from "Melismas" by Marlon Hacla - Words Without Borders

This body, stuffed with nightmares
a nesting ground for hawks, swollen
with intractable blues, if only I could solicit
a new shape for you, if only you would scintillate
like a word.

–

Flanked in the middle of three sharp cops,
a rose of the purest red,
the gleaming points of sharp thorns.

–

Song that begets all
songs, haunts the ensuing
cult of the carillon. There’s the tolling for
the arrival of the one who would clothe us with opulence.
But, is the time right? What
are the things we need to prepare?

–

Table carton canned lettuce tool soup with liturgy
there is a knife there is a sign of your slow slide into smallness
small engine small calendar small sound metaphor.

–

Since it is once more the season of thorns,
the children are yet again wounded.
And, in the absence of inclement weather,
rooms begin to dance, books
fling themselves wildly
across the floor.
Towards the end, lives are improved,
wounds dry up fast
despite the humid heat. The memories
have already settled down as wall pictures.

This body, stuffed with nightmares
a nesting ground for hawks, swollen
with intractable blues, if only I could solicit
a new shape for you, if only you would scintillate
like a word.

–

Flanked in the middle of three sharp cops,
a rose of the purest red,
the gleaming points of sharp thorns.

–

Song that begets all
songs, haunts the ensuing
cult of the carillon. There’s the tolling for
the arrival of the one who would clothe us with opulence.
But, is the time right? What
are the things we need to prepare?

–

Table carton canned lettuce tool soup with liturgy
there is a knife there is a sign of your slow slide into smallness
small engine small calendar small sound metaphor.

–

Since it is once more the season of thorns,
the children are yet again wounded.
And, in the absence of inclement weather,
rooms begin to dance, books
fling themselves wildly
across the floor.
Towards the end, lives are improved,
wounds dry up fast
despite the humid heat. The memories
have already settled down as wall pictures.

galing sa “Melismas”

Katawan na itong pinuno ng mga bangungot
pinugaran ng mga dumagat, namumukol
ng mga solidong kabughawan, kung maihihingi
lang sana kita ng bagong hubog, kung kikislap
ka lang sana na parang salita.

Sa gitna ng tatlong matutulis na pulis,
isang rosas na lantay ang kapulahan,
nagniningning ang tulis ng mga tinik.

Awit na nangunguna sa lahat
ng mga awit, nagmumulto ng mga alinsunurang
pagsamba sa mga kampana. Umaalingawngaw
ang pagdating ng magdadamit sa atin ng karangyaan.
Ngunit mainam ba ang panahon? Ano
ang mga dapat nating ihanda?

Mesa karton de-lata letsugas gaheto sopas na may liturhiya
may kutsilyo may sintomas na unti-unti ka nang lumiliit
munting motor munting kalendaryo munting simbolong tunog.

Dahil nagtaasan na naman ang mga tinik,
nasugatan na naman ang mga bata.
At dahil maginhawa ang panahon,
nagsayawan ang mga silid, inihagis
nang walang pakundangan ng mga libro
ang kanilang mga sarili sa sahig.
Sa dakong huli, mainam ang pamumuhay,
madaling natutuyo ang mga sugat
kahit pa maalinsangan. Ang mga alaala,
kuntento na sa pagiging mga larawan sa dingding.