The Quill Literary and Arts Folio 1st Semester 2022-2023

prologue

Unraveled words like moths upon old scars, from fables of foreign tongue and long-lived lore, Dilaab will ignite your spark.

Babaylan, Babae Lang?

Tinitingala at ginagalang, batid ang kapangyarihan. Namumukod tangi, lampas ang kahiwagaan at karunungan.

Kanilang binibigkas ay pawang katarungan at katotohanan. Kaya’t inihahayag bilang susi sa maliwanag na kinabukasan.

Mga bibig na noo’y gumagabay sa mga taong naglalakbay, Ngayo’y nananatiling may busal sa bibig at kadena sa paa.

Dalubhasang kamay na siyang nag-aaruga’t nagpapagaling, Ngayo’y nakakubli, baka masabihan ka pang nagmamagaling.

Puno ng makabuluhang panaginip at masidhing pangitain, Ngunit ngayo’y bihira na lang maabot ang mga layunin.

Noon ay laging nababatid

sagradong tawag ni Bathala, Ngayo’y umiilag sa mga bastos na tawag at paanyaya.

Nagliliyab at kumukulong puso, daig pa ang bagsik ng bulkan.

Pwersahang pinapatay sa takot ng mismo nilang kakayahan.

Kung kaya namang bigyan ng kaluwalhatian ang isang lipunan, Kanila rin itong maipapabagsak kung hindi mapoprotektahan.

Minsan nang namuno’t namahala ang ating mga kababaihan, Saksi ang iba’t-ibang rehiyon, kabihasnan, at nakaraan.

Kung kaya sila ay 'wag pagbawalan sa kanilang karangalan.

Bagkus, baguhin ang sistemang sakim at puno ng kalupitan.

Babae, huwag mong kimkimin ang sidhi ng damdamin.

Huwag hayaan na tayo’y hubaran at gawing mga alipin.

Wasakin, mesa ng mapang-api, hilahin ang silya at umupo. Noo mo’y itaas, sapagkat tayo ang susunod na mamumuno.

Tula ni Ricci Gwennmorei B. Taghap

"Tabi-tabi Po"

Prosa ni Chelsea S. Candidato Obra ni Alessandra S. Villaroya

Lingid sa aking kaalaman ang mga pagbabago sa pagtiklop ng bawat pahina ng buhay dahil lamang sa isang engkwentro— lahat pala kasi ay dapat binibigyang galang.

Takot ang naging susi, lalo na’t maniwala’y pilit idinidiin ng mga naunang nailathala sa tulad kong nakagisnan ay pagkakubkob sa mga edipisyo at karangyaan. Doon ay nakapuslit ang marka ng isang hindi maipintang mahika; ang sakit, hirap, at lunas ay hindi mahagilap. Mga salitang inukit mula sa kalibliban ng aral na siyang makatuturo tungo sa lagusan.

Lugar sana’y hindi na lang ginalaw.

Ako’y natuto na, sa masusukal at hindi natatauhang lugar sila’y namamalagi, kaya't sa pagsapit ng dilim pag-iingat ay kinakailangan. Na sa bawat paghakbang ay dapat sambitin ang mga katagang “tabi-tabi po” na siyang magbibigay babala sa mga hindi nakikitang nilalang sa aking pagdaan.

Ang lahat ay doon na pala nagwakas—nang dahil lamang sa isang pagkakamali, pero ngayon ay alam ko na, kung sa una ang paniniwala’y hindi ko magawa. Nakalulungkot mang isipin pero ang lahat ay nagbago habang ako ngayo’y nakatingin sa malamig kong bangkay. Alam ko na, pero huli na pala ang lahat.

Calm before the Storm

P. Robillos

Duaw

Hulagway ni James Victor U. Genayas

Bleak skies breed unease Silence makes the loudest sound When birds seek haven

Haiku by Trisha Kate V. Escalante

Handom sa patay O kinabuhing pait Asa’y mas lisod?

Haiku ni Frances Ann C. Nolasco

Photo by Sasha Marie

Illustration by Trisha Kate V. Escalante

The Moonless Village

Prose by Frieney Josephine E. Pepino

Past seven mountains and seven seas, there exists a village that has seen no moon for many nights. The seasons have gone awry, and the fishermen cannot go to sea, for the moon pulls the tides, and they have no moonlight to guide them to the shore and beyond.

The local babaylan prays and sings atop the cliff that looms over the sea, the highest point in the village where she hopes the moon goddess will hear the woes of her subjects. But the goddess has not heard.

“Has Mayari forsaken us?” cried the villagers. “Without the moonlight that leads us to our homes when shadows come, what will be our fate? It is too late. We are ruined.”

Amid the chaos that plagues his village, the woodcutter Amir continues his work. One day, he encounters a girl in the woods. Instantly, Amir is stricken by her beauty. Her skin is the color of the earth, and is as rich, smooth, and supple as dewdrops.

Amir approaches the girl and after twenty meetings, they fall in love. He discovers that she is mysterious, without a name to call her by, without memories and without a home. But it doesn’t matter, for Amir calls her “my dearest love” or “sweetheart.” Amir tells her that they could create new memories together, and that he would offer her his home.

Another cruel week passes by, the disruption of the natural order continues without the moon. At night, the babaylan screams at the top of her lungs,

“The stars are gone! They have descended from their abode to search for their mistress!”

Amir comes home to behold a strong glow spilling from his windows. He finds out that the source of the light are the dozen maidens who stand before his hearth. They crowd around his beloved who is crying heavily.

His mysterious lover confesses that she is the moon goddess, and the luminous maidens are the stars, here to collect her at last.

Amir is heartbroken. “You lied to me! And for that, you are to vanish from my sight.” Love was not without truth, he thinks. And he feels betrayed.

“I was so lonely,” Mayari whispers to him. “Lovers pledged to me, asked me for my blessing. But I, myself, am alone, with no one to touch and to hold. In my sadness, I jumped from the heavens and lost my memories when I fell to the ground. It was not my intention to cause despair to your people. Right this instant, I will go home. But not before I tell you that I feel nothing but immense gratitude that you have shown me—what it is to love, and to be loved. Farewell, Amir.”

“Wait!” Amir reaches out to the goddess. “Please, stay.”

But of course, he does not say this. He cannot. For love is also not without sacrifice, nor forgiveness. Amir lets his beloved go, and the moon and the stars retake their rightful places in the night skies.

The Modern Palay Maiden

Illustration by Trisha Kate V. Escalante

Doble Kara

Walang pagdadalawang isip na tinungo ang maputik na daan sa tanghaling tapat kahit isang linggo pa lamang ang nakalipas. Wari'y ‘di alintana ang amoy, init, at dumi ng ‘di mahulugang karayom na pagpupulong sa isang liblib na lugar. Nagsihiyawan at umalingawngaw ang ingay ng mga dumalo matapos marinig ang bawat talumpati. Sinong mag-aakala na ang nakahanay na pula ay sasambahin ng madla?

Ikaapat napu’t limang araw at panay ang pagbabalot ng pangkat sa bukang-liwayway. Ani ng lider, mas mainam na maipaabot ang mga ito bago mag-almusal. Ilang minuto nalang at sasapit na ang alas-sais, hudyat ng simula ng pamimigay ng supot na may lamang pandesal, kape, at biskwit. Magkabilang tenga ang ngiti ng mga kapos palad habang karga-karga ang katiting na pagkain; pilit na pinagkakasya ng isang malaking pamilya.

Lumipas ang siyam napu't araw na walang ibang sadiya kundi himukin ang puso ng mga tao. Mahikayat na ang pulang hanay ang liliman gamit ang kani-kanilang pluma sa pagsapit ng pinakahihintay na araw. Nabuhusan ng pag-asa at diwa ang mga mamamayan mula sa mga pananapos na mensahe. Inakalang abot-tanaw na ang minimithing pag-angat ng buhay matapos sambitin ang panata mula sa kanilang tinitingala.

Ngunit walang sinuman ang nakapagtanto na matapos sila’y mapasagot ng oo, bubungad ang imaheng salungat sa nakilala ng publiko. Imaheng bumabasura ng pangako, mapangdaya sa serbisyo, at umaalpas sa tungkulin—dahilan ng pagkaudlot at paghupa ng masigasig na loob ng mga mamamayan.

Tunay na ang mga matatamis na pangako ay kinagagalak ng nakararami. Ang mga simpleng pagbikas ng mga salita ay tila ba naging sagot sa kumakalam na sikmura, kakapusan, at dahas. Kaya't mamamayan ay nalinlang muli sa mumunting tulong. Nakikiliti sa motibo at pambobola. Nadadala sa panliligaw na inakala’y dalisay at walang humpay pero kung tutuusin, magaling lang pala sa umpisa. Marahil iilan sa atin ay hindi pa rin mulat sa mga mapagpanggap at mapagsamantala.

Prosa ni Joanna Onieceline Faye G. Cinco Guhit ni Grace Gift T. Sumbi

Huling Habilin

Ang simoy ng hangin ay nakikisabay sa paghihinagpis

Sa iyong himlayan, tila takbo ng oras ay napakabilis

Isang pagtitipong maliwanag ay ‘di mawari na iyong lamay

Kabaong, kape, kandila, at luha lamang ang aming karamay

Isang malamig na ihip ang humalik sa aking mga pisngi

Nawa’y bigat ng puso ay mawari sapagkat damdamin ko’y nasanggi

Nabalot ng isang dilim ang paligid

matapos ako’y masinsinang bumulong

“Sa iyong paglisan, kami’y 'wag mong iwan,” na parang humihingi ng tulong

Matapos ang ilang araw at walang

mintis kong pagdalaw

Sa isang tahimik na paligid alinsunod ng mga dahong sumasayaw

Isang sitsit na nababalot ng kilabot ang aking narinig

Parang ako’y namalik mata ngunit

balahibo ko ay tumindig

Iyong nakangising mukha ay aking natanaw sa malayo

Agad nagmamadaling umalis at lumayo

Napagtanto na ako’y bumulong sa bangkay na kami ay ‘wag iwan

Ngunit sa hindi inaasahang kaluluwa

mo’y ‘di lilisan

Hangga’t sa aking pagtulog, ikaw ay nakamatyag

Ako’y napadasal na sana’y isa itong

sumpa na pwedeng matibag

Ang aking bulong ay iyong dinggin

Kailanman ‘di ka na iiwan, kahit ika’y nakalibing

Tula ni Melanie Ann L. Taladtad Obra ni Grace Gift T. Sumbi

Edonsan: The Sleeping Giant

Graphic Manipulation by Elaiza R. Galaroza

Bagyong Bobong

Tula ni Yvette D. Sumipo

Obra ni Christa Shazzy D. Famat

Sa pangalan mo pa lang

Ika’y humahagibis sa bayang madalang

Lupang tinubuan ng mga pangako’y bihira

Narito ka ba upang bumuklod o sumira?

Sa kalagitnaan ng tag-init ay siya ring nagsidatingan

Mga tao’y nangamba at nag-alinlangan

Pakay ng hangin, mangumbinsi at manligaw

Sa puso’t isip, kaunlaran ay sigaw

Balita ko’y mas marami kang ulang dala

Ulang sa mi’y sana 'di lulunod sa sakuna

Sa iyong paglalakbay at pag-iipon ng lakas,

Talamak sa dyaryong nailathala, sayo’y walang lumalagpas

Mundo ay bilog, bayan ay nahahati

Kami ay nabihag sa sinabi mo rati

Pagaspas na kasama ng kulog at kidlat

Hangad mo ang pagkapanalo ng lahat

Sabi mo noon, 'di mo kami pababayaan

Ngayo’y wala ng bubong ang aming tahanan

Kung noo’y patapos na salita’y siyang nanaig

Ngayo’y sa iyong pambobola 'di na padadaig

“Pwera usog”, sabay katok sa kahoy na dingding

Mangako ka na sa matatanda, huwag lang sa bagong gising

Sa unos mo’y gusto ko lang naman makaiwas

Paghagupit mo dati’y hirap lang ang niranas

Ngayon na ang itinakda

Nagdaan ang mga oras, ang kalangitan ay maaliwalas

“Bagyong paparating, lumihis na ng daan”, Nabunutan ng tinik sa lalamunan

Sana’y sa susunod paambon-ambon ka nalang

Hindi na yung tipong sa lakas mo kami dinaraan, Ngayong alam na namin ang iyong ginagawa

Uupo ka bang ambag ay hirap o ginhawa?

Harrowing Hunt

Poetry by Nisandrei V. Cañizares

Here lies half of her beauty, Agonized by trails of deep desires. She quenches for freedom, Justice, and power. Trauma upon a shameful flight. She prowls through the night To quench her thirst, Through a cold and bloody murder.

A fair maiden grazes so haughtily, She veils herself when the beam ascents. Nothing but her astonishing beauty, Captured the world so ironically.

Devoid by her greatest desires, Her hunt to fill that void arouses. She chants in all of her glory, Anointed with oil, she dances in glee. Stretched by unruly fate, She feasts in all glorious gain.

Before the tick of the hunt, Hidden in plain sight. Lies half what mortality is like, Her search begins as freedom takes flight.

Unborn hope she preys on, Lovers she torment upon. There is no room for the meek, In the blood of the innocent, she reeks.

Now here comes a man in dagger and salt, As he hunts for the hunter.

Horrendous monster he must tie

To the ends of Tartarus, she’ll bid goodbye. As she sucks the last soul at dawn, Her screams of terror Echoed the dark woods.

In fear she leaves a trail of crime, Finding her redeeming line. She sought for time; Only half of hers is left behind.

She chanted a wailing cry, In hopes not to die. Bewildered what might seem, An unfortunate dream.

What a shame they did not go past looks, Her efforts to stand by humanity. Left nothing but cruelty, Now she lies with deep uncertainty.

Salt showered her into bedridden; All that she feared for Came bidding into fright no more. As the dagger thrusts deeper, She smiled through her cruel journey.

As the beam arrives, Her misfortunes flash before her eyes; A victim embraced by her victims. Life is ill-fated indeed, Now, mourning has come.

To weather the storm Far from the echoes of land For tomorrow’s worth

Fishing Horizons

Let lungs breathe in smoke All under the scorching sun Here, I exhale hope

Slave of Apolaki

Haiku by Loren Mae C. Ramirez

Photo by Alwynn Kate Malubay

Photo by Zavia Angelene C. Tuzara

Haiku by Randolph B. Edullantes

Astray

Poetry by Angelique Therese B. Pe

Model: Shaira Bhell Marie Ganzan

The irony that is

Being the patron of lost things

That even her name has slowly been lost as well

Maybe through time or negligence

But even then

Even if her past believers are gone

Even if her people have erased her

Withal replaced her with a single God

She is still there

She’s there, eyes filled with pity

As children scream for their parents

Hands vanish beneath murky waters

Bodies under wet dirt and rocks

Even devastations create loss

She’s there as they yearn

Right in their fingertips of a life

A life they could’ve had

One that was not ruled by greed

Of a ruler that did not hate the common man

She is always there

Even when they have forsaken her

Ancient hands that nudges

But never fully gives

For they are still hers but not quite 20

Tuzara

She guides in whispers and thoughts

Always waiting—head tilted and eyes curious Despite the never-ending question

Why do mortals never learn from loss? Nothing lasts forever

Their pride for being resilient

Cheering their ability to come back from grief

Forgetting, perhaps, even ignoring how Rubber bands snap, bamboos break Even steel can warp and weaken

That even their childhood dreams Are lost in the gutters of demanded reality

Muzzled and prodded for being ideal

It’s in the hands of their loved ones Cold and unmoving, limp against hospital sheets

Yet here they are Still searching and calling Still believing and hoping Her name on the tip of their tongues

Anagolay’s lips curl into a smile

Nothing ever stays lost.

Graphic Manipulation by Zavia Angelene C.

Sa Gabi ng Karimlan

Kuha ni Kylle Niña R. Pantonial

Ako’y narito

Ika’y kakalingahin Kahit madilim

Haiku ni Ricci Gwennmorei B. Taghap

Kasarangang Barangan

Balak ni Jhaymarc R. Hoy

Dibuho ni Mauries Jan-Ace Avenio

Sa paglabay sa panahon ug mga pulong

Kausa mihunghong si nanay samtang ako nagpiyong

Nadunggan ko nga ang amo diay nga kagikan

Kay ang mga tawong gitawag og mga barangan

Duha lamang ang mga angkan sa barangan dinhis kalibutan

Managsamang latayan sa pagkagamhanan

Apan managlahi ang ilahang mga tumong

Ug managlahi pud sila og mga gahom

Si nanay nagikan sa angkan sa mga barangang

Muhinay-hinay og patay sa ilang matungnan

Gamit ang mga insektong kusog mangamang

Ug mga ulod nga mu-ali sa gininhawaan

Ang akong tatay, gikan pud sa mga kaliwatan

Nga mukutlo og tunglo sa daotang barang

Ug manambal sa mga nanginahanglan

Ug mupahawa sa mga kalag nga daotan

Apan ang angkan ni nanay, makaangol pud sila og tarong

Mga buotang tawo nga dili unta angay pasakitan

Samtang sa dapit ni tatay, nalab-anan pud sila sa katarong

Nga bisag ang salbahis, andam nilang tambalan

Maong gusto ko lamang mahimong kasarangan

Kung dili man gani ko mahimong kasarangang barangan

Unyang gabii, sa dili pa pagahimuon ang ritwal

Mudagan ko palayo dinhi, pilion ko ang kasarangang kinabuhi

Unanchored Justice

Graphic Manipulation by Alessandra S. Villaroya

Balang

Tula ni Ross Erwin R. Cutamora

Obra ni Rainaia Gem E. Leyson

Heto na naman ako

Nakakubli sa nagtataasang puno at damo

Nakamasid sa dayong napadpad sa aming paraiso

Nakamanman sa kung ano mang gawin niya rito

'Di na bago sa’kin ang dayo sa masukal na paraisong tinuring kong tahanan

Karamihan ay gusto lang mapagmasdan

ang taglay niyang ganda

Ang iba nama'y nais kunin ang gintong nakakubli

Kaya naman, marami-rami na rin ang aking nililo gamit ang aking talento

Ngunit itong dayong ito ay kakaiba

‘Di ko nakitaan ng anumang bakas ng kasamaan

Bagkus, pinagkukuha mga naiwang bakas ng mga nauna

Ilang araw ang lumipas at pangamba'y

tuluyan nang nawala

Dayong napadpad pangarap pala'y

kaayusan sa'ming kaharian

Kagyat napahanga't tinapos ang

pagmamasid sa kaniya

Kaakibat ng pagdugo ng buwan

Siya namang pagtaklob ng usok sa kagubatan

Dayong napadpad, dalub pala sa

pagpapanggap

Kaya akong maestro sa panglililo, napaikot sa mumunting palad ng

estranghero

Sa pagtakbo ko papalayo

sa tinuring kong paraiso

Ako'y nanlumo sa kalunos-lunos na nangyari sa kaniya

Kaya naman, ako'y nangakong ‘di na magtitiwala sa mga tao

Papaikutin ko sila hanggang sila'y mabaliw at tuluyang maglaho.

dilaᜊ᜔

Ligaw na Kaharian

Tula ni Scott BJ E. Nadela

Obra ni Rainaia Gem E. Leyson

Karangyaan ay walang dudang tunay, Sa mga taong kung magtrabaho’y puspusan, Marangyang buhay ay tunay ring abot-kamay, Ng mga taong nakatira sa lugar na walang patutunguhan.

Alinsunod sa mga direksiyong ibinigay, Tayo’y magtatagpo sa kahariang puno ng buhay, Mga direksiyong nakabubulag ng mga mata, Nagbibigay kapangyarihan para bilugan ang balota, Tunay bang mga direksyon ay may patutunguhan?

Alinsunod sa mga direksiyon na siyang ibinigay, Hakbang puno ng pagsubok at nakadududang akay, Mga salitang nagbibigay lakas upang kaharian ay masilayan, At matamasa ang init dala ng karangyaan.

Testimonya ay pili ngunit walang duda’y tunay, Pagmamay-ari ng mga kamay na nag-aalok ng akay, Tila lahat ay walang hibik na maisalba, Sa paglalakbay sa lugar na walang patutunguhan.

Ngayo’y tunay ko nang naiintindihan, Kung bakit sa lugar na walang patutunguhan, Iilan lang ang tunay na naiimbitahan, Kailangang buong hibik ika’y bubulagin, Kapalit ang buhay sa kahariang ligaw ang patutunguhan.

Magdalena of the Slums

lllustration by Grace Gift T. Sumbi

Cogito, Ergo Sum

Prose by Charles Owen G. Apostol Line Art by Mauries Jan-Ace Avenio

It's easy enough to slip the skin. It would only take a second. It could be so soon and so sudden. That evening, an unknown person came to me and in a blink of an eye, he occupied my abode. Although I have not met him, I know for a fact that it will not be exactly as it is supposed to be as I don’t know his intentions nor know how long this person will stay with us and if he is staying for the good or the bad.

This reminds me of our odd and unpredictable neighbor who was a missionary. Everyone thought that he was something to be looked upon. Each time he opened his mouth, he was becoming thoroughly likable to the elderly. In fact, during mornings, the adults engage in tittle-tattles as they listen to far-fetched preaches that made him look like a saint. It was as if no blood ever tainted his clothes.

Their laughs and awes were heard near the window. As I began to shut it, I gazed thoroughly and listened to their conversations instead. I closed my eyes and pondered: “Why is he that likable? Are these people that gullible? Is our

community in a better place now that he’s here?” Or did he become that amiable as his preaches were new to our town that they forget they are Catholics?

Each day after that encounter, I feel like I’m turning into a different person. Perhaps, an overseer to myself. I can be quite eloquent when I talk but can be lethal when the night approaches. The madness can be seen through my mouth as I speak. I think, therefore, the greatest form of flattery is treachery. Until the day I become likable, that man will sit right in front of me, not to preach but to listen.

No Honor among Liars and Thieves

Prose by Reishi Glynne L. Quibido

During the weekends when Lolo was out of the summer bungalow, Dongdong would sneak into the forest just behind their spacious home. The chirps of crickets and croaks of toads echoed in the dense forest, as Dongdong ventured into its depths with a dowser as his compass.

He called for his friends, shortstatured gray men dressed in colors. Every time Lolo was away, the dwarves would spoil Dongdong rotten. Each day, they’d promise him a treasure from the dwarves’ prized collection; filled with golden bracelets and shining crystals, all obscure possessions.

They greeted Dongdong like always, under the shade of an overgrown sapling. Their grin was kind and amiable as they gestured Dongdong to run quicker. Without wasting any second, they showed him their latest, adored find. Today, they found a rare treasure, a diamond jewel with a remarkable shine.

Already fifteen and exposed to the world controlled by wealth and money, Dongdong understood what it’s like to be avaricious and greedy. Still stained with soil, Dongdong’s hands swiped the diamond jewel.

His feet took off, the distraught cries of his friends barely acknowledged.

Dongdong was a criminal on the run, his mind devoid of conscience. However, evading the forest with a diamond in hand numbed his senses. Dongdong hid the filth-covered jewel in his suitcase, feigning innocence. Sin painted that summer solstice, signifying the end of his adolescence.

News arrived years later, saying Lolo was no longer in this world. His wife drove him to the house Dongdong used to visit every summer. While chatting across Lolo’s coffin, he caught a glimpse of a familiar shadow. A stone seemed to be stuck in his throat as his voice refused to utter.

The dim light revealed short-statured gray men dressed in black garments. Their eyes spoke hatred as they seethed with an unbridled vengeance.

“In exchange for the jewel you stole, the price is your Lolo’s soul.”

Yet Dongdong seemed unfazed, and instead, he replied,

“What do you mean? I’ve never stolen such jewel.”

Illustration by Trisha Kate V. Escalante

Sabi ni Lola . . .

Prosa ni Justine Y. Toñacao

Paalala: Ang kwentong ito ay naglalaman ng maselang konteksto.

Sabi ni Lola, bawal daw maglaro ng habulan sa gabi.

Pero ako ngayo’y nasa gitna ng kagubatan, tumatakbo sa ilalim ng nakangiting buwan. Hindi kaibigan ang humahabol sa akin at mas lalo nang hindi na ito laro.

Lumingon at nakita ko ang malaking silweta na tila taong humahabol sa akin. Galit na sumisigaw ng mga salitang ‘di ko maunawaan. Bumalik ang tingin ko sa harap, patungo sa liwanag na galing sa bayan.

Sabi ni Lola, huwag daw makipag-usap sa mga taong hindi ko kilala.

Pero lahat ng ito ay dahil sa isang simpleng alok ng nagpakilalang kusinero. Hanap daw niya ang hindi pangkaraniwang asin na matatagpuan lang sa isang tindahan sa gitna ng kagubatan sa labas ng aming bayan.

Binigyan niya ako ng sobreng may perang ‘di ko mabilang sa rami. Pagkarating ko raw sa tindahan ay ibigay ko ang sobre sa tindero kapalit ang asin, sa hatinggabi, at ihatid sa kaniya ang supot ng asin at bibigyan niya ako ng maraming pera.

Sabi ni Lola, bawal daw bumili ng asin sa gabi.

Hindi ko alam kung bakit bawal ngunit habang bitbit ko ang supot, kaakibat ang pagsakit ng mga paa sa kakatakbo, ay siyang pagsisisi kung bakit ko tinanggap ang alok ng kusinero. Sa kabila nito’y mas nabulag ako sa perang makukuha ko. Para ito sa gamot ng Lola ko.

Sa wakas ay nakalabas na ako sa gubat at nakapasok na sa bayan namin. Ang itim na silweta’y unti-unti nang lumalapit sa akin.

“Peke ang pera mo, 'tang-inang bata ka!” sigaw ng tindero. Malapit na ako sa tagpuan namin ng kusinero ngunit bigla akong hinila palikod. Akala ko’y nakahabol na ang tindero sa akin ngunit sa pagtanaw ko sa mukha ay isang takot na matanda—si Lola. Niyakap niya ako sa kanang kamay habang sa kaliwa naman ay hawak niya ang isang madugong itak. Sa likod niya ay ang tinderong nakahiga sa kalsada.

“Huwag mong saktan ang apo ko!” sigaw ni Lola at binaling ang tingin sa akin mula sa tindero.

“Diyos ko, Dino! Bakit ka napasali sa mga bagay na ito?!” sabi niya sabay kuha sa supot at inihagis papalayo sa akin. Biglang may putok na lumikop sa paligid. Nakatayo na ang tindero at may hawak na baril na nakaturo sa aming kinatatayuan.

“Anong kailangan mo? Pera? Babayaran ka namin ngayon din!” iyak ni Lola habang mahigpit ang yakap sa akin.

“Pasensya na pero, sabi ng Lola ko, bawal daw magbayad ng utang sa gabi,” sabi ng tindero habang tinutok niya ang baril sa Lola ko.

Humiwalay ako sa yakap ni Lola at humarap sa baril sabay ang pagputok nito.

Napakalakas man ng putok ng baril ay mas narinig ko ang sigaw at iyak ng Lola ko sabay pagdilim ng aking paligid.

Under the bleak sky

Clipped wings unable to fly

No tears left to cry

Haiku by Shalghney Balangyao

Graveyard of Lost Dreams

Photo by Xyza Marie A. Varga

Illustration by Trisha Kate V. Escalante

By the Acacia Trees

Poetry by Reem U. Aldeek

The slain enemies

They must be subdued

When I sleep, I reminisce the weaving folktales of vivid garments my father told When I fall asleep, my enemies watch over my dreams

With the vigor of the dead and the blue melody rises I am on a silent quest to avenge for my fathers’ absence Me alongside my twin snake, the perfect alliance

While I reflect on my intention

The airy drapes flies open, breath seeps through the windows The breaths of the swiddens, the breath of the woman who awakes to her past in a vicinity to fulfil her prophecy

The breath of the acacia trees

I was enslaved and reluctant to face the chaos But I am significant in the echoes and shadows of my existence

Another day arrives, a womanly day

Diaphanous in metaphor, complete in being

A little bit new

A little bit not Beneath the nonchalant air that hooks into every crevice of my skin My amulets will undulate gold, and my exhausted scars will gleam

Until good omen arrives I’ll replant my will to slay the mangubat And I’ll worship the land of my people That will worship me back

But for now, I lift my father’s ghostly arms from the furls of my chest and I say out loud: This is the same blue sky I have loved ever since I was a binukot And you’ll know where to find me

By the acacia trees

Requiem of Maria

Poetry by Dan Clifford C. Palang Illustration by Mauries Jan-Ace Avenio

I am Maria Labo

I will or not tell thou

One lethal creature that is reformed

Now I know that They’ll revisit the past and dig behind Crippling the flesh of every mind.

I rise from the tainted land

Fated to break, shattered on the inside. In the blood of filth, I was sired Where frauds, liars, and thieves reside.

A sacrificial lamb made to last

To forsake light, to obey the way of wrong

My heart froze solid like stone

Rules now bent, seldom I abide.

Now, loop of mistakes circling Hearsays and deceit dominate in harmony

My very last piece of being

An object of faux affection and pure hate.

I spiraled out of sane

Lost into a makeshift rhythm

I was a good mother!

But now, I’m forever changed, forever torn.

This is the soul of the lady engulfed by the flame

To mutter the witch’s name after name

From counterfeit promises the idles said Many of those who dreamt were dead.

Labo Maria, am I?

Thou tell not, or will I?

Reformed is that creature, lethal one

That I know now.

Strangled Serenity

Graphic Manipulation by Justin Clarence O. Masecampo

dilaᜊ᜔

1944

Walang kabuhay-buhay ang mga dahon sa labas at tila humayo ang huni ng mga ibon. Ako’y kinaladkad sa pulang bahay. Isang marangyang mansiyon na pinawi ang aking mundong maligaya. Sa ilalim ng sikat ng araw naging mutsatsa, sa gabi nama’y ginawang tagaaliw ng mga sundalong mula sa lupang sikatan ng araw.

Isa ako sa mga babaeng nakakulong sa isang silid na ‘di maapuhap ang bintana. Mga madidilim na pader, na may matingkad na bumbilya. Niyakap ng takot, kalumbayan, at maging ng kamatayan.

Wala ako ibang nais gawin kundi sansalain ang paglubog ng araw, upang mga katawan nila’y manatiling panaginip lamang. Hindi ko na rin mabilang kung ilang ginoo ang bumungad sa aking harapan, dahil ako’y nakatutok sa buwan na gusto kong gawing araw.

Walang habag, walang puso.

Limang daan at apatnapu't pitong araw. Matagal pa upang palayain nitong lupang sinilangan. Mga kasamahan at katuwang ko ay isa-isang binalot sa banig ng tambo. Ang mamatay ay may ganap na katahimikan.

Paalam sa mga matapang.

Mukha ko’y napuno ng luha mula sa mga matang kayumanggi. “May naghihintay na bangka sa dulo ng rumaragasang tubig.”

Nakita ko ang Birheng Maria, maybahay ng isang opisyal. Ang mga nasa ko’y pasalamat ay natupad at ang mga mapapait na luha bukas ay mapaparam na.

Ang huni ng inang bayan ang naging kasama ko papalayo sa pulang asilo. Mga mapapanglaw na ulap, ngayon ay nawari sa sikat ng araw. Ngunit, ang pag-ibig ay napalitan ng takot at hiya, aaminin kong ilang halik ang dumapo sa’king balat.

Animnapu't tatlong taong nakabalot sa banig na tambo ang mga gabing mapanglaw.

Makibaka!

Huwag sanang makalimutan ng mga nasa kasariwaan ang panganib ng digmaan. Hanggang sa mga nalalabing araw, ako’y maninindigan upang ang mga baho ng niponggo’y makagising ng mga kabataan. Pag-asa, pangarap, at pagbabago ang nais kong makita sa mga mata mo.

Prosa ni Loren Mae C. Ramirez Obra ni Mauries Jan-Ace Avenio

Graphic Manipulation by Nerisa P. Sacay

Sa ilalim ng Mapaglarong Takipsilim

Tula ni Loraine N. Magnaye

Obra ni Trisha Kate V. Escalante

Tagu-taguan, Maliwanag ang buwan, Pagbilang kong tatlo, Nakatago na kayo.

Mag-ingat sa paghahanap, Baka iba ang iyong matagpuan, Lingid man sa iyong kaalaman, Hindi ako nakikita ng kung sinu-sino man,

Maaaring bumaliktad ang magaganap, Sa hindi inaasahan, Kahit anong lingon mo sa kaliwa’t kanan, Ikaw na ang pinaglalaruan.

Doon sa ilalim ng maliwanag na buwan, Sa gitna ng naglalakihang kakahuyan, Sa lugar na may naglalakasang kaluskos ng katatakutan, Aking anino’y iyong matutunghayan.

Paningin ay huwag takpan, Upang ako’y iyong masilayan, Dahil sa mapaglarong takipsilim, Baka ako’y iyong makaligtaan.

Wala sa liwanag, Wala sa dilim, Kailangan mo lang talasan ang iyong paningin, Sapagkat ang mundo’y napapalibutan ng bangin, Kapag ika’y nahulog sa patibong ng kasinungalingan, Mahirap nang hilahin.

Usisain ang paligid mo at maging tuliro, Kahit ang dulo ng walang hanggan ay lilibutin mo, Nasa likod mo lang ako, Ngunit kung ika’y hindi marunong lumingon sa iyong pinanggalingan, Hindi mo mararating ang katotohanan.

Trampled privilege

Penury with a vague end Tattooed stagnation

Amid Crocs' Reign

With black-inked fingers

She writes that touch and linger

Her words bleed power

Death Note

Haiku by Roy Luther A. Agad

Haiku by Joanna Onieceline Faye G. Cinco

Photo by Kylle Niña R. Pantonial

Photo by Zavia Angelene C. Tuzara

Toll of the Bells

Prose by Trisha Kate V. Escalante

All my life I’ve always shared everything with my sister—silk clothes, personal attendants, wide bedrooms, haughty circle of friends, and even grandiose birthdays.

Lola would always dress us up the same way, exactly to the tee. She even braids our hair with the same number of knots, pin the same dainty golden ornaments on our hair, and give us an equal number of kisses when bedtime strikes.

“Both of you will make us proud and continue the family legacy.”

She would always whisper to us under the dim lamp light, with the sound of dangling pearls and diamonds on her neck.

She whispers with such sincere intent that my sister and I would look at each other, puzzled about the legacy she fervidly wants to pass on. A cryptic smile is all we get whenever we ask her about it.

All my life I’ve always shared everything with my sister—the privilege, the power, and even the chance to marry men from the same social stratum. Men with loyal goons and a string of towns and cities to govern over.

My sister and I wanted to get married within the same week. We did not want to further delay the destined unification of powerful families, the manifestation of our legacy.

“Getting married within the same year is a bad omen. Bad luck will plague your younger sister, and your fates will be loomed with disaster.”

I never did mind sharing things with my sister, we’ve been doing it our entire lives. Sharing half the devil’s luck is not an exception, even if the wedding bells tolled the tunes of death.

What can bad luck do in the faces of those powerful enough to change the fate of others and their own?

All my life I’ve always shared everything with my sister—hobbies, types in men, and even academic standing. We loved country hopping, riding on jet planes, and splurging on jewelry. We also loved our fair share of high-profile personalities, legislators, statesmen, the usual.

Our Lola always told us to enjoy our life to the fullest because not everyone is handed with the same deck of cards as us, so why should we deny ourselves these simple pleasures?

We weren’t the sharpest tools in the shed but everyone told us our family name could carry us through the thick and thins of life. Our family is self-sufficient, if you consider public service and diplomacy to be exactly that.

My sister and I reveled in the power our family name held, we were a dynasty of political royals sitting on ivory thrones, and people of this country bow at the mere mention of our moniker. I guess this is the legacy Lola was talking about.

“Only marry men like your grandfather and father to continue our legacy.”

For the first time, my sister and I did not share the same circumstances. As I watched the television flash splotches of red from the scene of the crime, my blood ran cold and my breath was caught in my throat.

“A newly-wed, suspected, narco-politician was caught in a crossfire on what seems to be a planned drug raid after husband reports her drug deals.”

The news report blasted through the speakers like the ringing of sirens in bomb shelters. Something was out of place. My sister was an angel, she would never dare do this. Unless…it was all staged.

I never really believed in silly superstitions, but when the ominous toll of the bells started syncing with every drop of my sweat, I was pushed into a panicked state. I was next.

The metal sound of a cocked gun silenced the bells. It was behind me.

Is this the end of my legacy?

Illustration by Grace Gift T. Sumbi

Estrelya

Tula ni Loren Mae C. Ramirez

Guhit ni Alessandra S. Villaroya

Lingid sa aming kaalaman

Ika’y anak ng isang makapangyarihan

Ina mo’y isang ordinaryong mamamayan

Nagbunga ng tatlong paraluman.

Sa pag-aalala ng inyong Ama

Kayo’y isinama sa pagitan ng langit at lupa.

Binigyan ng pagkakataong maghari

Sa buwan, araw, at mga tala.

Ikaw na diyosa ng mga bituin ang gusto kong kaibiganin

'Pagkat ika’y nagsisilbing ilaw sa daan kong madilim.

Naghango man sa maraming panitikan

Hindi ka nagbabago noong una kitang nasilayan.

Ako nama’y nasasabik sa pagsapit ng gabi

Paano kasi, sa aming paghimlay ika’y nakaronda,

Na para bang kami’y mga hari at reyna

Binabantayan hanggang sa pagsapit ng umaga.

Sa pagbaba ng araw, liwanag mo'y muling nagniningning

Sa mga mata kong kayumanggi at liwanag sa dilim

Ang iyong mga tala’y nagsisilbing hangarin na nais kong abutin

Hanggang sa mga palad ko’y kusang bumitiw sa pagtitiim.

Mahal kong tala, huwag ka sanang datnan ng kahinaan

Magbanta man ang bagyo at unos, ilahad mo ang iyong kaliwanagan

Pagkat sa iyo kami mananatiling nakatanaw

Hanggang sa kami’y nakahimlay sa ilalim na anim na talampakan.

Memento mori: Memento vivere

Illustration by Trisha Kate V. Escalante

Illustration by Grace Gift T. Sumbi

Reapers of the Night

Poetry by Shalghney Balangyao

When twilight breaks and the night falls, Mist of shadows lurks behind dark halls. Into the infinite darkness of the woods, Dark creatures scavenge for goods.

As the moon enshrouds the clear skies, Splitting her body and then she flies. Wrapped in cloak of darkness, she hunts then lays, Prepping her teeth to lurch for the prey.

Under the sweet ode of a baby’s cry, They will lure you with a sweet disguise. Longing for someone they’ll meet, When picked up, they ditch their treat.

Endless screams of terror tear the night, Fresh sheets of poison tinged with fright. Enchanted beauty of splendor clad in white, Behold, beautiful maidens of great delight.

Promises of treasures, heed no attention, These mythical souls pride their prized collection. Souls of the living stolen into possession, Leaving lives of sorrow with no redemption.

In the dead of the night, these creatures appear, Concealed in sight, they wreak havoc all year. Unlocking the obsidian chamber of terror, Ravishing at the musical screams of your horror.

Whispers of the unsung songs of the dead, Take your feet to the nearest shed. Be wary of monsters underneath your bed, Hide as the reapers paint the night red.

The Other Side

Prose by Frances Ann C. Nolasco

Thieving, wicked, and selfish moon-eater— these are what I am known for. I was the serpent-like dragon who ate the moons, the monster who selfishly wished to have them all.

It’s true. But not entirely, though.

You see, I am the god of the underworld. I live in the deepest oceans, in the darkest caves, in the hottest floors. Everything that lies beneath the Earth is my home, my responsibility.

Just as Bathala created the seven moons, my world’s sweet silence turned into cries of havoc. The soil shook, the oceans got furious, and the volcanoes spat a taste of hell.

The moons above were too powerful to handle for the world below. Something had to be done–even sacrificed.

Enraged by envy I was not, but by the love I had for my home. As much as I adored the moons’ magnificence, beneath such beauties was the agony unseen.

You were on the other side of the war. You only witnessed the deceitful beauty of the surface, not the screams that were silenced.

I’m sorry for being the cause of all your grumbling. Forgive me, for I had to stop my world from crumbling.

Dearest humankind, I didn’t take away your light. I never wanted to dim your world. I had to save mine.

Centuries after centuries later, I continue to wonder. What if I didn’t swallow the moons at all?

Maybe the night would be brighter seven times more. Maybe the name Bakunawa wouldn’t horrify your ears.

Nevertheless, I hold no regrets. If it means keeping the underworld at rest, I’d do it a thousand times again. Undoubtedly.

Someone had to stand up. Someone had to be the villain. Only death can pay for life, they say. And in the death of my name, my world would feel alive.

When the waters from the heavens fall, when the wind whistles like a bird, and when the lone moon brightens at night, I hope you remember my name.

As you pass on this tale, I hope you tell my side of the story.

Illustration by Grace Gift T. Sumbi

The Devil Weeps

Poetry by Lorenza Marie G. Deada

In the middle of the night, as I pretend to cry, I lure all these unfortunate passersby.

Disguised in the form of an innocent baby Is a vicious monster you’ll never foresee.

On their dire straits, I suddenly come around. I show up and pretend to care To be in that position I crave.

Going around various lands, People applaud the false hope I hand. Pretending to be someone I’m not To reclaim the power I had planned.

Faking everything I am Into something they want. People taking the bait in a snap; Their own gullibilty is their trap.

Seeking for their support, As they go around to seek my help. A false hope I provided; A false hope they believed.

In the middle of this chaos as I pretend to care, I make sure to deceive my prey. Disguised in the form of a helpless baby Is a dangerous creature who will betray.

Segunda Mano

Prosa ni Isvhar Jake L. Magcanam

Guhit ni Mauries Jan-Ace M. Avenio

Sa aking pagbalik-tanaw, nakatatak pa rin sa kasaysayan ang sumpang ‘di nabubura ng kahit anumang pilit pagbago ng simula.

Ako si Juan, isa sa mga kabataang nahumaling sa pagkolekta ng antigong bagay. Nakaugalian na ng aming pamilya ang ganitong hilig, at hindi maiwawaglit na nakuha ko ito mula sa aking ama, hanggang sa kaugat-ugatan ng aming pamilya.

Sa angkan na aking kinabibilangan, dugo nila ang dumadanak sa aking kalamnan at wari ko'y umalala sa kanilang mga tinuran. Sumpa sa wangis ng isang bitag kung maituturing ang aking pagsasatao sa gawain ng aking pamilya. Naligwa't galing sa iba, ipinamana sa'yo.

Gusto kong puntahan ang mga taong naging sanhi ng aming pagyaman at isaisahin silang bigyan ng isang mahigpit na alamano. Hindi man halata, ngunit maraming antigong bagay ang masisilayan sa aking silid. Lahat ay pamana ng aking mga magulang noong panahong makapangyarihan pa ang aking ama sa taong 1965 hanggang 1986.

Dalawampu’t isang taon din kaming nabubuhay na walang masyadong sakit na iniinda. Mayroong biyaya na nakukuha ang aking ama, kahit na walang pawis na ipinusta. Dikta roon, dikta rito, ‘yan ang tanging trabaho niya. Ang sarap sa buhay, hindi mo na kailangan magsunog ng kilay upang mayroong maihahain sa hapag. Hanggang sa kasalukuyan dama ko pa ang yaman na inyong hatid sa aming pamilya.

Ngayon, panahon ko na. Ako naman ang gagawa ng paraan para maibalik ang dating gawi ng aming pamilya. Pilit kong aabutin ang upuan na nagbibigay ng kapangyarihan, upang makamtan muli

Bibbidi Bobbidi Boo

Graphic Manipulation by Charles Owen G. Apostol

Huwag Tularan!

Prosa ni Cresmarie Felmar T. Villarin Obra ni Rainaia Gem E. Leyson

Nagsimula ang lahat sa isang madugong patayan. Parang bulang nawala ang pangarap at pag-asa ng isang indibidwal na ang tanging hangad ay serbisyo at pagmamahal para sa sarili at bayan. Hindi na pinag-aksayahan ng oras ang tila palaisipan na krimeng nangyari. Nagkabuhol-buhol na imbestigasyong nagbunga ng pagsasawalang bahala sa kaso. Inayos na lang ang lamay at libingan, na siyang huling hantungan ng kaibigan kong si Ted.

Sa isang makulimlim na gabi, mga bisita ay hindi inaasahan. Itim at puti, puti at itim. Ang dalawa sa kulay na dapat sana ay suot-suot ng mga bisita. Napagawi ako at tumingin sa kabilang banda ng lugar. Pula, berde, rosas, at asul. Paano ba nahaluan ng iba’t ibang kulay ang taimtim na pagtitipon para sa kaluluwang ipinagdarasal?

May kaniya-kaniyang pinagkakaabalahan ang mga bisitang puslit. Nakipagkamayan, nag-abot ng abuloy sa naulilang pamilya, at nakipag-usap sa mga tao sa paligid. Parang pamilyar ang mga imaheng ito sa publiko, na lumalabas lamang sa kanilang lungga upang mag pakitang-tao at aalis kaagad upang makatakas sa kaluluwang sakim sa hustisya.

“Maghunos-dili kayo!”

Galit na sigaw ni Nanay Delia nung nakita niya ang ginawang kalapastangan ng mga bisita sa lamay ng kaniyang anak. Dali-daling tumayo ang mga ito at lumapit paisa-isa sa matanda. Mga salitang pangako para sa hustisya, kaakibat ng sinseridad ng tono, ngunit buwayang luha ang huling kasangkapan na kukompleto sa rekados na inihanda. Nagpaalam at hindi na lumingon pa sa himlayan ni Ted, upang makapagpagpag sa kasinungalingang dala-dala.

Napailing na lang ako at tumingin sa aking orasan. Ikawalo ng Mayo ang petsa noong gabing iyon.

"Ah, kaya pala…"

Boulevard of Hopes

Streets rustled paupers

Despair famished innocence

The urge to survive

Soles of Survival

Too long at life’s feet

To ever look up and far

But only a dream

Photo by Zavia Angelene C. Tuzara

Haiku by Chelsea S. Candidato

Photo by Jhan Clair N. Sta. Cruz

Haiku by Nisandrei V. Cañizares

31,629,781

31,629,782

31,629,783

Unending Terrors on the Orient Pearl

Prose by Rochyne Daphne Kate P. Sapio Pixel Art by Bob Andrie C. Igot

15,035,771

15,035,772

15,035,773

I was awoken by the noise outside my window—people were shouting cathartic screams, singing, and waving pink flags on the streets, celebrating the win of the third female and seventeenth president of the country.

People were ecstatic, eyes glistening with tears, and faces gleaming with happiness as the news dawned upon them.

We won.

We chose better. Finally, a leader we deserve; a president with a heart to serve the countrymen, especially the marginalized.

The day was vivid like a ray of hope had just enveloped the whole country, and it felt like home for the first time in many years.

I was awoken by a bright night light outside of my window. It is still the middle of the night; dark and cold like most December nights and like most days since last the May fight.

You'd think that after six years of torment, we'd learn to never fall prey to deceiving words with no action. But we all fell into the trap of a weak and coward prey disguised as a mighty king of the jungle.

We did not chose better.

Reality had slapped me back into this dark and twisted world—one where yet another man takes hold of our country.

Here I thought we could finally be free but it seems like we're stuck in a never-ending loop of terror, bound to make the same mistakes over and over again.

Myths by the Shore

Poetry by Gwyneth O. Delorino Illustration by Andrea Mae C. Layon

You’ll see it in her crimson eyes, As she delves into the secrets of the universe. Lost connections while wandering, When the deep’s surface has shrouded in darkness.

You’ll see it in her temple, Taking on a strange form. Like a glare, she flaunts her body, Made to make a grown man cry, loathing in turmoil.

You’ll see it in her silence, She seemed to be rejecting her reality. Before Pangea, hiding beneath places: Do you hear her throb?

You’ll see it in her skin, The roughness and the scales Come with an overwhelming baggage That she must carry through to live.

BABAyanihan

Blood Art by Justine Y. Toñacao

epilogue

The flickering spark has ignited into a promising tomorrow, from a place where thoughts aglow with fervor flames. Forevermore, the light shines the brightest in the dusk of night.