do not care! I am not afraid! I will go!" "Oh, you wicked girl! Oh, you mad girl!" "If you do not come to bed, Agueda, I will call my mother." "And if you do I will tell her who came to visit you at the convent last March. Come, old woman-give me that candle I go." " Oh, girls-come and stop her! Take hold of her! Block the door!" But Agueda had already slipped outside; was already tiptoeing across the hall; her feet bare and her dark hair falling down her shoulders and streaming in the wind as she fled down the stairs, the lighted candle sputtering in one hand while with the other she pulled up her white gown from her ankles. She paused breathless in the doorway to the sala and her heart failed her. She tried to imagine the room filled again with lights, laughter, whirling couples, and the jolly jerky music of the fiddlers. But, oh, it was a dark den, a weird cavern, for the windows had been closed and the furniture stacked up against the walls. She crossed herself and stepped inside. The mirror hung on the wall before her; a big antique mirror with a gold frame carved into leaves and flowers and mysterious curlicues. She was herself approaching fearfully in it: a small white ghost that the darkness bodied forth-but not willingly, not completely, for her eyes and hair were so dark that the face approaching in the mirror seemed only a mask that floated forward; a bright mask with two holes gaping in it, blown forward by the white cloud of her gown. But when she stood before the mirror she lifted the candle level with her chin and the dead mask bloomed into her living face. She closed her eyes and whispered the incantation. When she had finished such a terror took hold of her that she felt unable to move, unable to open her eyes, and thought she would stand there forever, enchanted. But she heard a step behind her, and a smothered giggle, and instantly opened her eyes. "AND WHAT DID YOU SEE, MAMA? OH, WHAT WAS IT?" But Doña Agueda had forgotten the little girl on her lap: she was staring past the curly head nestling at her breast and seeing herself in the big mirror hanging in the room. It was the same room and the same mirror but the face she now saw in it was an old face-a hard, bitter, vengeful face, framed in greying hair, and so sadly altered, so sadly different from that other face like a white mask, that fresh young face like a purple mask that she had brought before this mirror one wild May Day midnight years and years ago… "But what was it, Mama? Oh, please go on! What did you see?" Doña Agueda looked down at her daughter but her face did not soften though her eyes were filled with tears. "I saw the devil!" she said bitterly. The child blanched. " The devil, Mama? Oh …OH!" "Yes, my love. I opened my eyes and there in the mirror, smiling at me over my left shoulder, was the face of the devil." " Oh, my poor little Mama! And you were very frightened?" " You can imagine. And that is why good little girls do not look into mirrors except when their mothers tell them. You must stop this naughty habit, darling , of admiring yourself in every mirror you pass-or you may see something frightful someday." "But the devil, Mama-what did he look like?" "Well, let me see… He had curly hair and a scar on his cheek-" "Like the scar of Papa?" "Well, yes. But this of the devil was a scar of sin, while that of your Papa is a scar of honor. Or so he says." "Go on about the devil." " Well, he had mustaches." "Like those of Papa?" "Oh no, Those of your Papa are dirty and greying and smell horribly of tobacco, while these of the devil were very black and elegant-oh, how elegant!" "And did he have horns and tail?" The mother's lips curled. "Yes, he did! But, alas, I could not see them at that time. All I could see were his fine clothes, his flashing eyes, his curly hair and mustaches." "And did he speak to you, Mama?" "Yes…Yes, he spoke to me," said Doña Agueda. And bowing her greying head, she wept. "CHARMS LIKE YOURS HAVE NO NEED FOR A CANDLE, FAIR ONE," he had said, smiling at her in the mirror and stepping back to give her a low mocking bow. She had whirled around and glared at him and he had burst into laughter. "But I remember you!" he cried. "You are Agueda, whom I left a mere infant and came home to find a tremendous beauty, and I danced a waltz with you but you would not give me the polka." "Let me pass," she muttered fiercely, for he was barring her the way. "But I want to dance the polka with you, fair one," he said So they stood before the mirror; their panting breath the only sound in the dark room; the candle shining between them and flinging their shadows to the wall. And young Badoy Montiya (who had crept home very drunk to pass out quietly in bed) suddenly found himself cold sober and very much awake ready for anything. His eyes sparkled and the scar on his face gleamed scarlet. "Let me pass!" she cried again, in a voice of fury, but he grasped her by the wrist. "No," he smiled. "Not until we have danced." "Go to the devil!" "What a temper has my serrana!" "I am not your serrana!" "Whose, then? Someone I know? Someone I have offended grievously? Because you treat me, you treat all my friends like mortal enemies." "And why not?" she demanded, jerking her wrist away and flashing her teeth in his face. "Oh, how I detest you, you pompous young men! You go to Europe and you come back elegant lords and we poor girls are too tame to please. We have no grace like the Parisiennes, we have no fire like the Sevillians, and we have no salt, no salt, no salt! Aie, how you weary me, how you bore me, you fastidious young men!" "Come, come-how do you know about us?" "I have heard you talking, I have heard you talking among yourselves, and I despite the pack of you!" "But clearly you do not despise yourself, señorita. You come to admire your charms in the mirror even in the middle of the night!" She turned livid and he had a moment of malicious satisfaction. "I was not admiring myself, sir!" "You were admiring the moon perhaps?" "Oh!" she gasped, and burst into tears. The candle dropped from her and she covered her face and sobbed piteously. The candle had gone out and they stood in the darkness, and young Badoy was conscience-stricken. "Oh, do not cry, little one! Oh, please forgive me! Please do not cry! But what a brute I am! I was drunk, little one, I was drunk and knew not what I said." He groped and found her hand and touched it to his lips. She shuddered in her white gown. "Let me go," she moaned, and tugged feebly. "No. Say you forgive me first. Say you forgive me, Agueda." But instead she pulled his hand to her mouth and bit-bit so sharply into the knuckles that he cried with pain and lashed out with his other hand-lashed out and hit the air, for she was gone, she had fled, and he heard the rustling of her skirts up the stairs as he furiously sucked his bleeding fingers. Cruel thoughts raced through his head: he would go and tell his mother and make her turn the savage girl out of the house-or he would go himself to the girl's room and drag her out of bed and slap, slap, slap her silly face! But at the same time he was thinking that they were all going up to Antipolo in the morning and was already planning how he would himself into the same boat with her. Oh, he would have his revenge, he would make her pay, that little harlot! She should suffer for this, he thought greedily licking his bleeding knuckles. But - Judas!- what eyes she had. And what a pretty colored she turned when angry! He remembered here bare shoulders: gold in the candlelight and delicately furred. He saw the mobile insolence of her neck, and her taut breast steady in the fluid gown. Son of a Turk, but she was quite enchanting! How could she think she had no fire or grace? And no salt? An arroba she had of it! "…No lack of salt in the chrism At the moment of thy baptism!" he sang aloud in the dark room and suddenly realized that he had fallen madly in love with her. He ached intensely to see her again-at once!-to touch her hand and her hair; to hear he harsh voice. He ran to the window and flung open the casements and the beauty of the night struck him back like a blow. It was May, it was summer, and he was young - young! - and deliriously in love. Such a happiness welled up within him the tears spurted from his eyes. But he did not forgive her - no! He would still make her pay, he would still have his revenge, he thought viciously, and kissed his wounded fingers. But what a night it had been! " I will never forget this night!" he thought aloud in a awed voice, standing by the window in the dark room, the tears in his eyes and the wind in his hair and his bleeding knuckles pressed to his mouth. BUT, ALAS, THE HEART FORGETS; THE HEARTS IS DISTRACTED; AND MAYTIME PASSES, summer ends; the storms break over the rot-ripe orchards and the heart grows old; while the hours, the days, the months, and the years pile up and pile up, till the mind becomes too crowded, too confused: dust gathers in it; cobwebs multiply; the walls darken and fall into ruin and decay; the memory perishes…and there came a time when Don Badoy Monitiya walked home through a May Day midnight without remembering without even caring to remember; being merely concerned in feeling his way across the street with his cane; his eyes having grown quite dim and his legs uncertain - for he was old; he was over sixty; he was very stooped and shriveled old man with white hair and mustaches, coming home from a secret meeting of conspirators; his mind still resounding with speeches and his patriot heart still exultant as he picked his way up the steps to the front door inside into the slumbering darkness of the house; wholly unconscious of the May night, till on his way down the hall, chancing to glance into the sala, he shuddered, he stopped, his blood ran cold-for he had seen a face in the mirror there-a ghostly candlelit face with the eyes closed and the lips moving, a face that he suddenly felt he had seen before though it was a full minute before the lost memory came flowing, came tiding back, so overflooding the actual moment and so swiftly washing away the piled hours and days and months and years that he was left suddenly young again: he was a gay young buck again, lately come from Europe: he had been dancing all night: he was very drunk: he stopped in the doorway: he saw a face in the dark: he cried out… and the lad standing before the mirror (for it was a lad in a night gown) jumped with fright and almost dropped his candle, but looking around and seeing the old man, laughed out with relief and came running. "Oh, Grandpa, how you frightened me!" Don Badoy had turned very pale. "So it was you, you young bandit! And what is all this, hey? What are you doing down here at this hour?" "Nothing, Grandpa. I was only…I am only…" "Yes, you are the great Señor Only and how delightd I am to make your acquaintance, Señor Only! But if I break this cane on your head you may wish you were someone else, sir!" "It was just foolishness, Grandpa. They told me I would see my wife." "Wife, What wife?" "Mine. The boys at school said I would see her if I looked in the mirror tonight and said: Mirror, mirror show to me her whose lover I will be." Don Badoy cackled ruefully. He took the boy by the hair, pulled him along into the room, sat down on a chair, and drew the boy between his knees. " Now, put your candle down on the floor, son, and let us talk this over. So you want your wife already, hey? You want to see her in advance, hey? But do you know that these are wicked games and that wicked boys who play them are in danger of seeing horrors?" "Well, the boys did warn me I might see a witch instead." "Exactly! A witch so horrible you may die of fright. And she will bewitch you, she will torture you, she will eat your heart and drink your blood!" "Oh, come now, Grandpa. This is 1890. There are no witches anymore." "Oh-no, my young Voltaire! And what if I tell you that I myself have seen a witch?" "You? Where?" "Right in this room and right in that mirror," said the old man, and his playful voice had turned savage. "When, Grandpa ?" "Not so long ago. When I a was a bit older than you. Oh, I was a vain fellow and though I was feeling very sick that night and merely wanted to lie down somewhere and die I could not pass the doorway of course without stopping to see in the mirror what I looked like when dying. But when I poked my head in what should I see in the mirror but… but…" "The witch?" "Exactly!" "And did she bewitch you, Grandpa?" "She bewitched me and she tortured me. She ate my heart and drank my blood," said the old man bitterly. "Oh, my poor little, Grandpa! Why have you never told me! And was she very horrible?" "Horrible? God, no-she was beautiful! She was the most beautiful creature I have ever seen! Her eyes were somewhat like yours but her hair was like black waters and her golden shoulders were bare. My God, she was enchanting! But I should have known-I should have known even then-the dark fatal creature she was!" A silence. Then: "What a horrid mirror this is, Grandpa," whispered the boy. "What makes you say that, hey?" "Well, you saw this witch in it. And Mama once told me that Grandma once told her that Grandma once saw the devil in this mirror. Was it of the scare that Grandma died?" Don Badoy started. For a moment he had forgotten that she was dead, that she had perished-the poor Agueda; that they were at peace at last, the two of them, and her tired body at rest; her broken body set free at last from the brutal pranks of the earth-from the trap of a May night; from the snare of the summer; from the terrible silver net of the moon. She had been a mere heap of white hair and bones in the end: a whimpering withered consumptive, lashing out with her cruel tongue; her eyes like live coals; her face like ashes…Now, nothing-nothing save a name on a stone; save a stone in a graveyard-nothing! nothing at all was left of the young girl who had flamed so vividly in a mirror one wild May Day midnight, long, long ago. And remembering how she had sobbed so piteously; remembering how she had bitten his hand and fled and how he had sung aloud in the dark room and surprised his heart in the instant of falling in love; such a grief tore up his throat and ashamed before the boy; pushed the boy away; stood up and fumbled his way to the window; threw open the casements and looked out - looked out upon the medieval shadows of the foul street where a couple of street-lamps flickered and a last carriage was rattling away upon the cobbles, while the blind black houses muttered hush-hush, their tiled roofs looming like sinister chessboards against a wild sky murky with clouds, save where an evil old moo prowled about in a corner or where a murderous wind, whirled, whistling and whining, smelling now of the sea and now of the summer orchards and wafting unbearable Maytime memories of an old, old love to the old man shaking with sobs by the window; the bowed old man sobbing so bitterly at the window; the tears streaming down his cheeks and the wind in his hair and one hand pressed to his mouth - while from up the street came and the clang-clang of his lantern against his knee, and the mighty roll of his great voice booming through the night: Guardia sereno-o! A las doce han dado-o-o!"

isang dipang lupa

sang Dipang Langit ni Amado V. Hernandez

Apr 2, '07 9:40 AM for everyone

 

 

Ako’y ipiniit ng linsil na puno

            hangad palibhasang diwa ko’y piitin,

katawang marupok, aniya’y pagsuko,

            damdami’y supil na’t mithiin ay supil.

Ikinulong ako sa kutang malupit:

            bato, bakal, punlo, balasik ng bantay;

lubos na tiwalag sa buong daigdig

            at inaring kahi’t buhay man ay patay.

Sa munting dungawan, tanging abot-malas

            ay sandipang langit na puno ng luha,

maramot na birang ng pusong may sugat,

            watawat ng aking pagkapariwara.

Sintalim ng kidlat ang mata ng tanod,

            sa pintong may susi’y walang makalapit;

sigaw ng bilanggo sa katabing muog,

            anaki’y atungal ng hayop sa yungib.

Ang maghapo’y tila isang tanikala

            na kalakaladkad ng paang madugo,

ang buong magdamag ay kulambong luksa

            ng kabaong waring lungga ng bilanggo.

Kung minsan, ang gabi’y biglang magulantang

            sa hudyat—may takas!—at asod ng punlo;

kung minsan’y tumangis ang lumang batingaw,

            sa bitayang muog, may naghihingalo.

At ito ang tanging daigdigko ngayon—

            bilangguang mandi’y libingan ng buhay;

sampu, dalawampu, at lahat ng taon

            ng buong buhay ko’y dito mapipigtal.

Nguni’t yaring diwa’y walang takot-hirap

            at batitis pa rin itong aking puso:

piita’y bahagi ng pakikilamas,

mapiit ay tanda ng hindi pagsuko.

Ang tao’t Bathala ay di natutulog

            at di habang araw ang api ay api,

tanang paniil ay may pagtutuos,

            habang may Bastilya’y may bayang gaganti.

At bukas, diyan din, aking matatanaw

            sa sandipang langit na wala nang luha,

sisikat ang gintong araw ng tagumpay…

            layang sasalubong ako sa paglaya!

ako ang daigdig

I

ako

ang daigdig

ako

ang tula

ako

ang daigdig

ng tula

ang tula

ng daigdig

ako

ang walang maliw na ako

ang walang kamatayang ako

ang tula ng daigdig

II

ako

ang daigdig ng tula

ako

ang tula ng daigdig

ako ang malayang ako

matapat sa sarili

sa aking daigdig

ng tula

ako

ang tula

sa daidig

ako

ang daigdig

ng tula

ako

III

ako

ang damdaming

malaya

ako

ang larawang

buhay

ako

ang buhay

na walang hanggan

ako

ang damdamin

ang larawan

ang buhay

damdamin

larawan

buhay

tula

ako

IV

ako

ang daigdig

sa tula

ako

ang tula

sa daigdig

ako

ang daigdig

ako

ang tula

daigdig

tula

ako….

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sa mga nagtatanung at tumatanaw sa pahinang ito (yes tagalog..) opo ito po ung buo at saktong tula.. akala koh rin nung una mali pero sinigurado ko na po na tama na ito.. ung unang beses ko syang na i-post ay may kulang pero ngaun ay kompleto na sya… enjoy nyo na lang ang pag-unawa.. hehehe post po kayo ng comment.. salamat…

morning in nagrebcan

indapatra and sulayman

Indarapatra and Sulayman

A long, long time ago, Minadanao waa covered with water, and the sea cover all the
lowlands so that nothing could be seen but the mountains jutting from it. There were many people
living in the country and all the highlands were dotted with villages and settlements. For many years
the people prospered, living in peace and contentment. Suddenly there appeared in the land four
horrible monsters which, in short time has devoured every human being they could find.
Kurita, a terrible creature with many limbs, lived partly on the land and partly on sea, but its favorite
haunt was the mountain where the rattan palm grew; and here it brought utter destruction on every
living thing. The second monster, Tarabusaw, an ugly creature in the form of a man, lived on Mt.
Matutum, and far and wide from that place he devoured the people, laying waste the land. The third,
an enormous bird called Pah, was so large that, when on the wing, it covered the sun and brought
darkness to the earth. Its egg was as large as a house. Mt. Bita was its haunt; and there the only
people who escaped its voracity were those whi hid in the mountain caves. The fourth monster was
also a dreadful bird, having seven heads and the power to see in all directions at the same time. Mt.
Gurayan was its home and like the others, it wrought havoc to its region.
So great was the death and destruction caused by these terrible creatures that at length, the news
spread even to the most distant lands - and all nations grieved to hear the sad fate of Mindanao.
Now far across the sea, in the land of the golden sunset, was a city so great that to look at its many
people would injure the eyes of men. When tidings of these great disasters reached this distant city,
the heart of King Indarapatra was filled with compassion, and he called his brother, Sulayman, and
begged hem to save the land of Mindanao from the monsters.
Sulayman listened to the story and as heard it, was moved with pity. "I will go", zeal and enthusiasm
adding to his strenght, "and the land shall be avenged," said he.
King Indarapatra, proud of his brother's courage, gave him a ring and a sword as he wished him
success and safety. Then he placed a young sapling by his window and said to Sulayman "By this
tree I shall know your fate from the hour you depart from here, for if you live, it will live; but if you
die, it will die also."
So Sulayman departed for Mindanao, and he neither waded nor used a boat, but went through the air
and landed on the mountain where the rattan grew. There he stood on the summit and gazed about
on all sides. He looked on the land and the villages, but he could see no living thing. And he was
very sorrowful and cried out: "Alas, how pitiful and dreadful is this devastation."
No sooner had Sulayman uttered those words than thw whole mountain began to move and then
shook. Suddenly out of the ground came the horrible creature Kurita. It sprng at the man and sank
its claws at his flesh. But Sulayman knowing at once that this was the scourage of the land, drew his
sword and cut Kurita to pieces.
Encourage by his first success, Sulayman went on to Mt. Matutum, where conditions were even
worse. As he stood on the heights viewing the great devastation, there was a noise in the forest and
a movement in the trees. With a loud yell, Tarabusaw forth leaped. For the moment they looked at
each other, neither showing any sign of fear. Then Tarabusaw used all his powers to try to devour
Sulayman, who fought back. For a long time, the battle continued, until at last, the monster fell
exhausted to the ground and Sulayman killed him with his sword.
The nest place visited by Sulayman was Mt. Bita. Here havoc was present everywhere, and though
he passed by many homes, he saw that not a single soul was left. As he walked, sudden darkness
fell over the land, startling him. As he looked toward the sky he beheaded a great bird that swooped
upon him. Immediately he struck, and the bird fell dead at his feet; but the wing fell on Sulayman and
he was crushed.
Now at this very time King Indarapatra was sitting at his window, and looking out he saw the little
tree witcher and dry up.
"Alas!" he cried, "my brother is dead" and he wept bitterly.
Then although he was very sad, he was filled with a desire for revenge. Putting on his sword and
belt, he started for Mindanao, in search for his brother.
He, too, traveled through the air with great speed until he came to the mountain where the rattan
grew. There he looked about, awed at the great destruction, and when she saw the bones of Kurita