May Bagyo Ma't Rilim (Nicanor Tiongson)

Ang ola'y, titiguisin,
Aco'y, magpipilit din:
Acquing paglalacbayin
Toloyin cong hanapin
Dios na ama namin.

Cun di man magupiling
Tocsong mabaomabaoin,
Aco'y, mangangahas din:
Itong libro'y, basahin,
At dito co hahangoin
Acquing sasandatahin.

Cun dati mang nabulag
Aco'y, pasasalamat,
Na ito ang liunag
Dios ang nagpahayag
Sa Padreng bagsiulat
Nitong mabuting sulat.

Naguiua ma't, nabagbag
Daloyong matataas,
Aco'y magsusumicad
Babagohin ang lacas;
Dito rin hahaguilap
Timbulang icaligtas.

Cun lompo ma't, cun pilay
Anong di icahacbang
Naito ang aacay
Magtuturo nang daan:
Toncod ay inilaan
Sucat pagcatibayan.

 

http://tagaloglang.com/Philippine-Literature/Tagalog-Poems/may-bagyo-mat-rilim.html

Katapusang Hibik Ng Pilipinas

Andres Bonifacio
(1896)

Sumikat na Ina sa sinisilangan 
ang araw ng poot ng Katagalugan,
tatlong daang taong aming iningatan
sa dagat ng dusa ng karalitaan.

Walang isinuhay kaming iyong anak
sa bagyong masasal ng dalita't hirap;
iisa ang puso nitong PIlipinas
at ikaw ay di na Ina naming lahat.

Sa kapuwa Ina'y wala kang kaparis...
ang layaw ng anak:  dalita't pasakit;
pag nagpatirapang sa iyo'y humibik,
lunas na gamot mo ay kasakit-sakit.

Gapusing mahigpit ang mga Tagalog,
hinain sa sikad, kulata at suntok,
makinahi't biting parang isang hayop;
ito baga, Ina, ang iyong pag-irog?

Ipabilanggo mo't sa dagat itapon;
barilin, lasunin, nang kami'y malipol.
Sa aming Tagalog, ito baga'y hatol
Inang mahabagin, sa lahat ng kampon?

Aming tinitiis hanggang sa mamatay;
bangkay nang mistula'y ayaw pang tigilan,
kaya kung ihulog sa mga libingan,
linsad na ang buto't lumuray ang laman.

Wala nang namamana itong pIlipinas
na layaw sa Ina kundi pawang hirap;
tiis ay pasulong, patente'y nagkalat,
rekargo't impuwesto'y nagsala-salabat.

Sarisaring silo sa ami'y inisip,
kasabay ng utos na tuparing pilit,
may sa alumbrado---kaya kaming tikis,
kahit isang ilaw ay walang masilip.

Ang lupa at buhay na tinatahanan,
bukid at tubigang kalawak-lawakan,
at gayon din pati ng mga halaman,
sa paring Kastila ay binubuwisan.

Bukod pa sa rito'y ang mga iba pa,
huwag nang saysayin, O Inang Espanya,
sunod kaming lahat hanggang may hininga,
Tagalog di'y siyang minamasama pa.

Ikaw nga, O Inang pabaya't sukaban,
kami'y di na iyo saan man humanggan,
ihanda mo, Ina, ang paglilibingan
sa mawawakawak na maraming bangkay.

Sa sangmaliwanag ngayon ay sasabog
ang barila't kanyong katulad ay kulog,
ang sigwang masasal sa dugong aagos
ng kanilang bala na magpapamook.

Di na kailangan sa iyo ng awa
ng mga Tagalog, O Inang kuhila,
paraiso namin ang kami'y mapuksa,
langit mo naman ang kami'y madusta.

Paalam na Ina, itong Pilipinas,
paalam na Ina, itong nasa hirap,
paalam, paalam, Inang walang habag,
paalam na ngayon, katapusang tawag.

http://www.angelfire.com/la2/poemen/Katpm.html 

My Last Farewell(Mi último adiós)

        My Last Farewell
Farewell, beloved Country, treasured region of the sun,
Pearl of the sea of the Orient, our lost Eden!
To you eagerly I surrender this sad and gloomy life;
And were it brighter, fresher, more florid,
Even then I’d give it to you, for your sake alone.

In fields of battle, deliriously fighting,
Others give you their lives, without doubt, without regret;
The place matters not: where there’s cypress, laurel or lily,
On a plank or open field, in combat or cruel martyrdom,
It’s all the same if the home or country asks.

I die when I see the sky has unfurled its colors
And at last after a cloak of darkness announces the day;
If you need scarlet to tint your dawn,
Shed my blood, pour it as the moment comes,
And may it be gilded by a reflection of the heaven’s newly-born light.

My dreams, when scarcely an adolescent,
My dreams, when a young man already full of life,
Were to see you one day, jewel of the sea of the Orient,
Dry those eyes of black, that forehead high,
Without frown, without wrinkles, without stains of shame.

My lifelong dream, my deep burning desire,
This soul that will soon depart cries out: Salud!
To your health! Oh how beautiful to fall to give you flight,
To die to give you life, to die under your sky,
And in your enchanted land eternally sleep.

If upon my grave one day you see appear,
Amidst the dense grass, a simple humble flower,
Place it near your lips and my soul you’ll kiss,
And on my brow may I feel, under the cold tomb,
The gentle blow of your tenderness, the warmth of your breath.

Let the moon see me in a soft and tranquil light,
Let the dawn send its fleeting radiance,
Let the wind moan with its low murmur,
And should a bird descend and rest on my cross,
Let it sing its canticle of peace.

Let the burning sun evaporate the rains,
And with my clamor behind, towards the sky may they turn pure;
Let a friend mourn my early demise,
And in the serene afternoons, when someone prays for me,
O Country, pray to God also for my rest!

Pray for all the unfortunate ones who died,
For all who suffered torments unequaled,
For our poor mothers who in their grief and bitterness cry,
For orphans and widows, for prisoners in torture,
And for yourself pray that your final redemption you’ll see.

And when the cemetery is enveloped in dark night,
And there, alone, only those who have gone remain in vigil,
Disturb not their rest, nor the mystery,
And should you hear chords from a zither or psaltery,
It is I, beloved Country, singing to you.

And when my grave, then by all forgotten,
has not a cross nor stone to mark its place,
Let men plow and with a spade scatter it,
And before my ashes return to nothing,
May they be the dust that carpets your fields.

Then nothing matters, cast me in oblivion.
Your atmosphere, your space and valleys I’ll cross.
I will be a vibrant and clear note to your ears,
Aroma, light, colors, murmur, moan, and song,
Constantly repeating the essence of my faith.

My idolized country, sorrow of my sorrows,
Beloved Filipinas, hear my last good-bye.
There I leave you all, my parents, my loves.
I’ll go where there are no slaves, hangmen nor oppressors,
Where faith doesn’t kill, where the one who reigns is God.

Goodbye, dear parents, brother and sisters, fragments of my soul,
Childhood friends in the home now lost,
Give thanks that I rest from this wearisome day;
Goodbye, sweet foreigner, my friend, my joy;
Farewell, loved ones, to die is to rest.


http://www.carayanpress.com/ultimo.html

Mi último adiós (spanish)

        Mi último adiós
¡Adiós, Patria adorada, región del sol querida,
Perla del mar de oriente, nuestro perdido Edén!
A darte voy alegre la triste mustia vida,
Y fuera más brillante, más fresca, más florida,
También por ti la diera, la diera por tu bien.

En campos de batalla, luchando con delirio,
Otros te dan sus vidas sin dudas, sin pesar;
El sitio nada importa, ciprés, laurel o lirio,
Cadalso o campo abierto, combate o cruel martirio,
Lo mismo es si lo piden la patria y el hogar.

Yo muero cuando veo que el cielo se colora
Y al fin anuncia el día tras lóbrego capuz;
si grana necesitas para teñir tu aurora,
Vierte la sangre mía, derrámala en buen hora
Y dórela un reflejo de su naciente luz.

Mis sueños cuando apenas muchacho adolescente,
Mis sueños cuando joven ya lleno de vigor,
Fueron el verte un día, joya del mar de oriente,
Secos los negros ojos, alta la tersa frente,
Sin ceño, sin arrugas, sin manchas de rubor

Ensueño de mi vida, mi ardiente vivo anhelo,
¡Salud te grita el alma que pronto va a partir!
¡Salud! Ah, que es hermoso caer por darte vuelo,
Morir por darte vida, morir bajo tu cielo,
Y en tu encantada tierra la eternidad dormir.

Si sobre mi sepulcro vieres brotar un día
Entre la espesa yerba sencilla, humilde flor,
Acércala a tus labios y besa al alma mía,
Y sienta yo en mi frente bajo la tumba fría,
De tu ternura el soplo, de tu hálito el calor.

Deja a la luna verme con luz tranquila y suave,
Deja que el alba envíe su resplandor fugaz,
Deja gemir al viento con su murmullo grave,
Y si desciende y posa sobre mi cruz un ave,
Deja que el ave entone su cántico de paz.

Deja que el sol, ardiendo, las lluvias evapore
Y al cielo tornen puras, con mi clamor en pos;
Deja que un ser amigo mi fin temprano llore
Y en las serenas tardes cuando por mí alguien ore,
¡Ora también, oh Patria, por mi descanso a Dios!

Ora por todos cuantos murieron sin ventura,
Por cuantos padecieron tormentos sin igual,
Por nuestras pobres madres que gimen su amargura;
Por huérfanos y viudas, por presos en tortura
Y ora por ti que veas tu redención final.

Y cuando en noche oscura se envuelva el cementerio
Y solos sólo muertos queden velando allí,
No turbes su reposo, no turbes el misterio,
Tal vez acordes oigas de cítara o salterio,
Soy yo, querida Patria, yo que te canto a ti.

Y cuando ya mi tumba de todos olvidada
No tenga cruz ni piedra que marquen su lugar,
Deja que la are el hombre, la esparza con la azada,
Y mis cenizas, antes que vuelvan a la nada,
El polvo de tu alfombra que vayan a formar.

Entonces nada importa me pongas en olvido.
Tu atmósfera, tu espacio, tus valles cruzaré.
Vibrante y limpia nota seré para tu oído,
Aroma, luz, colores, rumor, canto, gemido,
Constante repitiendo la esencia de mi fe.

Mi patria idolatrada, dolor de mis dolores,
Querida Filipinas, oye el postrer adiós.
Ahí te dejo todo, mis padres, mis amores.
Voy donde no hay esclavos, verdugos ni opresores,
Donde la fe no mata, donde el que reina es Dios.

Adiós, padres y hermanos, trozos del alma mía,
Amigos de la infancia en el perdido hogar,
Dad gracias que descanso del fatigoso día;
Adiós, dulce extranjera, mi amiga, mi alegría,
Adiós, queridos seres, morir es descansar.





http://www.carayanpress.com/ultimo.html

The Monkey and the Turtle(folktale)

                               The Monkey and the Turtle
A Monkey, looking very sad and dejected, was walking along the bank of the river one day when he met a turtle.
"How are you?" asked the turtle, noticing that he looked sad.
The monkey replied, "Oh, my friend, I am very hungry. The squash of Mr. Farmer were all taken by the other monkeys, and now I am about to die from want of food."
"Do not be discouraged," said the turtle; "take a bob and follow me and we will steal some banana plants."
So they walked along together until they found some nice plants which they dug up, and then they looked for a place to set them. Finally the monkey climbed a tree and planted his in it, but as the turtle could not climb he dug a hole in the ground and set his there.
When their work was finished they went away, planning what they should do with their crop. The monkey said:
"When my tree bears fruit, I shall sell it and have a great deal of money."
And the turtle said: "When my tree bears fruit, I shall sell it and buy three varas of cloth to wear in place of this cracked shell."
A few weeks later they went back to the place to see their plants and found that that of the monkey was dead, for its roots had had no soil in the tree, but that of the turtle was tall and bearing fruit.
"I will climb to the top so that we can get the fruit," said the monkey. And he sprang up the tree, leaving the poor turtle on the ground alone.
"Please give me some to eat," called the turtle, but the monkey threw him only a green one and ate all the the ripe ones himself.
When he had eaten all the good bananas, the monkey stretched his arms around the tree and went to sleep. The turtle, seeing this, was very angry and considered how he might punish the thief. Having decided on a scheme, he gathered some sharp bamboo which he all around under the tree, and then he exclaimed:
Crocodile is coming! Crocodile is coming!"
The monkey was so startled at the cry that he fell upon the sharp bamboo and was killed.
Then the turtle cut the dead monkey into pieces, put on it, and dried it in the sun. The next day, he went to the mountains and sold his meat to other monkeys who gladly gave him squash in return. As he was leaving them he called back:
"Lazy fellows, you are now eating your own body; you are now eating your own body."
Then the monkeys ran and caught him and carried to their own home.
Let us take a hatchet," said one old monkey, "and cut him into very small pieces."
But the turtle laughed and said: "That is just what I like. I have been struck with a hatchet many times. Do you not see the black scars on my shell?"
Then one of the other monkeys said: "Let us throw him into the water."
At this the turtle cried and begged them to spare his life, but they paid no heed to his pleadings and threw him into the water. He sank to the bottom, but very soon came up with a lobster. The monkeys were greatly surprised at this and begged him to tell them how to catch lobsters.
"I tied one end of a string around my waist," said the turtle. "To the other end of the string I tied a stone so that I would sink."
The monkeys immediately tied strings around themselves as the turtle said, and when all was ready they plunged into the water never to come up again.
And to this day monkeys do not like to eat meat, because they remember the ancient story. 


http://asiarecipe.com/phitales5.html

THE PROWESS OF ALIGUYON

THE PROWESS OF ALIGUYON
(Ifugao, Visayas)
Long ago in Hannanga there lived a rich couple, Amtulao and Dumulao. They owned the longest and widest of the rice terraces that covered the mountainsides, and their harvests were the most plentiful. Their thatched house, large enough to contain three of their neighbors’ huts, had piles of red and white camote. Buried in the earth were jars of rice wine. Amtulao’s dogs were fat and well fed, not lean and starved looking as were the dogs of his neighbors. But will all their wealth, Amtulao and Dululao were unhappy, for they were childless. They offered numerous sacrifices to the spirits; and they lived frugally and simply feeling somehow that austerity and lack of ostentation would please the anitos.
In the end their prayers were answered, and Dumulao gave birth to Aliguyon, a sturdy and handsome child.
Even as an infant, Aliguyon was precocious. He quickly learned the songs with which his mother lulled him to sleep, and in no time he could recite the long prayers chanted by the warriors on Hannanga. He even knew by heart the village lore, the stories that the old folks of the village told, reciting them word for word as he had heard them in the cool evenings. But what pleased Amtulao most was Aliguyon’s skill with the spear and the shield. Amtulao made for him a little spear; and when at the age of three Aliguyon speared his first fish, Amtulao offered a pig as a sacrifice to the gods in thanksgiving. At five Aliguyon had speared wild chickens, at seven he was an accepted companion of Amtulao on hunting trips.
Among his playmates Aliguyon was a favorite. He was accepted as the leader, and no one challenged his leadership, for could he not spin a top better than anyone else? And could he not “kill” the strongest tops by hitting them with the pointed stem of his own top? Amtulao loved his son and carefully taught him all the arts of hunting and fishing that he knew, and he told the boy all the stories of valor and prowess of which he knew so many. But always, he ended with the story about his bitter enemy in the village across the mountain. Pangaiwan of Daligdigan had to be conquered before Amtulao could die in peace.
So when Aliguyon reached manhood, he called his childhood friends, now skilled workers, and talked to them about the glories of war, the prize they could bring back , and the adventures and fame awaiting them if they joined him in an expedition to Daligdigan. Eagerly his friends ran for their spears and shields, and with provisions for three days, Aliguyon and ten warriors set forth. When they reached the enemy village, Aliguyon challenged Pangaiwan to fight, but Pangaiwan was old. Instead, up rose Pumbakhayon, his manly son, as skilled a warrior and as strong and keen eyed as Aliguyon.
For three years the two men fought, and when they rested, theor friends fought an to man. But so well matched were the men, so equal in the arts of war, that no one was beaten. Each combat was a draw, each encounter ended with no one seriously wounded. At last Aliguyon and Pumbakhayon grew to admire each other. The people of Daligdigan, who had watched the strangers with suspicion, learned to like them for their courteous bearing and fair fighting. And the warriors of Hannanga found the girls in Daligdigan winningly shy and sweet.
One day, therefore, while Aliguyon and Pumbakhayon sat resting from a hotly contested fight, Pumbakhayon remarked: “What a waste of time! If were not enemies, we could be at home drinking rice wine and eating broiled river fish or roasted meat. But were enemies even though neither of us did the other any harm.” Aliguyon replied, “Ah, how truly you speak. Perhaps the anitos do not favor this fight, for neither has won. Perhaps the gods put your words into your mouth and this feeling in my heart, for I no longer wish to kill you, O Pumbakhayon.” His words fell on the ears of the listening warriors and on those of the villagers watching the combat. With a loud shout of approval, the warriors ran to their leaders and carried them to the house of Pumbakhayon where old Pangaiwan waited. Preparations began for a huge celebration. Squealing pigs were drag to be killed. The fattest dogs were killed and cooked. The fields were scoured for river fish and snails. Prized camotes, violet and orange, glutinous and sweet, were boiled or roasted. Bananas were laid out y the bunches; guavas and berries were heaped high, and in white scrubbed wooden bowls steamed small-grained upland rice, sweet smelling of fragrant herbs and banana leaves, and black-bottomed earthen pots. Everyone came to the feast, and as the jars of rice wine were emptied, the friendship between the strangers from Hannanga and the people of Daligdigan grew.
All throughout the feast, Aliguyon was fascinate by the light movements of Bugan, by her gaiety and her poise. At the end of the three-day feast, he approached Pangaiwan and said, “O Pangaiwan, once my father’s enemy but now his friend, grant, I beg of you, this one request. Let us bind our friendship with ties that even death cannot break. Give me your daughter Bugan for my wife. I love her; she is to me the brilliant sun that warms the earth and drives away the chill of the night. She is to me the golden moon that brightens the dark and drives away the weariness of the day’s work. Without her I cannot return to my village as I left it, for with her I have left y heart and my thoughts and my happiness.”
Pangaiwan listened, and the men grew quite. Bugan blushed and bent her head. Fourteen times her father had harvested his yearly crops since she was born; she knew that after two or more harvests her father would begin looking critically at the young men who talked to her. But Aliguyon was such a hero, so strong and brave, so well spoken of and handsome! Would her father allow her to leave the house and follow Aliguyon?
Pangaiwan looked at his daughter fondly. He could read her thoughts as she looked at him mutely from under shyly lowered eyelashes. Clearing his throat, he answered slowly:
`“Aliguyon, you are my son. The spirits are good. They have given me a worthy man for a son-in-law. Take Bugan. I pray the anitos that she will be a worthy wife for you and a dutiful daughter-in-law for Amtulao and Dumulao.” His words were drowned by the joyous shouts of Aliguyon and his men. Aliguyon sprang into the air, yelling with happiness, and his friends chanted the first words of the courting song. The women took up the rhythm with their hands on bronze gongs and hollowed-out logs, and everyone crowded around to see Aliguyon mimic the strut of a rooster as he danced before Bugan.
In triumph he led her to his father in Hannanga, and kneeling before Amtulao and Dumulao, he cried:
“O Father! O Mother! Your enemy in Daligdigan is no more.Pangaiwan, your enemy, no longer lived. In his place is Pangaiwan, the father-in-law of your only son Aliguyon. If you love me, love too the man whom your son promised to honor as the father of his wife. Behold, I have brought you my wife, Bugan of Daligdigan, the lovely daughter of Pangaiwan. I bring her to you, Father, so that someone can pound the dried meat for you when you are hungry. I brought her to you, O my mother, so that someone can carry water to you when you want to drink.
“I destroyed your enemy by making him a friend. Therefore, O Father, you can die in peace, for we have conquered him. But Bugan conquered my heart, and with her I can live in peace.”
Thus did peace come to Amtulao and Dumulao. They lived to see Bugan enrich their lives with several grandchildren. Often Amtulao and Dumulao were honored guests at Daligdigan, in the house of Pangaiwan; and as often as they visited Pangaiwan, so often did he go to Hannanga to visit his grandchildren and to talk of old times with Amtulao and Dumulao.

http://www.geocities.com