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.

Share your Comments or Reactions

comments

Powered by Facebook Comments