By Harris Guevarra, Translated by Bernard Capinpin
Birds are proof that you can perceive
ambition in the flight. On the canopy,
the birds may feel the lowness more
than vertigo at that height from the ground.
Always, the sky is an open cage.
I can still hear the first song:
1990. River Beata. I was asked to stand on a table,
surrounded by eyes eager to listen.
Father shouted, listen to him, like a call
of the stage. I didn’t stop singing,
making sure all were staring. In the sky,
wind is not the enemy of the birds but the heaven
they aim to reach. The highest pitch
is a criminal whom people will clap at
and who will force others to sing, even the unrehearsed.
When they had enough, I felt a hunger.
Even long after the parting of the crowd,
I felt the pressure of their gaze,
forcing this song to fly until the final
breath of the last person who would love me entirely.
Ang mga ibon ay patunay na matatanaw mo
ang pangarap sa paglipad. Sa itaas ng puno,
mas dama marahil ng ibon ang kababaan
kaysa pagkalula mula sa agwat sa lupa.
Tuwina, isang bukas na hawla ang langit.
Naririnig ko pa rin ang unang awit:
1990. Ilog Beata. Pinatayo ako sa mesa,
pinalibutan ng mga matang sabik makinig.
Sigaw ni Tatay, pakinggan niyo, parang tawag
ng tanghalan. Hindi ako tumigil sa pag-awit,
tiniyak lahat ay nakatitig. Sa himpapawid,
hindi hangin ang kalaban ng ibon kundi langit
na nais abutin. Ang pinakamataas na tono
ang kriminal na papalakpakan ng tao
at magtutulak awitin kahit ang hindi naensayo.
Nang magsawa sila, nakaramdaman ko ng gutom.
Kahit matagal nang nagwakas ang pagtitipon,
ramdam ko pa rin ang diin ng kanilang tingin,
pilit pinalilipad itong awit hanggang sa huling
hininga ng huling taong lubos na iibig sa akin.
Harris Guevarra lives in Manila. Osana is his first book of poems. Bernard Kean Capinpin is a poet and translator. He lives in Quezon City.