G Spot
Timmikyab laý inarom
By Virginia J. Pasalo
unsasayaw ka la lamet, diad pegley na masile-sileng
ya bulo-bulong na dalipawen ya abong yon nen saman
ed si inarom
unla ka ed siak, kinabuasan, mangakansiyon
maniilalon walay ebat ed lanang ya tepet, “Kulaan to?”
say ebat ko pareho, wadman
ed pasen ya agda la nakena’y
laman ton gabay to ni’y untekyab
usaren to ‘ra ‘ma’y apiley ton payak
et wadia kala lamet, kinabuasan
sasalien mon talusan so apiley met ya istoryak
no antoý agawa, tan kulaan toý inarom
narerengel ta ka
narerengel taka ya singa panagdengel ko
ed emel kon ermen
Your Beloved Had Flown
You are dancing again in between the shimmering leaves
of the dalipawen, once a love nest for you
and your beloved
you come to me , each morning, with a song
asking me the same question, “Where is she?”
my answer is the same, she is somewhere
where no stone can no longer be aimed
against her frail body, still wanting to soar
with her broken wings.
and you come again, each morning
trying to piece together my broken story
about what happened,
and where your beloved had gone.
I hear you now
as loud as my own muted sorrow.
Note: Inspired by the true story of Tatay, who one day, aimed at a green Indian mango, but hit instead a bird in flight. Burdened by his deep guilt he buried the bird under the dalipawen tree, where two wild birds regularly came home to roost. Then he noticed that one of the two birds did not come home to the dalipawen. He realized that the missing bird was the one he buried under the tree. Wondering where the other bird was, the bird who came back sang, a plaintive song, different from the joyful chirps both birds used to sing. My father knew instinctively, and understood the sadness. He would explain to this bird every day, his broken story, which the bird did not seem to believe, because he comes back each morning, singing the same sad song.
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