Kabataa’y minsan lamang kung dumalaw,
Kaligayaha’t halakhaka’y umaalingawngaw
Oras ay tumatakbo
singbilis ng tibok ng puso

Oras ang kumakain sa tanan
Pagbabago’y siyang tahanan
Paglayo’y di man dama
Agwat ay di kayang hilai’t isama

Noon at ngayong panahon
Kayo’y narito, ako’y naroon
Aking nasilaya’y di niyo maikukumpara
Sa inyong mundong bumubungad sa tuwina

Pangaral ay mano po at opo
Pagluhod sa butyl ng monggo
Pag uwi bago ang ala-sais
Mga tamis anghang na pulang dilis!

Pag-akyat ng matarik na bundok
Tuhod na kung lakas sumuntok
Kalarong di makatiis
Sa pagtakbo’y humahagibis

Langit, lupa, mahuli ang taya,
Sing saya tuwing gunita.
Paglalaro ng apir-apiran at teks,
Ice tubig, sili…. Ngeks!

Ganyan ang aming buhay noon
Nakasakay sa ulap nang mga hamon
Kayo ngayo’s nasaan,
Mga batang sa ami’y nakipaghalinhinan?


Kompyuter, telebisyon, at Nintendo Wii,
Cellphone at iPad para sa sarili
Sining ng pagtula’t musika,
Nakaliligtaan na!

Sa mga mata ng panahon,
Makikita ang salamin ng kahapon
Di man naabot ng inyong kamalayan
Sapat nang silipin ang nakaraan

Inyong panaho’y ‘wag sayangin
Darating din ang araw ng mabilis na hangin
Magdadala sa inyo sa malayong himpapawirin
At nakaraa’y inyong lubos na nanaisin.

Sng oras ay oras,
Sa kanya, tayo’y patas
Sa buhay, tayo’y maglalaro
Sa kanyang mga hintuturo.

Lahat ng nawala sa dagat ng panahon,
Kailanma’y din a ibabalik pa ng mga alon
Mga isda nga’y nagpapailalim
Kaya’t marahas na kinabukasa’y wag suungin

Magngyari’t lasapin ang halakhakan,
Takbuhan sa piling ng mga kaibigan
Wag sayangin sa pagkukulong
sa mundo ng pag-ibig, gadgets at pagsulong!

sat on a rattan chair, my little self once posed a question to my late great-grandmother with dementia
“why was i named after a saint?”

“francis, that is to protect you from the threat of carbines and tanks that the hapons toy against us, filipinos.” she spoke like i’ve been warned.

then i remembered my half-japanese friend whose brain akin to a monggo bean.

i did not believe her.

how could i believe when my friend couldn’t learn my mother tongue?

fifteen years later, i learned that my late great-grandmother used to cover her visage with thick talcum, pretending as geisha to trick the makapilis

the makapilis were filipinos who sided with the japanese.
but they were worse.
they would bang your heads with their blood-stained fists if you refuse to speak the whereabouts of a guerilla’s leader.

guised as a geisha, my late great-grandmother would lure a makapili to her home. there, she would cut his throat with a dagger and let the makapili suffer in a pool of blood.

“if you love this country, that is how you cleanse it—eliminate the ones who betray it.” she once told my mother.

often, i think about her.

all along, my late great-grandmother had been warning us—it is not always the outsiders who will hurt you, sometimes it is the ones who reside with you in the same village, same home, or share your blood.

and that would hurt a lot akin to a gunshot piercing through your waist

you must always be prepared for such treachery, like a warrior who is always ready to draw a mighty dagger from her scabbard to expel those who opt to betray her and her land.