isang araw, tumigil.

tuso ka lang siguro marahil
at hinangad mo(ng) ako('y) maghintay
pinili mo ang tumila, ang tumigil
habang ipinangako ko naman ang maglakbay

'pag tumila ka na(ng talaga) na tila ulan,
ako ang alimuom na babalot sa'yo

butil-butil pa kung dadapo
huwag lang sanang matuyo.

pakiusap

huwag mo sanang hangarin
ang aking mga ngiti
'pagkat kusa ko silang ibibigay
bagama't sa loob magkikimpi,
magsusumigaw.

huwag mong hangarin
ang aking mga halakhak
'pagkat kusa ko silang idudugtong
sa pagtatapos ng iyong mga pangungusap.

huwag mong hangarin
ang aking mga sulyap
'pagkat kusa, sa iyo,
ang bukas, ang magpakailanman,
nakabaling, nakamulat.

huwag mo sanang hangarin
na nagsasabi ako ng totoo
'pagkat kusang nagiging totoo
ang mga kasinungalingan ko (mo)
'pag dating sa iyo.

subalit mahal,
pinakamamahal ko,

huwag mo (sanang) hangarin
ang mga bagong simula
'pagkat nang linisan mo ako sa aking naratibo,
kusa na silang naglaho,
nagtapos,
oo, patapos na.

malapit na.
nagkukubli na lang sa mga salita.


hulyo 24 alas-tres y medya ng umaga

pagkat sinabi ko na, "hindi ako ang Pilipinas; hindi ako nakakalimot",

mula kay karl.


Parting with a View
by Wislawa Szymborska
Translated by Joanna Trzeciak


I don't begrudge the spring
for coming back again.
I can't blame it
for doing its duty
the same as every year.

I realize my sorrow
won't halt the greenery.
If a blade wavers,
it's only from the wind.

It doesn't cause me pain,
that clumps of alder above the waters
have something to rustle with again.

I accept
that—as though you were still alive—
the shore of a certain lake
has remained as beautiful as it was.

I don't hold a grudge
against a view for a view
onto a bay dazzled by the sun.

I can even imagine,
that some-not-us
are sitting now
on a toppled birch stump.

I respect their right
to whispers, laughter,
and happy silence.

I even assume
they're bound by love
and that he puts a living arm around her.

Something recently birdly
rustles in the bulrushes.
I sincerely hope
they hear it.

Let them be as they were,
those waves lapping on the shore,
sometimes swift, sometimes lazy,
and obedient not to me.

I ask nothing
of the deep waters below the woods,
emerald,
sapphire,
black.

To one thing I won't agree.
To my return.
The privilege of presence—
that I'll give up.

I've survived you just enough
but only enough,
to reflect from afar.