Treasure Island

Jaime Jesus Borlagdan

(March 6,1979 / Tabaco City, Albay, Philippines)

Sarong Mainit na Aldaw / A hot day


Dakol an naghahagad kan aldaw
na magin arog kaini.
Ini an minapabulawan sa mga tinampo
sa pigbabalad na ani, an minaparambong
kan mga halayhayan sa mga dinurumog
sa paglaba, an minapadagos sa pagbuhos
ki tulang sa mga paa kan mansiyon
na pigtatapos, an minasibot sa sadiyot
na bagting kan pigtitindang palipot.

Gari ka naghihiling
sa bintanang malinawon an salming.
Gari kita pigpapahiling:

Su liwanag arog kan init
na nagmukna sa kinaban.
Hali digdi minahugpa an linaw
sa mga itsura. Rirawon.
Garo ritratong ikinurit ki tarom.

Namamate ko su nahiling ko: Pigsasapna kita—
piggigibo giraray.

Hali satuya minaluwas
an hilaw na lawas—
na nagkurubong sa diklom
sa itsura kan tubig
na natipon sa malipot na panahon.
Siring man sa irarom kan arik-arik
muyang pumaknit kan gayon
hali sa mga dai narereparo
dangan magturon-turon
sa dagang mainiton—sarong sayaw
ki pagpamidbid: Hilinga, huni kami

Hilinga, ta parakua man an init na ini.
An ragit arog an dagit
kan pagbawi. Ano an pigbabawi?
Kalumuyan. Pigbabalik an tagas
sa kinaban nganing mabuhang
mawaran ki kupot
arog kan minapasang marang daga.
Hali digdi makaluwas daw an pisog
kan kapinunan?

Pigbabalo kita kun sagkod sain
an kayang itao. An gibuhon giraray kita
bakong arog kaini kundi daing natok na mga gapo—
magin kaarog kan pigtatangad na mga lawas
na daing digta—purong enerhiya! —
mga lansang buda yelong pataw-pataw
sa kahewasan.

*
Sa kahaluyan
arog kan bagang kinaon kan sadiring isog
suminibog na su init
pasiring sa saiyang kapinunan na rarom—
sa lugar na pigtalikudan kan mga bulod—sa diklom—

o kita an nagrayo sa pagkadaog. Makakarayo daw kita?
Ta dai pa tapos—ta daing kasagkodan—an talimon
ta sa kalayo, sa init na garo dagit, na garo pagkamuot,
na minagibo satuya,
na minaraot satuya.

English:

Many are praying
for a day to be like this.
This turns the roads
golden with the drying harvest,
the clothes line abundant with the washed dripping wet,
this resumes the laying down
of bones to the legs of the unfinished mansion,
excites the tiny ringing of the peddled chill.

It's as if you're looking
through a clear glass-window.
It's like we are being made to look:

The brightness is like the heat
which created the world.
From this, clarity descends
upon the forms: sharply.
Like a picture drawn by a blade.

I am feeling what I am seeing: We are being cooked—
recreated.

From us steps out
the unripe body—
hiding in the dark
in the form of water
accumulated during cold days.
Likewise under the intense heat
Beauty yearns to rip away
from the un-noticed
and hop around—a dance
of introduction: Look, here we are

See, for this heat's also a taker.
The severity is like the rage
of redemption. What is being reclaimed?
Softness. Hardness is being restored
to divide the world
to lose its bond
like smashing dry soil.
From this, will the seed of origin
step out?

We are being tested up to where
we can give. To make us again
not like this but sapless stones—
to be like those stainless bodies
we look at skyward—pure energy! —
steel and ice which float
in space.
*
Eventually
like the ember devoured by its ferocity
the light-heat receded
to the depth where it began—
in the place where mountains have turned their backs—to the dark—

or was it us who retreated in defeat. How far
can we run?
For it isn't over—for it is without end—our orbit
around the fire, around the heat which is like anger, which is like love
which creates us
which destroys us.

Submitted: Wednesday, February 18, 2009

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