Matabang Lupa

Ipinunla ang aking binhi sa lupang
mataba at hitik sa mga bulateng
kalaban ang umaga at mga ibon.
Araw-araw diniligan ang aking buto
ng dugo at pawis na bumukal mula
sa disyertong imbakan ng krudo.
Bawat umaga ay sabay na paalam
at pagbati ng gumagapang na ugat
sa hardinero at sa hardinerang
alipin ng panginoong maylupa.
Nang sumupling ang aking talbos,
natikman ko ang abonong nabili
sa mga mangangalakal na singkit.
Unti-unti, tumindig ang katawan,
tumubo ang mga sangang naging
tahanan ng ibong mandaragit—
salamat sa arugang simula’t sapul
ay di naging salat sa bungkal at dilig.
Ngunit sa pag-usbong ng mayayabong
kong dahon, naging kapansin-pansin
ang kawalan ng matatamis na bungang
inasam-asam ng aking tagapag-alaga.
Ang punong tumubo sa matabang
lupa ay baliko, na ang tanging
biyaya ay lilim at mga bulaklak.

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Fertile Soil

I planted my seed on soil

that is fertile and full of worms

whose enemies are the morning and the birds.

I watered my seed every day

with blood and sweat from the fountain

in the desert where crude is stored.

Every morning is both a farewell

and hello from the crawling vein

of the male gardener and the female gardener

that were both slaves of the landlord.

When my plant bore fruit,

I tasted the fertilizer I bought

from the chinky-eyed traders.

Gradually, my body grew,

the branches sprouted that became

home to birds of prey––

thanks to the care that from the start

never lacked in digging and watering.

But with the growth of my thick

foliage, one could readily notice

the absence of the sweet fruits

that my carer longed for.

The tree that grew from the fertile

soul was bent, whose only

blessings were the shade and the flowers.