Extra Buttered Bulb RICE

Oo PAPA, maghapong pagtitiyaga sa pagtatanim

“Huwag kang magsayang, maraming di kumakain”

Ngunit naisip mo ba kung bulsa nila’y may laman rin?

Sa ibang bansa, pagsasaka ay itinuro natin

Sila ngayo’y yumayabong, kumpara sa atin

Bakit mga magsasaka nila ay tila yayamanin

Ngunit salat at di pansin, dito sa bansa natin

Awa mo’y di kailangan, kundi iyong pandinig

Alam mo bang palay ay mura kung sa kanila’y bibilhin

Extra rice, binebentang bigas na sinaing

Doble ang kamahalan kumpara sa kanilang kikitain

Pakinggan mo nawa ito’ng munting tagubilin

Ubusin mo sa hapag ang aning iyong naging kanin

Isipin mo nalang bawat butil ay tig-singkong duling

At kung iyong itatapon, sila ay agrabyado rin

By: Gregorio Lugay III

I feel my fingers traveling to my throat, slowly redeeming the strips of a red bulb, and a slice of its familiar taste. I just choked. Its flavor departed like a man hanging on a rope.

My time on cutting it to pieces, and breaking its soul is now just a legend. It used to fight me with its scent, made me cry. Innocent in my eyes, but I killed it with my knife.

I must have hurt it well. It is gone now. Untouchable from my own motives and desires. So, I tried to do it to myself like walking in wires. I offered my body to the fires.

I shed my own skin like how I used to touch the onion’s skin. The color of my blood relived its memory, but I felt it sting. It must be the onion’s revengeful thing.