Showing posts with label MakeandCreate. Show all posts

Literary (Submission): A Friendly Reminder





Sunsets are still as warm
Reflected on a broken mirror
Paint is still as striking
Spilled on the wooden floor

Rusted strings
Could still be played
And worn-out fiddles
Are still as joyful and gay

Poems are still as beautiful
With line breaks and no rhymes
Paintings are never not wondrous
With negative spaces and broken lines

Your beauty is not measured
Through norms and set ways
You are still an artwork
With your blanks, cracks and bad days

Literary (Submission): Hamak





Wala akong laban
Sa kanyang kagandahan
Na mukhang kinatha ni Bathala
Gamit ang pinakamapuputing ulap para sa kanyang kutis
Pinakamapupulang rosas para sa kanyang mga labi
Pinakamatatamis na huni ng mga ibon para sa kanyang boses
At pinakamaliliwanag na silahis ng araw para sa kanyang ngiti.

Wala akong laban
Sa pungay ng mga mata
Na singganda ng mga tala
Sa ngiti na sintamis
Ng halimuyak ng sampaguita
Sa kaniyang alon-along buhok
Na tinalo ang kalma ng dagat matapos ang bagyo

Wala akong laban
Sa kaniya
Siyang pinagmumulan ng mga tula
Siyang pinaghahabihan ng mga tugma
Siyang isinasawalang hanggan sa tela
Siyang sinesentro sa mga dula
Siyang ipinapalabas sa pelikula
Siyang isinasama sa mga akda
Siyang bumubuo sa mga letra ng bawat katha.

Wala akong laban
Sa kaniyang ganda
Dahil ako'y hamak lang na makata
Walang laban ang pag-antig ng aking mga taludtod
Sa sayang nadadala sa 'yo ng kaniyang magaang tawa
Walang laban ang pagduduldulan ko ng damdamin
Sa pagkatigagal mo sa kaniyang bawat salita
Walang laban ang mga talinghaga
Sa kung paano mo siya masdan
Tuwing siya'y nakatingin sa mga tala

Wala akong laban
Sa isang gawang sining
Dahil 'di naman ako isa

Literary (Submission): Rich Black





75: Cyan
Bughaw ang langit nang ako’y umoo
At dinala mo ako sa ipinangakong palasyo
Isang masayang pagsasama
Ang inakalang napipinto

68: Magenta
Sa konektadong singsing sa mga kaliwang kamay
Pininta ang gabi sa isang mainit na kulay
Mga plano’y simula nang nabubuo
Mula sa pagmamahalang tunay

67: Yellow
Hindi mapawi ang ngiti nang ating malaman
Na tayo’y madadagdagan na
Hindi na makapaghintay
Sa mumunting saya na sa ati’y biyaya

90: Black
At nang malaman, ang paligid
Ay tuluyan nang nagdilim
Ang biyayang hindi inaasahan
Ay siya rin palang babawiin

Ipininta ng tadhana ang aking itim
Sa pinakamalupit na paraan
Gumamit siya ng masasayang kulay
At saka sinabuyan ng kalungkutan

Literary (Submission): Brush Stroke





A brush between my fingers
A blank canvas on its stand
"Just paint what's on your mind,"
They said, "Paint with what's in your hands."

And so the brush strokes trail the surface
Painting pictures of the past
Outlining them in black and white
Because memories just don't last

Once again I looked back
At the chances I didn't take
The words I didn't say
The decisions I didn't make

Once again I looked back
Though it's hard to reminisce
Every mistake I made
Each opportunity I missed

I don't stop the brush strokes
'Til the thoughts are off my mind
Until there is no blank space left
Until the memories are painted here
And not in the past

Then I stand back and look
At the painting in front of me
A dense dark mass of regret
Is all that I could see

So I open a can of fresh new paint
The room is silent, no words are said
As I cover each and every memory
With a coat of deep red

Literary (Submission): Man of Ink





A barcode on my left wrist
I am branded
Nothing more than an empty vessel
Of repetitions and clones
Of rules and barriers
I always feel like—

I am not me.

A “Mom <3" on my right arm 
A crack on my tough façade
A proclamation of my undying love
To the woman who endured
This world of pain
To shield me from it

Yet, she had to leave early.

A girl’s name across my chest
A constant reminder
Of my eternal sorrow
That even though I thought
‘We’re perfect for each other’
I still wasn’t enough for her

And she wasn’t the one for me.

A pair wings on the span of my back
But, despite the societal chains
Of norms and conformity
I refuse to obey and adjust
To what they tell me to be
For I believe with these—

I am free to be me.

An anchor on my left arm
Despite the waves of despair
And the surge of tears
To budge is not in my blood
Why then, after everything,
Would I be shaken now?

I am stronger than I think.

A semi-colon on my right wrist
And because of every failure, flaw and trial
I used to try to end everything
But, despite the grief and despair
To give up was never the answer
I will not let darkness win

This is not my end.

Literary (Submission): Pulvis Et Umbra Sumus





Mga alikabok at anino
Tayong lahat sa mundo
Magsisimula rito
At dito rin maglalaho

Matapos ang lahat ng paghihinagpis
Ang paghihirap ng mga puso
Ang walang hanggang sigalot
Sa atin-ating mga tao

Kantahan nawa ng mga tala
Ang bangkay ng ating panahon
Dahil sa ating sariling kasakiman
Tayo'y tuluyang malulunod

Dahil ipagduldulan man sa atin
Ang ating napipintong katapusan
Taingang-kawali pa rin ang ihaharap
Ng mahal na kataas-taasan

Mga alikabok at anino
Ang ating maiiwan sa mundo
Nawa'y mag-iwan ng imahen
Ng pagsisisi't pagkahapo

Ipakita ang larawan ng ating mga luha
Ipinta ang mga sigaw ng pagmamakaawa
Umagos sana sa telon ng mundo
Ang mga kulay ng ating mga pagdurusa

Literary (Submission): Pagkatha ng Isang Obra Maestra





Una, mahalin mo siya

at hayaang masugatan ang puso
hanggang sa ito’y madurog
at magdugo hanggang sa
mag-iwan ito
ng mga
marka

Tapos, pakinggan mo sila

at patuluyin ang pagdududa sa isipan
hanggang sa ang iyong tenga
ay mabingi sa mga
kasinungalingan
at mga maling
salita

Sunod ay balikan ang dati

at hayaang mapagod ang mga paa
hanggang sa ito’y kusang tumigil
dahil sa pagod sa patuloy
na pagtakas sa mapait
na nakaraang
puno ng luha

At harapin ang pinagsisisihan

at patuluyin ang takot sa iyong loob
hanggang ang lahat ay muling
panghinayangan at ang
tanging matitira ay
ang himig ng
katahimikan

Panghuli
Kunin ang iyong pinsel
Hayaang ang mga markang ito
Ay makabuo ng mga guhit

Umupo sa tapat ng makinilya
Hayaang ang mga salitang ito
Ay maging tugma ng iyong tula

Mag-ensayo ng mga linya
Hayaang ang mga luhang ito
Ay maramdaman sa dula

Hawakan ang gitara
Hayaang ang katahimikang ito
Ay tugtugin ang iyong kanta

Dahil ang tunay na kailangan
Sa pagggawa ng obra
Ay ang
Pagmamahal at ang katumbas nitong mga luha
Pagiging totoo at ang katumbas nitong panghuhusga
Paglaban at ang katumbas nitong kabiguan
Pagiging malaya at ang katumbas nitong pagkakamali

Dahil sa likod ng bawat magandang likha
Ay isang mas makabuluhang istorya

Literary (Submission): Blank Slate





I am a blank slate.
A canvas, a free medium.
All white with no borders,
Untainted and at peace.

I like how clean I am.
Original, neat, and unchanged.
But one day I was suddenly picked,
And placed on a wooden stand.

Blue entered the picture.
It was all over the top.
Along with white, airy, shapes
That formed the sky.

Then green came along.
It was all over the bottom,
With uneven triangular shapes,
That formed the grass.

Then came yellow and red and brown.
The space became messier.
Then maroon and purple and orange.
What was once untouched is now destroyed.

I am no longer a blank slate.
I am a painting with a story,
A platform where an artist was free,
To make nothing into something

It’s sometimes nice to destroy the peace,
And look at what you’ve become.
Now that the blank slate is already tainted,
Only the colors show its true potential.

Literary (Submission): Stradivarius





For a painter paints his imaginings
On canvas and paper
Let me paint my longing
Upon silence

Let me spill my sadness
Across music sheets
Let them tear their way
Across the staffs

Let my agony dance
In between sharps and flats
My tears reflected
On 16th notes and stops

And as I bring
My sadness into life
I hope you see
The cause of my strife

As I glide my bow
Upon these four strings
May you feel the melancholy
That you brought

As the melody steadies
May you hear how I felt
As I look at you
As you look in my eyes

As the hum goes to piano
May you feel that night
When I last held your hand
And it was quiet

Nothing but the hum
Of the shining stars themselves
And the soft beats
Now unsynchronized

As the tune goes andante
May you hear
The flow of my tears
While the night starts to fade

As pitch heightens
And my fingers skim across the fingerboard
May you hear the sound of broken glass
Akin to breaking hearts

Let my fortissimo
Upon the thickest string
Mask the flat—
As you fade along with the night

As the timbre goes somber
And the yearning goes to a resolve
I hope you hear me, my angel
From up there where you belong

Literary (Submission): Tula #14




Ang pag-ibig nati'y parang isang tula
Minsan ay may pagtutugma
Minsan nama’y wala

Ang pag-ibig nati'y parang isang kanta
Himig na puwede nating sabayan kahit tensyonado
Kaso nga lang ako ay sintunado

Ang pag-ibig nati'y parang isang mito
Puno ng mga diwata at mga bathala
Na gabi-gabi nating dinadasalan na sana tayo ang nakatadhana

Ang pag-ibig nati'y parang isang sonata
Ang bilang ay eksakto, bawat salita ay pili
‘Di tayo malaya, ‘di puwedeng magkamali

Ang pag-ibig nati'y parang isang dula
Nakatutok sa 'tin ang ilaw at sa atin ang buong entablado
Ngunit takot na ang pagmamahala'y matunghayan ng maraming tao

Ang pag-ibig nati'y parang pagsayaw ng balse
Umiindak sa magagandang mga kanta
Ngunit ang magkapares ni kailanma’y hindi naging tayong dal’wa

Ngunit higit sa lahat, pag-ibig nati'y parang isang nobela
'Di papayag na magtapos ang ating kuwento sa isang pahimakas
Umaasa na ang mga susunod na pahina'y
tungkol sa kung paanong dito sa mapait na realidad
hawak-kamay tayong tatakas

Literary (Submission): Philosophy Major





The philosophy major stands
Before the cold, cruel world
Thinking, contemplating
Not uttering a single word

The degree he finished
He must now use
In this society
Of waste and refuse

What is good
And what is bad
What must be done
In the time he had

The philosophy major sits
On the cold, dark sidewalk
As his graduation cap collects alms
And no one wanted to talk

He showed the rich men
What was good and bad
And was cast aside
They thought he was mad

He showed the commoners
That they were going to die
And they all avoided him
They just don't have the time

The philosophy major sleeps
On the cold, hard ground
His beautiful mind at ease
In dreams, peace he found

For in his quiet thoughts
In his musings he was alone
Saved from the judgement
Of the cold cruel world he'd known

A world he thought he understood
For he knew the art of thinking
But the student felt for naught
Because no one was listening

But despite being shunned
The student persisted
Continued his teachings
His learnings will not be wasted

The philosophy major now lies still
As the May showers appear
May his daily rambles stay
To the nameless pedestrians all year

Literary (Submission): Red




Red.
“This was the color of the world where only the two of us lived in.”

I was red the very first time we met, with my cheeks turning into that bright hue. I was flustered, to say the least, by your mere presence.

You were red. With that masculine and sturdy posture, you were the physical form of attraction and I couldn’t help myself from being drawn to you.

Red was the color of the lips you used to tell me all the things I wanted to hear. You had a way of always knowing what to say; to calm me down, to allure me, to keep me sane.

Red was the flower you gave me when we met for the third time. I realized then and there, that time doesn’t really forge strong relationships for two weeks was enough to make me want to stay with you, forever.

Red was the passion that held us together. We became inseparable after just a few months. A fast process, many say and people thought we weren’t going to last, saying that young flames burn out faster. But who were they to predict what we are going to be.

Red was the clock that told me you were slowly fading. What once was vivid crimson became dull. You were clearly tired of us yet you were somehow reluctant to say anything about it so I didn’t too.
Red was the attention I wanted you to give me. The attention you deprived me of which caused me to become someone I didn’t want to be. Someone who demanded so much of you.

Red was the color of our late night arguments. We argued because of petty reasons but they were enough for you to lash out at me. Your voice was eight times more deafening than what was possible and I absorbed every insult without complaint for I still wanted to hold on.

For you were still a masterpiece to me.

But as time passed, you were slowly stripped away of the kind of passion I originally saw in you. You became monochrome. And simply, you lacked—

Red.
Red was the color of the plate you threw my way. And the cracking of the glass woke me up.
I knew what to do. I became determined to bring you back to what you once were. To the man I fell in love with.

Red was the color I decided to decorate you with. I thought, maybe, that’d make all the fighting go away. Maybe, that would bring you back to me.

And after another round of yelling, red was the color on my hands.

I was glad, for I could hold you now in my arms without triggering conflict. I could stare at you without being shouted at. For you were just silent, serene, after I decided to paint you—

Red.

Literary (Submission): The Art of Being Blind




All my life, I’ve only known darkness
So you might ask
How then, could I admire this world?

I could…
Taste the sweet summer breeze on the beach,
The warm, newly baked croissants straight from the oven
And the lively flavor of morning coffee

I could…
Smell the flowers in the yard next to my house,
The faint scent of my favorite person,
And the wind weaving through the pine tress

I could…
Hear children’s laughter after school
A mother’s comforting words
And the complex notes of my favorite symphony

I could…
Feel the cold air during an extremely humid afternoon,
A pair of warm hands guiding me to where I need to go,
And the bumps on a surface to help me read

With my four senses, I could still appreciate
What this earth has to offer
I am not denied of its beauty
Even though I was deprived of sight

Comics: Pagbabago







Literary: The Art of Waiting





How can a prosaic action
Be so poetic?
How can the simplest of acts
Mean more than what it seems to be?

It takes a second to pronounce the word
But sometimes it takes forever to actually do it.
To wait is not just what it means
But it is an art produced by reason.

It’s when the sun rises in the east
And slowly makes its way to the west
Does it for 12 hours a day
As it sees the same things every time.

It’s the anxiousness
That builds up inside of you
As the “seen” indicator appeared
And “… is typing” quickly came up

It’s the confession
That is so unsure
Not knowing
What is to be said

It’s the readiness
The promise
That you’d still be there
Until the end

It’s the unrequited love
But you still stayed
Clueless
But done out of feeling

It’s you
It has always been
It still is
And it will always be you.

It’s the detail
in everything you do,
all the complicated strokes
within the details of a simple action.

Literary: The Greatest Form of Art





You are the greatest art form
From your painted heavy locks
To the ground on which you walk
It is you

The way your eyes reflect the world
As if worthy to see itself
The way you move to nature's music
As if the world was dancing too

How you parted your lips
Like seas of pink flesh
To utter the shortest romances
To whisper "I love you"

In cold nights of thunder screams
When you breathe under blankets
Lifting them up, and falling back down
As if they were alive – as if they were life
And as if life was like you

The way our worlds collide
Whenever our fingertips touched
Destroying what was then known
Making it tangible and true – something new

Your presence graces me,
Like passages of scriptures past,
Bringing me back to nostalgic reverie
Away from this new world, it takes me back

You are the deconstruction and reformation
Of realities I've lived in once
You revive pleasant memories from desolation
And recolor bored, black and white reruns

You have redefined what it means to be alive
And how art transcends our being
You have elevated my appreciation and understanding of it all
My dear, you are the greatest art form

Literary: Dried Brushes





I lost my drive to paint.

And that's losing myself. I stopped using dozens of colors to make bright and spacious sceneries. I've lost the ability to imagine delightful things, to feel different textures, to find the balance and to create dynamic movements. The only picture in my mind is a neverending foggy field. I forgot to look at the universe, and now I am stuck in a black hole.

I failed to dream and wish. Dreaming involves closing my eyes and trying to imagine how life would be if I continued using my brushes. It means visualizing potential pieces I will create in the future. On the other hand, wishing involves forcing my mind to understand that I do want to bring colors to the plain and blank canvas. Because right now, my mind is physically and mentally addicted to being in the black hole. It's a trap, a very hard one to escape. The place keeps sucking all the energy left inside of me. Now, I need to hurry and find my own light to get out, as no one knows the intricate details on how I was pulled further down.

For me, the hardest part while struggling to escape from the black hole is that I lost sight of the world outside of it. I forgot what kind of artist I used to strive to be. I lost hope to find the connection to what was once my burning passion.

Sadly, all that’s left inside of me is a single brush stroke.

Literary: Larawan







       Minsan nang nagbuklod-buklod ang mga naninirahan sa kapuluang punong-puno ng kayamanan at hiwaga. Halimbawa na lamang noong natagpuan ng mga taga-Hilaga ang isang misteryosong papel na sinasabing nagbibigay ng kakaibang kapangyarihan.

       Sa kabila ng kanilang kaliitan at kahinaan, hindi naging hadlang sa lahat ng mga mamamayan ng kapuluan ang matatarik na bundok at malalawak na karagatan upang masilayan ang bantog na misteryo ng papel. Pagkakita rito, napagtanto nila na sa pamamagitan lamang ng pag-aalay makukuha ang kapangyarihang taglay ng papel.

       Kaya naman dali-dali itong pinatakan ng mga taga-Hilaga ng kanilang dugong kulay pula bunga ng katapangan. Sumunod dito ang mga taga-Kanluran na may dugong kulay puti dahil sa kanilang kalinisan, taga-Silangan na may dugong kulay dilaw dahil sa kanilang kaunlaran, at taga-Timog na may dugong bughaw dahil sa kanilang nag-uumapaw na pag-asa. Ipinatong nila ito sa isang parisukat na kahoy at tinapalan pa ng malinaw na salamin upang protektahan ang papel na ngayon ay nakabuo na ng larawan na siyang sumasagisag sa kanilang pagkakaisa. Simula noon, lumaki, lumakas, at nakaramdam sila ng mahiwagang koneksyon sa isa’t isa na nagbunga ng malawakang pag-unlad sa kanilang lipunan.

       Naghalal sila ng mga pinuno upang itaguyod at panatilihing ligtas mula sa kapahamakan ang larawan. Dinala ito sa isang lugar na may mahigpit na seguridad.

       Isang araw, tila nanlambot at bumalik ang mga tao sa orihinal nilang maliliit at mahihinang anyo. Higit sa lahat, biglang naglaho ang koneksyon nila sa isa’t isa. Nagkagulo ang lahat at nagtaka sa biglaang trahedya sa kanilang lipunan.

       Nagbabalatkayo lamang pala ang mga inakala nilang tagapagtanggol ng larawan.

       Nalaman na lamang ng mga tao na ninakaw ng kanilang mga pinuno ang hiwaga ng papel na matagal na palang pinaglalawayan ng mga ito. Biniyak ng mga ganid ang salamin hanggang sa maging pira-piraso na lamang ito at masibang hinigop ang hiwagang hatid nito upang gamitin sa kanilang mga pansariling interes.

       Sinubukan man ng mga tao na bawiin ang hiwaga ng larawan, ngunit wala silang magawa upang igpawan ang kapangyarihang ninakaw mula sa kanila ng kanilang mga pinuno.

       Maibabalik pa kaya muli ang larawan sa orihinal nitong anyo?

Literary: Lunch Time





Magkasama sa stone benches ang magkaklaseng sina Rodel at Karen at pagkatapos ng nakabubusog na tanghalian ay nakasandal na lamang ang dalawa sa mesa. Habang nagpapahinga’y pinatugtog ni Karen ang kaniyang paboritong OPM playlist at pinagmasdan ang mga pangyayari sa quad.

*Tumugtog ang kantang “Sila” ng SUD*

Rodel, kailan mo ba ako sasagutin?

HA?!

Hindi mo pa sinasagot ‘yung tanong ko kanina… Ang sabi ko, ano’ng special sa iyo na hindi makikita sa iba? Huwag kang mag-alala, para lang ito sa poll ng MC.
Ah...


Ano nga ba ang sagot sa tanong, Rodel. Bakit ka ba mahalaga, ha?

*Pinalitan ang kanta*

Hay… Ang KJ naman nito! Ako nga, walang special skills, eh. Kahit katiting na talento, wala. Tingnan mo ‘tong si Hazel.

Saan?

‘Ayun, o! Tingin ka sa kanan mo... bandang kanan pa… ‘Yan! Buti pa siya, napakagaling magdrowing. Nakikita mo ba kung paano niyayakap nu’ng kaliwang kamay niya ‘yung lapis na ginagamit niya ngayon? Mahinahon, pero sakto pa rin ang pagkakadiin ng lead sa papel; napakaganda pa rin ng pagkakaguhit ng mga linya ‘tsaka hugis!

Wow! Tapos may shadow-shadow pa. Ang husay!

At isa pa ‘tong si Eric. ‘Ayun siya o, ‘yung nasa sulok ng balcony. Buti pa siya, sobrang galing pagdating sa pagkuha ng picture. Naturuan na niya ako dati ng mga elements at principles sa photography, pero ang naintindihan ko lang, e, ‘yung rule of thirds. Wala na nga akong talento, ang bagal ko pang pumick-up. Tingnan mo siya… Nakikita mo ba kung paano ngumingiwi ‘yung mukha niya habang nakasilip sa kamera? Ang cute!

Buti pa siya.

Oo nga. Pero alam mo ba kung sino ang totoong special sa ‘ting magkakaklase? Si Mary Grace. Ang dami niyang talento—tunog-maya ang pagkanta niya at ang galing sumayaw. Minsan, matikas ang galaw niya, parang daloy ng kalmadong dagat. Pero kadalasan, mabilis at matulis ang mga galaw niya… Ang astig! Sa sobrang galing niya, puwede na siyang maging K-Pop idol!

*Tumugtog ang kantang “Ang Huling El Bimbo” ng Eraserheads*

‘Uy, sakto! Bagay na bagay ang kantang ‘to kay ¬¬Mary Grace. My favorite! Tara, sabayan mo naman ako sa pagkanta. Ngunit ang paaaaborito, ay ang pagsayaw mo ng El Bimbo! Nakakaindak… Nakakaaliw… Nakakatindig… balahibo, oooh!

Karen, alam mo ba kung ano’ng nakakatindig-balahibo?

Ano?

‘Yang mga mata mo.

Ha?

Gustong-gusto ko ang paraan kung paano nakakakita ang mga mata mong ‘yan. Napakalalim. Buong lunch time, inaya mo akong mag-aral para sa test sa Philo pero ang napag-aralan mo lang e ‘yung mga kaklase natin. Oo, nakikita mo ang lahat ng puwedeng makita sa mga tao…
Pero nakita mo na ba ang mga mata mong ‘yan?

Uhm… hindi pa, e.

At alam mo ba kung ano ang special sa ‘kin, ‘yung sagot sa tanong mo kanina? Ikaw. ‘Yung buong pagkatao mo. Hindi ka magaling magdrowing; hindi ka magaling kumuha ng picture; at hindi ka rin nabiyayaan ng katiting na galing sa pagsayaw; pero napakakulay naman ng pagtingin mo sa iba.
At Karen, iyon ang pinakamagandang uri ng sining na natanaw ng aking mga mata.

*Nabigla sa sinabi at titig ng katabi.* Tara na nga. Male-late na tayo sa next class.

Literary: Harmony in Difference





Five different musicians
With five different tastes

The pianist
Who mastered classical music

The guitarist
Who enjoyed flamenco

The drummer
Who cherished jazz

The bassist
Who loved rock n’ roll

And the singer
Who belted out high notes

Five different musicians
With five different tastes
But with the same burning passion for music.

They made art.
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