Montage Vol. 6 • August 2002

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  • strict warning: Declaration of views_handler_filter_term_node_tid::value_validate() should be compatible with views_handler_filter::value_validate($form, &$form_state) in /home/montage/public_html/sites/all/modules/views/modules/taxonomy/views_handler_filter_term_node_tid.inc on line 303.
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  • strict warning: Declaration of views_plugin_style_default::options() should be compatible with views_object::options() in /home/montage/public_html/sites/all/modules/views/plugins/views_plugin_style_default.inc on line 25.
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  • strict warning: Non-static method view::load() should not be called statically in /home/montage/public_html/sites/all/modules/views/views.module on line 879.
  • strict warning: Non-static method view::load() should not be called statically in /home/montage/public_html/sites/all/modules/views/views.module on line 879.
  • strict warning: Non-static method view::load() should not be called statically in /home/montage/public_html/sites/all/modules/views/views.module on line 879.
  • strict warning: Non-static method view::load() should not be called statically in /home/montage/public_html/sites/all/modules/views/views.module on line 879.

The geography of my mother’s hand

By Jay Gallera Malaga

My mother, while trying to shrink a trunk of my clothes
to fit in my bag, delivered a summary of my childhood.

I was told that when I was a child, I couldn’t sleep
without my hand holding hers. Through the labyrinth

of pillows and blankets, I would explore that world only
to settle in the continent of her hand until I would drift off.

She did not have to tell me that. I still can remember:
my tiny fingers tucked in between hers – long, slender, Read more »

Maharlika

By Glenn Vincent Atanacio

The time has come for their gabble to rest
And in discreet places descend into mere
Whispers. Within their houses, they will
Bow their heads as sweat trickles near
Their eyes and lips, and the bells ring
Choruses declaring the baptism of their land.
Tonight, they will sleep with dreams adorning
Their idle brows, and, before that, their lovers
Will love more passionately, their kisses
Like pan de sal rolling against their tongues. Read more »

Perhaps this second drift

By Eileen Tabios

—after “First Drift” by Andrew Joron Read more »

Lagoon

By Marlon M. Castor

The cool tropic wind soothes
as it subtly weaves its way
through moon-drenched palms
and sampaguitas.
And over to the east,
a slumbering hillside cascades
into the overwhelming arms
of the sea—its paramour.
This love child,
born of the beguiling romance
of sand and surf,
bleeds with the light
of the stars that guard
the midnight sky
and in its placid bosom Read more »

Martir ka nga ba, Sokrates?

Ni Hector Christian la Victoria

Itinaas ng isang kulubot na kamay ang baso ng lason,

habang nakapalibot, hindi paaawat sa pighati ang kanyang

mga disipulo, umasang tatanggapin ang anyaya ng pagtakas.

Sa mga huling sandali, patuloy pa rin siyang bumibigkas ng

talinhaga. Aniya, hindi niya matakasan ang hatol ng batas

dahil ito’y tuwirang pag-amin sa kasalanan. Subalit, hindi

nga ba ang mga batas na ito, sa buong-buhay niya’y

kanyang binatikos, pinagtawanan?

Sa labas, naghihiyawan ang mga tao sa daungan. Dumating

na ang barko at siyang hudyat ng katapusan ng Read more »

Filing

By Rosmon Tuazon

I.

The trick
is not to panic.

Relax.
Free the hands
     and let it dance
          as the sundry documents

Shuffle.

Imagine salsa
Playing on the background— Read more »

Memoirs of a retired teenager

By Marlon M. Castor

The old neighborhood is quiet these days. Or
maybe it’s just me.

Since entering law school, I haven’t been out much — treading the sloping streets of our humble subdivision. It seems that I don’t have that luxury anymore.

I miss going on those pointless walks around the block with the rest of the gang —Bobby and his brother, Alvin, Erwin, John-John, Donny and my brother Marvin.

Life was so simple back then, especially for us teenagers. Read more »

Panaginip

Ni Michael Louie C. Celis

“Gising na! Mahuhuli ka sa klase mo!”

Magtatanghali na ngunit hindi pa rin siya tumatayo sa kinahihigaan. Hindi na siya nasanay. Mula nang pumanaw ang nanay namin palaging ganito ang eksena tuwing umaga. Akala ko’y magbabago siya ngunit lalo pang lumala ang mga ginagawa niya. Read more »

Of metaphors, cowards and defiance

Sheila Lynn A. Molarto

I HAVE been seeing things
lately.

It seems that the metaphors I use in my poems are now coming to life. The immeasurable blackness, blobs of mutilated flesh, locked and doors—they all come to me now.

Maybe it’s just the atmosphere. Like now, I feel like exploding into a thousand atoms just by looking at the high pile of books and papers I have to read. I have to stop myself from cursing everything in sight—from an awry computer to an annoying acquaintance who can’t do anything but heckle. It is now easier to criticize and wallow in a flood of negativity. Read more »

A silenced scream

By Lea C. Lazaro

Summer was about to end when Christine first saw it standing in the garage at the corner of Santos Street, right at the curve leading to a small university campus. It was a large steel monster, reaching up to a man’s shoulders. Slightly rusting at the corners, it was painted a moldy green and implanted with bulbs that gave off a dull yellow glow. Read more »