To the Lost Works

The lost work is a child that has died. He hasn’t seen the world; no one has seen the world of the lost work.

Either caught in a mishap of improper keeping or by intention, it vanished in an instant, it is needless to mention how it was sought, how it was missed.

Where are they headed? Even the mind-womb which created it, conceived it, birthed it, and moulded it, cannot track it even in feeling and in memory.

The words sown from nothingness were returned to nothingness. Isn’t this a cause for celebration? However, we will never again be able to relish the bliss of being with it. The solace it gives us, goes away too when they are gone. With the disappearance of the affirmation of our being here, it feels we have never been.

Is there someone reading the lost work in the other side of our experienced reality? What will declare that the lost was our handiwork? What will say that I have held a pen and wrote the piece? How can we discuss the idea that the work now floats in the void?

The work that was made and lost is now in where all that was never found are. The keeper of all that was lost. Like courage or youth. Nothing can tell that these were once ours. Not even remembrance. Like our life which slowly wastes away. Until we can never remember if even our body was really here.

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PARA SA MGA NAWARANG OBRA

Arog kan aking nagadan an nawarang obra. Dai pa nahiling kan kinaban; an kinaban kan nawarang obra dai pa nahiling .

Nadiskwido sa salang pagsaray o tuyong bigla na sanang napara, dai na kaipuhan osipon kun pano hinanap, pano hinidaw.

Pasain na an mga ini? Dawa an matris-isip na nagmukna, nagbados, buda naghulpot, naghaman, dai na masusog dawa sa pagmati buda pagrumdom.

An mga taramon na tinukdol sa kawaran nai-uli sa kawaran. Bakong garo magayon na okasyon? Iyo sana an, dai ta na masasapar gilayon an ogma pagkairiba ini. An pigtatao kaini satuyang kamugtakan, pagdai na sinda garo nawawara naman. Apirmasyon kan pagigi tang yaon—pagnapara na, garo dai man kita nagin.

May nagbabasa daw kan nawawarang obra sa balyo kan nasasapar na reyalidad? Ano an mataram na hale sa kamot ko an obrang wara na? Ano an mataram na igwa akong kamot na nagtubong ki panurat para hamanon su obra? Pano matutukar an ideya na an obra yaon na pataw-pataw sa kawaran?

An obrang nahaman, nawara, yaon na sa lugar kun sain an gabos na dai na nakua yaon. An sarayan kan mga bagay na nawara. Arog kan isog o kaakian. Wara nang mataram na nagin satuya an mga ini. Dawa pagrumdom. Arog kan buhay tang diit-diit naaatas. Sagkod sa dai na marumduman kun an lawas tang ini yaon talaga digdi.

An Dalan kan Sinayumahan

Hunaon ta an hurop-hurop kan sinayumahan, mantang pigdadara kaini an sadiri sa ulian.

Hihidalion niya an paghali sa pinangyarihan, kun hain an saiya nagpahali; muya niyang masampot tulos an sarong sirungan.

Mala sa gubot na dai niya masabutan sa laog, muya niyang masampot tulos an madali masabot.

An hurop-hurop kan sinayumahan, hunaon ta, mantang sa madiklom na agihan pigmamati niya an dalan. Sa saiyang timak saralak an gapo buda awot, pero anas panas an saiyang namit, an saiyang tanda, puros tunok.

Sa pandong kan mga patente kan banggi an brilyanteng nabibilog sa saiyang mata pigrarayo niya an silyab.

Pigtatais an saiyang lambang lakad kan tarom kan tipak na mga batiris. Pigsususog niya sa batak sa paril an pasa sa saiyang laog.

Dawa anong dali-dali, halaba ining banggi arog kan pagtagbo kan dai na makakaagi. Dai tulos matatapos an muya nang matapos, dulo na maduso an haldat na pigtitios.

An muyang lingawan lalo an linaw sa piyong, sa diklom dulo an libong, dulo an pagtalibong sa puon.

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The Way of the Rejected

Let us approximate the thoughts of the rejected, as he carries himself home.

Quickly, he will leave the place where it happened, the place where the one who left is in; he wants to arrive at a shelter immediately.

Because inside is a tangle he cannot undo, he likes to quickly reach something easy to know.

Let us approximate the thoughts of the rejected, while in the dark path he feels for the way. In his every step stones and grass combine, but all he can taste is sharpness, all he remembers are thorns.

Under the canopy of night lights, he veils the brilliance of the gem that is forming in his eyes.

His every step is grounded by the blade of broken pebbles; he traces in the concrete cracks the shards within him.

No matter how he hastens, the night is long like meeting one who will not arrive. What is brought to a stop hurriedly will not end, the sting of injuries will ache more while suffered.

The clarity of what is to be forgotten intensifies in the closing of eyes, perplexity increases in the darkness, one circles around the beginning even more.