SAAN KAYA MAGKAKANLONG? PARA SA MGA MARALITA NG CORAZON DE JESUS, PINAGLABANAN

SAAN KAYA MAGKAKANLONG:
Para sa mga Maralita ng Barangay Corazon de Jesus, Pinaglabanan
-- Nonilon V. Queano/30Enero2011

Matapos mamaso ang bahay at magilit ang ulirat ng mahihirap,
Tila mga pusang ligaw na gagala, mamumungkal,
Titihaya sa bangketa o sa kari-karitonan o saanman;
Habang nakangisi ang mga naturingan’y lingkod-bayan
Ngunit asong ulol kung mamang-it ng buto’t laman at manlapa:
Saan kaya magkakanlong, saan iidlip sa gabi
Silang mga kapuspalad?
Pati paslit na kanina’y hubo’t hubad na lumagaw,
Kahit pigil ang pag-iyak o nasaid na ang luha
Ngayon’y dinadaluyong ang dibdib;
Mga ina’y iginupo ng pighati,
Mga ama’t kabataan’y bumubuwal sa paglaban.
A, ngayong gabi, kay pusikit ng karimlan!
Mga dukhang kaluluwa sa Pook Corazon de Jesus
Ay gagala sa kawalang-masilungan,
Samantalang silang mga buwitre’t mangangamkam
Huwag sanang patulugin ng kanilang kasalanan.

KAHAPON'Y MAY DALUYONG

KAHAPON’Y  MAY DALUYONG

- Nonilon V. Queano/7January2010

Kahapon’y may daluyong sa gunita

Sa pagtugis sa banaag ng paglaya

Isang napipintong liyab ang alaalang

Muli’t muli’y sinusubhan ng panata

Papaano ba pahupain ang pighati

Ng aliping agaw-buhay araw-araw,

Pamulaklakin ang dinag-im ng dalita

O silang kinumunoy sa paglaban?

Minsan’y may kapagalang dumarating,

Itatarak, tila sundang sa damdaming

Lumalaplap sa puso o sa isipan’y humihiwa.

Minsa’y nag-aagaw-tulog

Dangan nga lang at bubuga ang gunita

Ng yumao at nagyaong kaibigan

Magdaraan ang hanay

Papatugpa sa likod ng alaala.

Dangan nga lang at pagsinta’y sintimyas

Ng bulaklak ng sampagita

At sa hinahaba-haba ng lakad

Ang landas ay di nag-iba.

Kahapon din nang mayroong paruparong

Sa panganorin’y gumuhit ng luhang kristal

Pinahupa ang daluyong, pinatibay ang panata

Tila dilag na umindak sa awitin ng paglaya.

ON MY DAUGHTER'S HOMECOMING

ON MY DAUGHTER'S HOMECOMING

 (For Laika, on her birthday)

- NONILON  V. QUEANO/01/18/2011

Certainly, there are things to do

After a love has flown away

More than listen

To this lazy pitter patter on a gummy afternoon;

Things to busy with beyond imagining

That night we drove through boonies,

The cold wind, the arcane shadows

That lined the road to our town,

The time my daughter came home from New York

To visit after long absence;

It was a fancy drive.

We drifted through pitch darkness much of the way.

But, in time, came upon this madding crowd

Returning home in the early morning after a night of fiesta,

The eve of Santo Nino Feast at San Pablo;

We had to take a detour as the celebration

Blocked the main road,

Inched through traffic that reached up

The curve leading down the lone highway

To Tayabas, sparsely lighted by lamps,

That looked like yellow lollilpops. 

By three a.m., we slept the rest of the night,

At my brother’s farmhouse.

At sunrise, I knew I had to bring my daughter

To the hinterland where I grew up

Deep into the woods where my father and I

Worked the coconut farms and ricefields,

With carabaos and herons for company,

Through seasons of sun and rain,

Songs of love and life

My father sang at dawn, high noon, or night.

He was the barrio serenader, minstrel, poet.

My daughter understood and was amazed.

The forests were thicker than all forests,

The mountains, higher than all mountains,

She had seen and I knew the songs

That wafted through the trees charmed her

Beyond all RnB and rap and jazz and bebop

That played on her Ipod.

She flashed her camera at all she saw of us

In all the present and the past.

Late afternoon, we headed back to the city.

We stopped for lambanog at a roadside store

In Candelaria on the approach to San Pablo

Where the festivities were at its peak;

Our arrival was, in fact, timed

For that  night of street partying

Drinking, singing, and beauty contest shows

On the town plaza and across the main road.

It was my daughter’s turn again

To marvel at the teeming crowd,

Walk the whole length,

Buy fancy toys,

Take shots of us and of the scenes of glee and merriment,

Until a light rain came

And haltingly we walked back to the car

To resume our journey.

The drive back was quiet as she slept

Through most of the way.

She was leaving the following day.

I drove her that early morning to the airport.

A long line awaited her but she took time to come out

Briefly to say goodbye.

We embraced at parting but I was holding back

With a casual advice to take care

Of her health and perform the exercises I taught her

Those mornings that we stretched and jogged

Around the UP campus oval.

As she turned to go I was thinking,

Of a white heron that stood.

Like a darling friend beside a carabao

In the middle of a ricefield

At which my daughter aimed her camera

When we drove home to Tayabas.

The white bird sensed us and flew away.

The carabao gazed at the sky,

Looking bereft,

Hoping the heron should return.

Oh, but there are things to do

After a love has flown away

And left one lonely.

There are things to busy with

More than listen to the idle rain

And dream that soon she’ll come again