Poetry
In the name of the mother,
and of the child,
of the Diwata and Paraluman
Lilia Quindoza-Santiago
I was an incomplete half when bom.
A wound whose healing is in the hand
Of the other half
Knifed by bird, burst forth from bamboo,
To the civilized world
My ignorant beauty is a displayed ware.
Without strength since time's very beginning.
l am a shadow that breaks
Between itself. Without trace.
I ride on the strides of Malakas.
My person is sundered by the field and the home.
Often, my voice floats in nothingness
According to the fathers
I nurture greatness. From my womb spring
the heroes of Mactan, Pugadlawin and Mendiola.
I embroidered the unfurled flag
I was comrade too, shielding bullets of war.
I am the diwata of every stmggle,
Paraluman of the revolution,
Lakambini of the Katipunan,
Muse of the insurrection,
Mutya of the people's war.
In my arms, the wounded are healed.
But I have no history.
I give birth but do not live. The rice I nourish pregnant,
The plants I mother healthy. The coconuts I grow tall,
The abaca I make strong the sugar I sweeten.
While I weave the nets
I invoke the kindness of the moon and wave
So the seafarer may be blessed.
I also court the rain and winds
So that the paddle and outrigger may guide ;
The catch towards the shore.
On my head I bear the burden of scarcity.
In fetching poverty, the pot breaks.
I take the sickle Wlien betrayal looms.
I put on sorrow over my head like a veil
When the season of plenty departs.
My hand ser\'es food
So the factory runs
My fists clench
The salary that is never enough.
I survive on rations and orations
So the strike may succeed.
All these have no signatures in memory.
So now, for instance,
I no longer am the "pearl of the orient seas"
Or a blessed virgin. Commerce is diving deep
Into my waters. Foreigners are trampling
On the entirety
Of my archipelago.
Must I go on straddling in the void?
I cannot forever be mere keeper of pillow and ladle.
I refuse to continue being a paramour in retreat zones.
I desire to heal the wound I was bom with,
Hold my own destiny, pull the trigger,
Break the silence of the century.
I will make a re-vision of memory.
I will metamorphose into a Babaylan
to sing songs to mothers whose voices were muffled.
I will name a kundiman of bullets
As a garland for martyred sisters. On the battlefield I will birth.
A thousand lullabyes for children of a liberated world.
So in the name of the mother.
In the name of the diwata and paraluman,
Shield me as I break away from my origins,
Bless my advance into the dense forests of ignorance,
Guide this fierce will to fight.
Now and at the hour of salvation.
Translated by Lina Sagaral Reyes
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babaylan - priestess
diwata- fairy
kundiman - love song
katipunan - Filipino guerilla movement during Spanish occupation
Lakambini - queen
Malakas - first man created on earth (based on the Filipino legend of the creation of the earth )
Mutya - beloved
paraluman - lady