An Tindera / The Storekeeper Poem by Jaime Jesus Borlagdan

Ano an nasa mata kan tindera
sa laog kan rehas na iskrin?
Su pigmamawot daw
kan gabos na paratinda—
kwarta? Bako man gayod
saiya an tindahan na ito.
Saka aram niyang pano na
an kaha. Pero kaipuhan
niyang maghalat. Ibahan
an mga panindang dai pwedeng
mawalat. Baka nalaom siya.
Pero kasubago binuksan niya su pinto,
may tinapok sa basurahan.
Naghiling-hiling pa ngani
sa tinampo, nagpahuruhayahay
sa paros kan kaskas
kan mga awtong pasiring sa kun sain.
Huna ko bumalyo siya sa tinampo,
pero uminatras, luminaog giraray
dai nang luwas-luwas.

Dangan, huni na naman siya nakatanaw sa luwas.
Ano man an saiyang pighihiling—
su bakanteng loteng kadlagan
na nagsasabing bawal magtapok ki basura?
Dawa nasa hampang, dai niya naman ini nahihiling.

Kun may parokyanong minahaloy
para sa halipot na huron
ihapot niya pirmi ini kun mapasain.
An iba sa mga harayo maduman.
Gurano karayo, lampas sa arog kaining lugar, mahapot siya.
Lampas pa sa luminampas diyan,
masimbag sinda. Nata, maiba ka?
Rumdumon nindo
ta nag-ulok naman kita ki arog kaini
kun masimbag siya kan pirmi niyang pigtataram:
Dai— tama na ako digdi.

Pirmi sa sarong paaram iwalat an tindera.
An saiyang mata arog an paghagad
kan sarong dai nakakasawod.
Pero aram niya na dai man maitatao,
dai niya man maaako.
Ibayaan siya kairiba
an mga panindang dai puwedeng bayaan.

Sa likod kan pahaling mga nakahuron
nahihiling niya an saiyang buhay—
naglalapag. Pig-aagda siya kaini
pasiring sa mga lugar
na muya niyang maduman—sa lugar
na siya an pigbabantayan, may kantidad;
siya an pighahagadan ki mga istorya
kan mga nabayaan—an saiyang buhay, parayo saiya
muyang mawara.

English:

What is in the eyes of the storekeeper
inside the screen cage?
That which all storekeepers desire—
money? But I don't think
the store is hers.
And she knows that the cash box
is already full. But she has to
wait. Attend to
the goods that shouldn't be
left alone. Perhaps she's locked up.
But awhile ago she opened the door,
threw something to the trash.
She even looked around
by the roadside, refreshing herself
with the breeze made by speed
of passing cars heading someplace.
I thought she'd cross the street
but she retreated, went back inside
and stayed there.

Then here she is again looking out
What could she be staring at—
the empty lot of grass
which says don't throw your garbage here?
Even right in front of her, she could no longer see this.

Whenever there are costumers lingering
for a short chat
she'd ask always where they are going.
Some to far places.
How far, beyond this certain place
she'd inquire.
Beyond the place, beyond that certain place,
they'd answer. Why do you wanna come?
Let's not forget
for we've also smiled like this
each time she replies what she always say:
No—I am fine here.
Always with a permission to leave the storekeeper is left.
Her eyes are like the begging
of one who can't pronounce.
And she knows it can never be granted
she'll never be able to accept.
She's left with the goods
which should never be left alone.

Behind those leaving costumers she'd talked with
she can see her life—
tagging along. It is beckoning her
towards the places
she desires—in the places
where she is the one being kept, has a price;
she is the story teller
for the abandoned—her life, moving away from her
wanting to vanish.