Karanghan Poem by Jaime Jesus Borlagdan

Bulebard, ikang muymuyon na salog
ki gatas buda patenteng nakahungko,
ako ngonian kahurona.
Osipa sakuya, dalan kan banggi
an dago kan mga kabasan
na inilubong sa semento mong
sementeryo.
Minadaruydoy kang tanuson
sa daghan kan Panal buda Bombon
daing hungok an tuklang
kan saimong tagas, kan saimong bulos,
mga sikad kan rapak na sikad-sikad,
halak-hagak kan rogadong mga awto.
Arog kan hiro kan patubig
sa pahang mga paroy
pasiring sa maduging labogan
kan damulag,
kan mga suanoy na kaito
kan ratsada kan nag-oorogmang
mga para-oma.
An gabos na minahampang saimo, masapar
kan gabat kan kurtina kan gabos na anino.
Mala an makagirabong pagpamati
saimo nagpapasyar
pag naluluktusan kan pagreparo
sindang naggururang.
Kaya malaogon saimo an haya
kan mga ayam na namimibi,
nakakapabuskad ki barahibo,
nakakaulakit ki lungsi.

Dalan ka gayod pano
pasiring sa sarong panahon
na naghihibi.
Sa limpoy
kan saimong mga kahoy
an mga harong kan ngonian
dangan an tumatawong multo,
naghihimati.
Nangangagda an mga kamot
kan mga kurtinang puti,
pig-aapod an mga awot
sa sakuyang tikab
na sa mga nilubungan
kan nakaagi, tumalubo.
Duman ito sa mga payag
na itinindog kan marurugi,
sa panahon kan mga pagsulnop
na ihinigot kan mga orasyon, '
bagting kan alas-sais,
pangadyion.

Halas na rimuranon, malamti
sa hapiyap kan mga bitoon,
an mga hinalon mo
dai na mailuluwa,
an itataram mo halaba,
pinugol sa tampi
kan piniripit mong dila
sa saimong karatan, silot iyan
saimo kan kinaban.

Magtaram ka ngonian,
pigsusugo taka.
Dai na pagtipaya
ta dakop ko naman sana
an paggumos kan saimong pandok.
Hali sa dai mapahungok mong lawas,
lumuwas ka.
Sa mga badong isinulot mo
sanlia an saimong kapinunan.
Mari digdi sa taning ko
ta dai akong aram.
Osipani daw ako kan kaito
kan ika sarabaton
kan mga bolang kalayo,
kan mga pading daing payo.

Hunyo 14 2004 Karangahan

English:

Boulevard, you forlorn river
of milk and downcast lights
speak to me now.
Tell me, path of night
the moan of ricefields
buried under your concrete crypts.
You dribble unbrokenly
along the chest of Panal and Bombon
restless is the push
of your hardness, of your flow,
pedalings of the worn out pedicabs,
croaks of tired vehicles.
Like the motion of irrigation
to the thirsty palay
toward the muddy soak-bath
of carabaos,
of the ancient long time agos
of the merry-making farmer's wit.
All those that face you, will suffer
the weight of the curtain of all shadows.
For a chilly presence
in you strolls
whenever the aging
are overlooked.
That's why in you loaded are the howling
of dogs in prayer,
hair-raising,
pale-infecting.

Perhaps because you are a path
toward a time
that mourns.
Under the shade
of your trees
the houses of the present
and their tenant ghosts
are listening.
The arms of the white curtains
are beckoning, calling the weed
in my chest to spring
to the graves of the past.
These are in the huts
erected by bamboos
during the time of sunsets
tightened by chants
chiming of the six o' clock bell,
prayer.

Venomous serpent, ghastly
with the caress of the stars,
what you have swallowed
cannot be spat out
what you want to say is long,
restrained at the tip
of your twisted tongue
for your sins, this is a penalty
to you by the world.

Speak now
I command you.
No need to turn your face
for I have already caught
its crumpling.
Out of your restless body,
step out.
Of the clothes you have worn
wear your origin.
Come to my side
for I know nothing.
Tell me of the past
when you are prone
to balls of fire
and headless priests.