jiza
Lumbay
Rolando S. Tinio
Nalulumbay ang puno ng goma sa gilid ng bulibard
At ang puno ng akasya sa likod ng goma.
Mukhang uulan sa buong mundo.
Wala na ang mahal ko, iniwanan ako.
Nalulumbay ang tubig na laging kulay-abo
At ang tatlong bapor na kulay-kalawang sa laot,
At sa likod, ang ulap na parang tinggang natunaw.
Wala na ang mahal ko, iniwanan ako.
Nakatungo ang mga dahon ng niyog,
Marahang pakampay-kampay
Sa hanging humahampas, naglalarong
Anaki’y mga batang walang kamalay-malay
Sa talas-kutsilyo, talas-labaha ng lumbay.
At naalala ko ang isang awit na puno ng hinagpis,
Parang sugat na humahapdi, lalong tinitistis.
At naalala ko ang wala nang mahal ko
Na naparaan sa aking mundo,
Parang ulap na bumitin nang ilang saglit,
Saka nagpatuloy sa maraming lakad sa himpapawid
At, sa tingin ko, hindi na, hindi babalik.
Ways of Dying
Anthony L. Tan Whichever way the wind blows
They fall with the flowers
Ever so gently, shaken down from twigs.
They fall on the summer street
Where they are trapped in tire ruts
And they become brown paste,
Spoiling the blackness of tar.
Others fall with the flowers
On the leaf-matted lawn
Where chickens feed all day.
Others on the roof of an old house
Whose dark corners finally become a refuge.
Through nooks and crannies they crawl
Their way into the dark rooms,
Eliciting shrieks from the virgins
Who in fright ambush them
With broom, fire or candle wax.
The few survivors go on their way,
Finding their niches in empty cans,
Behind boxes and uncovered glasses.
They grow wings in the dark
And vindicate their precarious trek
With a rattle against the lampshade.
In a night or two they die,
But they must die in a way
Proper to their importance as survivors:
Their mottled wings outspread
In a beautiful fall.
Rolando S. Tinio
Nalulumbay ang puno ng goma sa gilid ng bulibard
At ang puno ng akasya sa likod ng goma.
Mukhang uulan sa buong mundo.
Wala na ang mahal ko, iniwanan ako.
Nalulumbay ang tubig na laging kulay-abo
At ang tatlong bapor na kulay-kalawang sa laot,
At sa likod, ang ulap na parang tinggang natunaw.
Wala na ang mahal ko, iniwanan ako.
Nakatungo ang mga dahon ng niyog,
Marahang pakampay-kampay
Sa hanging humahampas, naglalarong
Anaki’y mga batang walang kamalay-malay
Sa talas-kutsilyo, talas-labaha ng lumbay.
At naalala ko ang isang awit na puno ng hinagpis,
Parang sugat na humahapdi, lalong tinitistis.
At naalala ko ang wala nang mahal ko
Na naparaan sa aking mundo,
Parang ulap na bumitin nang ilang saglit,
Saka nagpatuloy sa maraming lakad sa himpapawid
At, sa tingin ko, hindi na, hindi babalik.
Ways of Dying
Anthony L. Tan Whichever way the wind blows
They fall with the flowers
Ever so gently, shaken down from twigs.
They fall on the summer street
Where they are trapped in tire ruts
And they become brown paste,
Spoiling the blackness of tar.
Others fall with the flowers
On the leaf-matted lawn
Where chickens feed all day.
Others on the roof of an old house
Whose dark corners finally become a refuge.
Through nooks and crannies they crawl
Their way into the dark rooms,
Eliciting shrieks from the virgins
Who in fright ambush them
With broom, fire or candle wax.
The few survivors go on their way,
Finding their niches in empty cans,
Behind boxes and uncovered glasses.
They grow wings in the dark
And vindicate their precarious trek
With a rattle against the lampshade.
In a night or two they die,
But they must die in a way
Proper to their importance as survivors:
Their mottled wings outspread
In a beautiful fall.