Kuliapis Nga Ay-ay

Makasiram ti apuy a sumgiab iti kaunggan ni ngata-ngata
Ket puoranna ti simbeng ti panagdaliasat ti agduadua a kararua
Dagiti agkatangkatang a dapan nga inulila ti nailibay a darepdep
Nga indaramudom ti kasipngetan, inadipen nagkaadu a derrep.

‘Di madaeran kuyep a mata ti makipinnerreng iti masakbayan
A tagtagibien aliaw impasngay kalman a di man la nagbalasang
Iduduayyan’ pilay nga agdama a nagpanawan narasi a namnama
Ilallallay saning-i ti dung-aw dagiti umar-arubayan nga aligaga.

Madaeranto ngata ti kired ni Elpis ti bang-i ti espiritu ni Moros
A nangkaras ubbog ni talinaay, nangruros sabong ti kurkuros
Idinto nga agsung-aben dagiti kalman a ramut a baglan ni puot
A dalanen koma dagiti sagibsib ngem inalun-on metten ni pungtot?

Uray la agallangogan dagiti sennay ti nakas-ang a pannakapaay
Ngem saan met a sumngaw dagiti boses ti kuliapis nga ay-ay.


Check out other version HERE. Or, read my other attempts at poetry HERE.


//Sherma E. Benosa
09 May 2008; 10:15pm

Odes to the Night

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Obscure

The night is —

the wide canvas
upon which the moon paints
his mysterious smile.

the rich backdrop
against which the stars dance
gleefully.

Dark, he lives in obscurity.
Alone, he is nobody.

Yet, without him —
The moon’s smile would be bereaved of its allure.
And the stars’ dance would lose its grandeur.

There won’t be starlit skies
under which lovers exchange dreamy sighs!



Nigh Shift

The night —

He hears
the young mothers’ lullabies.
the insomniac’s nightly cries.
the lovers’ secret sighs.
the children’s bedtime pray’rs, their hearts’ desires.

He sees
the sleeping souls’ dreams.
the steps sleepwalkers make.
the crimes every thief commits.
the owls’ flights to the wilderness.

The night —

Is busy.
Tonight.
Every night.
He, too, is on the night shift!


//Sherma E. Benosa

Book on a Shelf

I am
On a shelf:
A book
Unread for years.

Each page
An unraveling of stories:
Whispered conversations
Words soft and strong;
A tangle of thoughts and emotions:
Laughter walking amidst flower beds
Tears swimming in deep ravines;
Good and evil on a fierce swordfight;
A passing of day and night;
A chronicle of a journey:
With a humble beginning
And an end yet untold.

Unread for years
A book
On a shelf:
I am.



//Sherma E. Benosa
23 October 2007; 11:00pm

Dagaang ti Abril

Salemsemen ti rikna
Iti dagaang ti Abril
Ta agbalayen ti dara
Iti lamiis dagiti arakup.
Nakuturan ket ngata
Dagiti naulila a parmata
Dagiti kimter a darang
Ti nasebseban a pluma.
Ta nupay makapurar ‘ta lawag
Sipnget latta met ti makita
Ta kimmudrepen dagiti mata
Ti narikpan a puso.
Awan met ngaminen
Dagiti makaay-ayo a buya
Liwliwa agkukutel a rikna.
Ta agsalawasaw metten
Dagiti talawataw a saka
Ken agkusilapen
Dagiti siping a dila.

//Sherma E. Benosa
18 April 2008; 3:25pm
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Iruruk-at

.
‘Di mawingiwingan naumbi nga awis
Agur-uray panagtalaytay manen
Dara kadagiti urat ti napipikel a nakem

Ta nupay impierno ti makalunag iti bato
Saan a maigawid panagbitek ti puso.

Maatiananto dagiti bubon ni sanaang
Umarakupto met laeng bara ni alikaka
Ket maruk-atanto naibalud a simbeng

Ta nupay natulawan nagpakadan a kalman
Adda minas a nasikkarud dagiti dapan.

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//Sherma E. Benosa
09 June 2008; 12:45am
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Iti Kannag ti Kaltaang

.
Agtadekak man, ta naiwagatkon a namimpinsan
Dagiti aliaw a nangadipen iti kaunggan.

Ta awandan a matimudko dagiti aligagaw ni buteng
Tunggal lumabas iti paraangan agal-allangogan
Nga arimpadek dagiti agkalkallautang nga anniniwan.

Makiin-innisemak met ngaminen iti kannag ti kaltaang;
Isu a wen, gayyem, patiek a namimpinsan
Nauman nga agsaknap dagiti nadawel a lidem
Nausawan ket ngatan ti nangbartek kadakuada nga ilem.


//Sherma E. Benosa
27 April 2008; 10:46am
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Rendezvous

Blank are her brown eyes
As they stare into the void
Too dark is the night.

For the moon is tired
From her nightly rendezvous
She won’t come tonight.

Crickets, they’re silent
They’ve been told many a time:
Sometimes, songs torment.

Ev’n the oft nice wind
Is in sour mood; tonight a
Bitchy company.

Yet, in the darkness
She sits a-waiting for peace
To hand her its grace.

She lifts a finger
To lips unpainted, unkissed
No sensation there.

She heaves a faint sigh
As she softly shakes her head
A whimper is heard.

Then crystals glisten
Building up then falling down,
Forming a river.

Rolling down the planes
And slopes of her pallid cheeks
Down to her soft neck.

Sad are her brown eyes
When she shut them off the void
This night dared offer.

She too is quite tired
From her daily rendezvous
Yet she came tonight.


Sherma Benosa
7/14/2006 4:25:15 AM