Yosi Boy

His legs were as thin as bamboo stilts propped on putrid waters,
His skin as dark as burnt clay,
His gait unsteady,
His face impassive as the late afternoon traffic passed him by.

I gazed in mock pity
As his dirty hands touched the glass window,
His eyes pleading,
The boy who sold cigarettes on Avenida begged for a bite of my burger.

Photo: Sidney Snoeck of My Sari-Sari Store

The Hanged Man

The Hanged Man

by Thad Hinunangan

I hang beneath these gallows
Naked and wounded,
I bid thee to ease my pain.
The wintry air chills my bones
And the moon mocks my misery.

Oh, how I ache for you.
Wash my wounds,
Take me into your arms,
And comfort me.

The hour is late,
And the birds have ceased to sing.
There is only silence,
And darkness.

Under the fading stars
I tremble.
I whisper your name
On my last breath,
As I finally closed my eyes.

Kamingaw

Kakulop la adto
Sapit ko ikaw, ngan nag-istorya kita.
Pagmata ko kanina
Waray ka na.

Kanina, nagbaktas ako
Dida han kalsada nga nagsasanga.
Pinanmiling ko ikaw,
Pero waray ko ikaw makit-i.

Siguro gin mingaw la ako,
Han imo mga intrimes,
Mag-urupod kita hadto,
Gasi ko man dire ka malakat.

Pag hiling ko ngadto ha kaharayuan
Waray ka na.
Dapat dire na ako maghulat,
Kay maaram ako dire ka na mabalik.

Kami nga mga Waray-waray

Nasiring hira nga an mga waray-waray mag-isug,
Nga pirme nakikipag-away bisan kan kanay.
“Taga Leyte-Samar ka?” nasiring hiya,
“Haguy ka isog mo nala.”

Dako kuno an amon mga boses,
Nagpapanlalabaw nga baga't dalugdog.
Tapos pag-tawa namon,
Mayor pa daw hit sim nga gin-gigisi.

“Hagi, pabay-i iton hira”, siring ko.
Basta malipayon kita nga mga tawo.
Oo, dako it aton boses, ngan
Magtig-a it panluwas.

Pero it aton gin yayakan
Dire man mara-ot.
Pwera nala han iba nga mga maglibak,
Kita nga mga waray-waray pirme la marisyo.

From a Father to his Son

I’ve always wondered what it’d be like
To have a son who would ride a bike,
Stay in the sun and play all day.
Tell me, will he also like the bay?

What joy it would be,
To see a little guy who looks like me.
Will he like to paint?
Or write stories without restraint?

To see those tiny hands,
Clap and beat like marching bands.
To hear that laugh and squeals of delight,
Just before I tuck you in at night.

Sleep tight little tyke, and dream if you can,
You’ve turned your Dad into a better man.