Sunday, November 16, 2008

Alay sa Choc-Nut

As chronicled by Glenn Ala at 11:42 PM
Ang sarap-sarap ng Choc-Nut na ‘to
binubuksan ko pa lang
naglalaway na ‘ko.
‘Di nga magkanda-ugaga
sa pagpunit ng papel na balot e.
Hayun, sa pagkahayok,
tuloy, Choc-Nut muntik nang
malapirot.
Leche!
Kapag lumabas na
ang balot mong palara –
ayan na, malapit na –
alam kong matitikman na rin kita
lasa mong kakaiba.
Diyos ko, salamat talaga!
Dahan-dahan kong bubuksan
makikita ang ‘yong kahubaran.
Haaaay! Langit!
Anong kasiyahan!
Iningatan kong huwag madurog
hinawakang parang itlog
saka inilapit sa bibig ko
ang kaaya-ayang bisyo.
Tangina!
Nalaglag pa’ng isang piraso!
Sayang.
Pupulutin ko na lang.
Aba, grasya rin ‘to ‘no.
Kaya bago pa mangalaglag,
Please lang huwag!
Isinubo ko lahat
buong Choc-Nut!
Kaaakh! Kwaaakh!
Aaakh!
Tuloy, ako'y napaubo,
sa lakas ng pagkakasubo.
Tubig! Tubig!
Dali-dali akong tumakbo
sa kusina para uminom
ng tubig na malamig,
Glug… glug… glug.
Aaaaaah…
Glug… glug…
Uhmmm…
Putang Choc-Nut ‘to
Papatayin pa ‘ko!

- written some time in 1998, published in the anthology called Bubot at Tatlong Dosenang Sundot ng Damdamin, by Finkomarts

This was one of my earliest poems. I've lost all copies of the book and the poem, and I only recently encountered it online when I googled my name. I came across a blog with this poem. Thanks to Ellysa Sy of Caloocan City, who posted it. You can find her post and her blog here.

Who knows, one day this might just become a song. Hahaha!

Incidentally, I think it's worth mentioning that the book, Bubot at Tatlong Dosenang Sundot ng Damdamin, is catalogued in the Ateneo Libraries Union Catalog, archived in Ateneo's Rizal Library. Good to know somebody still has a copy.
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The Chronicler's Creed

Where there's water and sun, where there are friends to see or new people to meet, where there's something new to learn, experience, or do, where there's life, there I will be.

LA POESÍA

Y fue a esa edad... Llegó la poesía
a buscarme. No sé, no sé de dónde
salió, de invierno o río.
No sé cómo ni cuándo,
no, no eran voces, no eran
palabras, ni silencio,
pero desde una calle me llamaba,
desde las ramas de la noche,
de pronto entre los otros,
entre fuegos violentos
o regresando solo,
allí estaba sin rostro
y me tocaba.

And it was at that age... Poetry arrived
in search of me. I do not know, I do not know where
it came from, from winter or a river.
I do not know how or when,
no, they were not voices, they were not
words, nor silence,
but from a street I was summoned,
from the branches of night,
abruptly from the others,
among violent fires
or returning alone,
there I was without a face
and it touched me.

- An excerpt from LA POESÍA (Poetry) by Pablo Neruda