By Virginia Jasmin Pasalo

 

WRITTEN eight years ago, on April 27 2016, under circumstances of remembrance. Some memories recede in the backwater of our mind, whether we accept it or not, and when we remember them, it is not always with the accuracy with which we first remembered them last. They come alive with each retelling, with a different face, a different circumstance, but with the same pain. Acceptance becomes ingrained in the heart.

Pirdona

Nu umpawil ka’d siak, lamet
Lukasan koý pwirta
Awaten koý rosas ya bitbit na limam
tan dildilan koý dala’d tamorom
ya asugat na sabit
angga’d nasusop kon amin su sakit
kaibaý dala’n onaagos
manlapud aralem a saksak, diad nonot mo

Gabay ko’y mila ed sika
pian ipanengneng ko raý rosas a balang
ya onaabet ed agew diad kabuasan,
a manggagawaý posion
para’d saray bayaung,
a mangipapaway na alingernger
a milmila’d mapalnan dagem
diad pasen a sikatan dua’y makaamta,
sakey ya ampetang a labi, ed bektan
asabi taý sangkatageyan a pantok
na duyaw a bulan

Forgiveness

If you come to me, again
I would open the door
take the flowers from your hands
and lick the blood from your finger
pricked by the thorns
till all the pain is sucked away
with the blood that still runs
from a deep stab, in your memory

I would like to go out with you
and show you the wildflowers
reaching out to the sun
in the morning, creating potions
for the bees, emitting essences
carried by the soft breeze
to a place we have known,
one summer night, a time when
we have reached the highest peak
of the yellow moon

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