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Posts Tagged ‘economy’

Piso pa rin ba?
O mas malamig pa sa piseta?
Ang agahan, pananghalian
at hapunan na pinagkasya
sa isang maliit kakarampot na supot
para ipagpalit sa pangarap
na papsikel, tutunawin lang
nang panandalian, isisikmurang
sa paparating na pantawid sa tag-init.

Pabili po ng ice candy…
Piso pa rin ba?

-Armineonila M., 2017

 

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It’s been a while. But I’d like to share this piece I especially wrote for Pluma’s third year anniversary (September 14). Visit Pluma’s official website and blog for more features.

If only the burning of bridges
remains an idiot’s idiom
and we could still dream of flowerbeds

and never hear gunshots
of freedom from a remote uproar

lay the sword to rest –
what powers does it hold under a child’s gaze?
even time halts for mourning
when the sharp edges of tyranny
dug deep down their tiny bellies

Telling them
Told me

why must we smell the flowers?
read people with dead shot eyes

after a while

the trees shall whisper
some so-called heroes’ anthem
who spoiled the soil that fed them

while our ruins
are traded for inorganic memories

or so history went
and thought free verse rhymes
or weaves a synopsis of the future

but we refuse to breathe
the putrid lies
our masked men feed
a gold miner’s poverty

we tread
alongside fragile footsteps.

-Armineonila M., 2016

Mini musing: The pen is mighty until its ink had dried out.

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I’m sharing here my recent blog entry at Lines of Lila. Nothing much, just something I thought I’d write to critic and contradict myself. And yes, it’s about the self, hence, the title “selfie”. I hope you enjoy reading it.

(An excerpt from A selfie of an artist amid a day job, an e-store, bots, and trolls)

And a blog, too! I cringe at the thought of having to balance between life as I know it and life as I imagined it to be. But there’s barely a thin line between imagination and reality. Oftentimes, you jolt out of your reveries from a dog’s bark to find your actual place in this world. Well, frequently at this time and age, you locate yourself with a little help from Google map.

Selfie with a day job

I am aware that there are artists who keep their “day jobs” as visual artists, which is admirable, hence, as some would say, I’d fall under the category of a Sunday artist. Only problem is, I barely have a concept of days. My week comprised of a Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Yesterday, and Today. While on my “day job”, I’d daydream my way into believing that all the task I do is for the betterhood of art. Henceforth, the betterhood of the whole wide world. I’d weave around this mental cult without disbelief. I’d strive to reach the pinnacle of creativity, as a copywriter a la social media trumpet and a lot more. I’d suck art’s soul to its last breath. But a little empathy would grab me from the neck with a reprimand: “Leave the last breath for tomorrow. The rice is now boiling”.

Balancing the life of an artist and an employee, I’d realize at first that in my case, there’s really not much of a borderline…continue reading.

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Speak wide. Mouth of a tunnel.
Brush shoulders like we’re comrades.
Beat the beats of cult fiction.
Believe friendship is a staple.

It’s a dirt we share.

Ever barefooted the huddles of the city?
Our eyes both swallowed the disease.
“Life is a currency, yes?” Experts say.
“Agony is business.” Ibid.

Let’s talk culture and drink beer.

VIPs don’t buy words. Not from copper pages.
A brown woman is a brown woman.
A black woman is a black woman.
The quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog.

It’s a rhetoric they teach.

And yet, we brush shoulders. Anisometric.
Like when we’re tots. You are winter. I am summer.
Eyes fixed on one TV screen – Big Bird groupies.
Fastforward to adulthood – export materials.

A stock market ice cream cart.

Give me a tree to trust. A forest.
Who knows who’s on top of the food chain.
Words are taxed with blood. Or enjambment.
Our silence is their weapon, anyway.

Or maybe just encode another poem.

On bed bugs.


Armineonila M. 2015

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Mga Sangkap ng Langis (Ped Xing, KM Writers)

Mga sangkap ng langis

ni Armineonila M.

 

Mga sahog sa pagluto:

Isang ginagad na diploma

Walong sakong ari-arian

Pitong tasang tinimping luha

Tatlong basong pangarap (dinikdik)

Limang pirasong dignidad (tinadtad)

Sampung kilong pawis (sinala)

Isang kurot ng pagkutya

 

Mga hakbang sa paggawa:

 

Tunawin ang galon-galong

kaluluwang nagsakripisyo

para sa pamilya’t bayan,

kaluluwang ikinahon

ng globalisasyon

at nanlilisik na pangil

ng kapitalismo

sa kawaling disyerto;

 

Tustahin ang dating musmos

na hele ng Nanay at Tatay

na nagsibak pa ng panggatong

pangmatrikulang niluto

sa palasyong de-kalawang;

 

Tunawin, haluin, kayurin

hanggang sa lumapot

ang ‘di makatarungan,

ang pag-aalipusta

upang maitayo ang gusali

na’ng siyang hugis ay ganid;

 

Timplahin, lunurin

ang pangakong hindi na

lalayag pa at tatatakan

ang pagkatao ng alyas,

yaong tunog “bayani”

upang hindi malasap

ang pag-alingasaw

ng amoy pang-aalipin;

 

Paulit-ulit na timplahin,

haluin ng kalyuhing palad

ang pagkauhaw ng iba

sa likidong-yaman at parangal

kahit salat sa bayad

na ginhawang pasalubong;

 

Sundin ang patakarang ito

nang walang pag-alma

o pagkuwestiyon man lang,

bente-kwatro oras.

 

 ~o~



Translation:

The Recipe for Oil 
by Armineonila M.

The ingredients:

1 forged diploma
8 sacks of property
7 cups of whimper
3 glasses of ambition (chopped)
5 pcs. Of dignity (shredded)
10 kilos of sweat (filtered)
A pinch of nepotism

The procedure:

Slowly melt a gallon of sacrificed souls
Of family and country
Souls inside the box
Of globalisation
And the piercing fangs
Of capitalism
In the desert pan.

Cook until brownish
The infantile lullaby
Of Mama and Papa
Who chopped a forest
Of tuition fees from
The palace of rust.

Melt, stir, scrape
Until condensed
The unjust, the vilification
Built in a fortress
Of which shape is greed.

Mix and drown
The promise of immobility
That’s impressed in the self
An alias that sounds like “hero”
To cover up the stench
Of subjugation.

Mix over and again
With calloused palm
The thirst of the other
On liquefied riches and recognition
Even by poor earnings
That take home a dream.

Simply follow these steps
Without objection
Nary a question 
24 hours a day.

________________
*The original text in Filipino first appeared in the chapbook published by KM64 (Kilometers 64 Writers Collective) titled Ped Xing: Tula’y Tawiran (First Issue: Labourers), ed. Stum Casia. May 2014, pp. 23-24, Philippines. 

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~ O ~

Transliteration:

 

Paliparan


Baon ‘yang posas na tanging

marka’y ngiting hinugasan

ng grasang patak ng talukap,

ang piitang ito’y saksi

kapag tinutumbok

ang pintuang selda

na sa isang kurap

ay daungang kumikinang,

noon pa mang sumayad

ang talampakan

sa lupang sangkalan ng kanyang panaginip

ay pawang binalot

na bangungot

ang sa ngayo’y pasalubong.

@~

March 30, 2011

 

 

 

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Ika nga ng madla na
bulsa’y bumukaka
para kupitan ng mga payasong
nangag-chedeng, nangag-barong,
at dumura ng paanyaya
“Come on!” daw; ano daw?
tayo na raw makihiyaw
kasabay ng naguumpugang
boo at boos ng
tanggapan ng mga hilaw
na silang tambakan ng mga bill
na panggatong sa maluwang nilang bilbil,
iii(>.<)iii.

Mata ni manong ay lumundag,
sa pag-ikot niyang roleta,
sinasahod kahit na lower,
minamahal naman ang higher
sa tuwing pataas nang pataas
nang pataas nang pataas;
100 na ang sumunog sa gaas,
80 ang tumutong sa bigas,
70 ang pumait sa asukal,
50 ang palaman sa pandesal,
eee(~.~)eee.

At ang nangalumatang madla,
pinaglaway na lang ng kusa
sa isosyowkeyz na rangya
na pangkalawang sa bansa,
kahit lumangoy sa putik ay di nila kher
basta’t Juants to be a belyoner
sooooooo ang ispiking baaaaad
may premyong kadena’t sa araw ibibilad,
uuu(^_^)uuu.

~@

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