IRONG-IRONG XVI by USA Publications

Irong-irong is published by the USA Publications, which envision itself as an Augustinian center of campus journalism, focusing on the advocacy of the common good and acting as voice of the student body through responsive, developmental, and research-based campus journalism.

Published in November 2021 by the UNIVERSITY OF SAN AGUSTIN PUBLICATIONS The Official Student Press Corps of the University of San Agustin 2/F Alumni Building, University of San Agustin General Luna Street, Iloilo City, Philippines 5000 Email Address: usapublications1@gmail.com Copyright © 2021 by the USA Publications for the collection and the individual authors, artists,and photographers

No part of this publication may be reproduced or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form whether virtual, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without written permission and approval from the owners.

At the other end, the sound of shattered glass kept ringing. Frightened, the call was picked up. And right there, the challenge was accepted.

Polychromatic Monochrome

EDITOR’S NOTE

Suddenly, everything was gray, and black, and white. Shadows stole the spotlight and delirious thoughts have won the night. For a couple of lengthy days that turned months, it has been so hard – to strike the match, to get the light. All that was got was an earsplitting silence until a shattered glass was heard. A year has already passed since the time when we were locked in the confines of our homes. A lot has changed and growth was eminent. Here, you’ll witness that there’s more than black and white. Colors rush into your eyes just like how contained thoughts from within were streaking in all directions into our lives. As the clock continues to tick, our time has been dynamic, our insights are changing and we are adapting; so is the Irong-irong. finally over.

Now, it breaks a beam of light into a spectrum. The time has come, the wait is

Just like that, Irong-irong is that prism – where it refracts, sheds light on, and dispels shadows. Brace yourselves as we go along to another journey in the form of oeuvres which were whole-heartedly crafted as passion and emotions were poured. These masterpieces symbolize the stories of hope, freedom, and breakthrough. Together with Oscar Mari G. Fajardo and Shergen Q. Villanueva from the Creative Writing Team, we bid you “Happy reading!”

Nicole Rose D. Fenita Literary Editor

CONTENTS:

Poetry

Autumnal Hues Krysleen L. Granada

I’ll be here

Maskara sang Balangaw

Lustrous

Trapped Sparkle

Scrapbook

Colorblind

In Between the Light and Dark

Si Inday

Enigma

When Light Pierces through the Darkness

Daniel Mann

Marie O. Kant

Eugenie A. Baluran

Yllana Kaye J. Hortilano

Syrell Doanne V. Nietes

Ara

Hannah Jhanylle C. Po

Anne Harys Silubrico

Joshua Patrick C. Santillan

Shergen Q. Villanueva

Hanuut nga Bulak

Ako si Blu

The Canvas of Life

Of Cruel Proportions and Bleak Perceptions

Pia Victoria E. Graza

Venjellie Muyco Garcia

Athena Christy L. Soledad

Hannah Jhanylle C. Po

Shades of the Oppressed

Kartero

Paleta

Syrell Doanne V. Nietes

Jawn Caryss Justalero

Nicole Rose D. Fenita

The Loneliest Ones Nico Julleza

Ode not Sung Natasha Del Valle

55 56

PROSE

What Happened to Humans

Raul and His crayons

Natatanging Irog

The Law of Refraction

Sinister of Kisses Crimson

Athena Christy L. Soledad

Marie O. Kant

Pia Victoria E. Graza

Ara

Ma. Danica M. Campos

Art AND PHOTOGRAPHY Celestial Shower

Untouchable

Treasure

Kendra Felimarie Magsico

célimène

Maire O. Kant

POeTRY POeTRY

Paglaum Angel Octoso

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Autumnal Hues Krysleen L. Granada

Seemingly, a prismatic crystal refracted the misted horizon, as hues of amaranthine and sapphire smeared the atmosphere. The autumnal breath hummed through my ears; imprinting a memory with a hymn of consolation. I sauntered my way into the woods, and gently wrapped her favorite daisies in my palms. I held her perfume out of my pocket and inhaled the heavenly smell of vanilla. Still, the wafting scent traces every part of hers, which left me in an enchanting daze. I halted as I found her under the maple tree, where our names were crafted on the trunk. Her long and wavy chestnut hair was tousled by the cold breeze.

“Darling, I’m here..” I whispered. My smile turned into a mischievous grin as I slowly strode towards her. I enveloped my arms around her waist, and grazed my hands across her petite frame. I swayed her into dance, as psithurism crafts soundscapes in our souls, with the melody of sensation, bliss and longing. Luminous petals of silver suddenly scattered in the night sky, beckoning the radiant epistle of our exchanged wedding vows – creatively encrypted in transfigured light. I interlocked my fingers along her pallid ones as I continually dance her corpse. “I will always love you.. ‘til death do us part.”

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I’ll Be Here Daniel Mann

Who are you, beyond my door? Why do you call for me? I have sunk deep into my bed, Unable to hear your plea Nor the tears you shed It’s been too long now, too long Where must I go But deeper within me? For I am my own foe— A lock without a key Go away, I tell you You’ve nothing to gain I am deep into my slumber For I must have this pain As I weep another summer Things have come and gone I have pressed back and forth From the past I must resolve And I press on until the birth Of the one who’s been absolved You’re beginning to irk me Why must you be so persistent? What do you know of my woe— Of the world, of my existence, Of the things that trouble me so?

Alas, you let out a whisper “Look at the window,” you said There, I see people lost— Far from the lives they once led I saw what the sickness has cost I look around my room, my mirror I see a man so dull and lifeless The hues of his soul, a clutter Left to be consumed by darkness, Awaiting a light to shine on his color You, who knocked on my door The antithesis of me One who wanders despite the chaos Not the room where I went to flee Towards the light you guide me across We must tread forward Despite what has been lost For it is only through movement That our light can thaw the frost So long now, that I have awaited this moment To witness my colors again

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Cosmic Benz

Discernment of the Moon Morgan Jade M. Abella

The night turns to comfort like that of a mother’s lullaby. Under the luminescence of the moon, Serenity enjoys its short destination to where the end will lead. Blue devils were present in the scenes of sharing the same entity. Dreadfully seeking for affinity. If I pushed you towards death? Do not erode her for the liquidity of time. I said, I will never fight for life. Sirens were at sound within his vanity. Quickly pushing me to a safe place, Pretending that empathy was non-existent. A vicious prey will it be then? I said, there will be more pain than easy death. He said, if death was not a sin I would have done it. Foolishness was at stake and playfulness is being pulled out by him. Considering its a fun game of comedians in a show, Running away from the calling was considered a pun. Captivity in your endless amours are a possibility, Contentment is not hiding itself from the shadows, Of the watchful eyes of the moon. The mystery an owl can be praised in a temple.

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Focus

Jedro L. Cawaling

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Achromatic Angst Shaz Andrei T. Amacio

Living in a polychromatic field of life and death, I stood in front my reflection seeing only black and white, With a clouded mind I took out an ashy breath, Identity concealed by illusions of light. Tears are swallowed until no more, Such an unpleasant flavor of rotting matter, Mottled into my heart’s flesh, so sore, Vermilion’s fury is pinned by reason to resist anger. Confused emotions painted onto a wall, Crimson wounds becoming my grave, Memory clips are bleeding as I recall, Asking for a plethora of bliss to ease my crave. Envious of others aura, pure and phantasmagoric, While I am a shaded shape blender shifter, An unstable fake world who’s sophomoric, The unknown shadow who hides in a monochrome filter. Like a powerless creature who’s trapped and astray, Surrounded by predators of judgement with manipulation, Under the depth of melancholic cerulean waves that obey, Panting, waiting for the pure crystalline salvation. Like a powerless creature who’s trapped and astray, Surrounded by predators of judgement with manipulation, Under the depth of melancholic cerulean waves that obey, Panting, waiting for the pure crystalline salvation. Truly I am a self-destructive saturation, My eyes of disappointment whispered to shut down, Then walked away with no stained hesitation, This is my last time looking in the mirror with a frown.

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MASKARA SANG BALANGAW Maire O. Kan’t

Balangaw sang kahawaan, Yara ka sa putokputokan sang kalibutan; Sidlak sang adlaw napawaan, Sang ulan nawisikan. Utdon mo bala ang mga kamot, Kon ikaw ang naluyagan itudlo? Bulagon mo bala ang mga mata, Kon ikaw ang labing hingabut lantawon? Apang ngaa ang kurba masinulub-on? Duag dekolor ang kasanag, masinadyahon nga nawung; Apang ngaa madulom ang nabatyagan? Arko gapaidalom, kasubo nga balatyagon. Apang ngaa madasig ka madula, Kon ikaw ang patimaan sang paglaum? Ano na matabo sa mga handum, Nga imo ginbayaan sa sini nga kalibutan? Mamingawon nga pamatasan sa itsura sang kalipayan. Ikaw bala ang kasanag matapos sang kadudolman, Ukon ikaw isa lang ka maskara sang yuhum Samtang ga-antus sang kalainan?

Dilaw Kayte JJ Amarante

Sa dami-daming kulay sa mundo Isa lamang ang napili ko. Ang paboritong kulay ko ay dilaw Masaya, mainit, kulay na nakakasilaw. Masaya, Tulad ng pagbibigay ng kulay Sa matamlay ko’ng buhay, Nagbibigay ngiti sa aking mga labi, Ikaw lang naman ang sanhi nito palagi. Mainit Sa mga malalamig kong gabi Ikaw ang nagsilbing mainit ko’ng kape, Sa tuwing ako’y giniginaw, aking hinahanap Ang mainit mong mga yakap. Nakakasilaw, Sapagkat sa madilim ko’ng mga araw Ikaw ang aking ilaw Para ako’y ulit magkaroon ng matanaw. Kaya ikaw ang aking dilaw, Sa lahat ng tao, ang pipiliin ko ay ikaw.

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Every Color, Every Hue (You) Ara

You could be red or yellow— Oh how the sun sinks, Into the horizon each day, Its transient light would give ephemeral colors, Lustering against the fading sky, Red or yellow—what a pretty sight to look at your sunsets. Maybe blue or purple— Beneath the indigo waves, Of dark shades of the sea, Splashing legs and swaying hips, Around moonlit rocks, A tale of lovers rose, As the dawn hits its colors. Probably white— Hesitation in words; our wayward love was so much, That our pride kept silent, Late dawns; delayed sunsets, When what we both want, Was only a cry of acceptance, A blank slate as it is. Indeed black— Sun-drenched dreams, In snow white clouds, Hands locked tightly together, Escaping cruelty of society’s gazes, For every color painted was always you, “You are both the absence and presence of my colors, B” My love; my favorite hue.

Universal Interconnection Julian Caleb M. Dela Cruz irong-irong

Christine Octoso

Prism Glass - Hue

No one sees, No one feels Venjellie Muyco Garcia

Contorted face in agony Tears brimming in his eyes Ready to fall as hardened ice. Fingers clasps in writhing motion, veins popped in anger Labored breathing, wanting to gulp a second of air. No one sees, no one feels Except the one whose own heartbeat he hears. Not, until with one last violent breath, His feeble arm unsheathes the sword, Plunged deeply into the enemy’s chest, Tearing, breaking loose the tightened cord. Fear… this paralyzing demon was forever slain, Faith… he is free, at peace wherever he is lain. 10

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Lustrous Eugenie A. Baluran

Cracks are ugly. In the deepest recesses of my fragments, of these displacements in my being, I ooze shame from its niches. What good is a shattered artefact? What use comes from shards of glass, of hazardous pieces, from a display of beauty once whole? Flawless, undamaged prisms reveal colour in the presence of light. Yet blood draws when the jagged edges cut into my hands as I desperately feign completion. A man’s tongue once uttered “In clarity comes peace”. A philosophical scam, I dare say for this disjointed reflection is clear and all that came was resentment. But as I sit and stare, pondering, wondering, in the complexities of the human mind, is splendour limited to the eyes of only one person? I digress. There will never be romance in being reduced to remnants. Yet there are those peculiar enough who will happily collect your pieces and create new hues with you in the light. And I found them. In my misaligned state of crystalline scraps I found them. And what joy it is to be assured that shards are still capable of iridescence.

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Cold Heart Alexa France Estalle 12

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Trapped Sparkle Yllana Kaye J. Hortilano

I saw what is happening to you, your heart scattered, every piece of you crumbles in the deserted land. You may see yourself as a moving wisp this time, but for me — you are a faerie. You are every flying life I can think of with your hopeless crushed relics. To me, you are a lady of freezing butterflies, waking up from the gentle warmth thawed by warm sunlight. To me, you are a peregrine, freed from the cage of an experience; skimming above the lively tides to find your place. You are seeing a barren world, dark and dry, But I notice the familiar rainbows spilling from your broken self. You have the whole spectrum of everything beautiful and powerful beneath your skull. A crystal that has dulled in hibernation Saw you release a tear due to this isolation, I know that I found a faerie — and that is you.

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Ataraxia Angel Octoso

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Passage Nico Julleza

Warble of billows circles upon the spectrum of the midnight galaxy. The astral symphony orchestrates the occupants that forge their heavenly vows. Passing through bridges of beginning and deaths gate, where yonder is eternal life. To the highest place, a ceremonial throne reigns of infinite saving grace.

Wisteria Nico Julleza

Subtle breeze looms the vicinity upon that sky-light glow. White parasols glide up above, petals fading like virgin snow. In whispering chant; you spoke to my deafening heart. In ordinary words; you’ve touched my deepest part. Unbridle this shackle my valiant valentine. To you I offer my hand; on crimson skies and eternal time. 16

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The First Ray Nico Julleza

The long pensive storm ends; rain, thunder and voided webs. Reimagines of elusive songs; a phase from yesterday’s melody. This captive heart beholding sacred memories took free. Thus— every teardrop up above filled my empty space. The grays on my floors and walls slowly drifts away. A stronghold hope wanting to delve my fatal door. And at the rustic window— where my child-like faith exists. The first ray of morning light weaving through my inner core.

SCRAPBOOK Syrell Doanne V. Nietes

The day drifts off to its slumber As I sat back and relive Memories echo I began to reminisce My fingers began to comb Through these scrapbook pages Thumbing through I invoke a smile A simple pleasure A fleeting glimpse Sleek pages Of these cellulose fibers All filled with joy and victories But one A single page Blank, torn At the center, but mended With a tacky tape But as I caress through These empty page An unexplainable feeling Rushed to my spine All the fleeting feeling Unfolded into anew I felt out of sorts Regretful, hopeless, bitter Clueless, I scanned How can a single page Left me hanging dismal? Then it all unraveled From the day we sat On an arched mistletoe To the day you told me I wasn’t the one you wanted anymore

The Spectrum in its Character Shaz Andrei Amanio

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Stray Flower Kendra Felizimarie P. Magsico

She danced and spun like a free-spirit on her first journey at Earth’s peculiar ground. She took territory over the dance hall as everyone failed to take their eyes off of her. A wildflower in a room of peonies, each step she took seemed too full of life. She danced along with the reflections of stained glass, Making it look like a perfect interlude to a romance novel. A powerful magnet that has the capability to pull people in. Her features are honestly as average as it can get, but her smile? Her smile contained galaxies of stars, the kind that could light up any dim room. And I? A man entranced yet can only look at you from afar.

Sophrosyne Angel Octoso

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Fractal Reminders Kendra Felizimarie P. Magsico

The sun kisses the ocean, yet again. And the breeze murmurs its piece and leaves a gentle peck on my cheek. From the corner of my eye, your hair sways along the wind making it quite an amusing display. But your face leaves rather a tranquil story unknown to anyone. Hypnotized by your current state, I was quite surprised to find a hand that held mine, And a rock colored in translucent green. “Sea glass” you said and resumed quickly “a reminder that... No matter how exposed or broken you become, choose to be a sea glass, persistent and vibrant, honest and transparent”. Silence engulfed me by your sudden declaration, until the sound of waves slowly returned. And at that moment of profound consciousness I received a premonition, that none can be a brighter sea glass than you.

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Colorblind Ara

I’ll tell you something— When those twinkling stars in your eyes would always get me, I am colorblind yet I can see how bright you are, Those storied eyes, prominent dimples on your cheek— Your eloquence makes me feel giddy, Or the way you’d always dazzle behind the limelight each time, I smiled; you gave me light. I’ll tell you something— When you resemble everything that shines, Your gentle touch would always create magnificent hues, And when you held my hand—the spectrum grew brighter; dispersed in all directions, Yet all I see was light; nothing more, nothing less, “I am colorblind”, your brows furrowed, But an awfully familiar smile crept, As You held my hand tighter, I heaved a deep sigh, You have always found the things I could never see in myself. I’ll tell you— Perhaps I’d be nothing without your existence, Just a mere transparent object with constant ends and sides, I’ll forever hold your hand—put all my worries away, I couldn’t wish for more than the hues you emit, So daring; indeed beautiful, I am your glass prism young lad, And You’ll always be my blinding light.

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Sophrosyne Angel Octoso

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Phronesis Benz

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Overcome the Ravaging Cherid M. Pariñal

Overcome the Ravaging by Cherid M. Pariñal Eyes awaken in a bleak square room. You greet the sun with a wry scowl. Flaky skin and inked eyelids damned with gloom An inkling of sleep accompanied by a stomach’s growl. Creases indented beside both nerve-striated eyes Increased coffee shots in the bloodstream did nothing but heighten narcolepsy. Stricken with blows of anxiety, another day is faced with imminent soul cries. A virus ravages, encompassing the mind, creating acatalepsy. Surmounting becomes harder to carry out. The brokenness is felt holistically As the dangers seek to hamper, take out. Lives quelled, livelihoods ceased, this catastrophe holds an alarming tally. Underneath the flimsy mask is an anorexic yearning Yearning starved by the worldwide devastation and upheaval Which left hopes and dreams compelled in renouncing. Nooses hanging on porches consume dead bodies with evil. One by one, humans hold reunions with the Maker Leaving their families devoid of recuperance. The invisible adversity resumes its venomous slither Making the world vehemently forget its balance. Oh, how are we to regain consciousness from this nightmare? Remember His oath, symbolized by a bow of colors. Beyond the tumultuous thunderstorm is a bright, clear day with the sun’s glare. His overflowing grace is far greater than any overbearing remorse. The dark-hued trials faced today Equips us of a stronger defense that can weather the sudden quakes. His indescribable purpose works in a bizarre way Holding absolute sway in our lives, His sovereignty erases traces of heartaches. Believe! Receive His grace and surrender to His will and plans And experience a life unbound from earthly restraint. In His eternal home tinted with a prism’s hues There lies a safe haven, exchanging pleasure for any complaint.

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In Color Dylan Jacob Suarez

In Between the Light and Dark (Haikus on pandemic ruminations) Hannah Jhanylle C. Po

I. Silence lives, pervades, Mirror madness closing in, Solitude at home. II. Fields of masks and shields, All spread out six feet apart. New normal glimpses. III. Virus mutated, Footsteps like an assassin, Spreading like wildfire. IV. Unflinching, frozen, ‘Tis is limited bandwidth, A school of pauses. V. The road is silent, Empty of beeps and mutters, Transportation ceased. VI. Terror grips my veins, Positive mark unwanted, A threat unneeded. VII. Breath shallow, painful, Heart rate steady, monitored, Are the only sounds. VII. World trapped in prisms, But refracted paint past pain, Bleeding light and hope.

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Social Media Nation Hannah Jhanylle C. Po

Browse not Facebook, Twitter, or TikTok, they say, For they will whisper saccharine lies with a hint of truth into your ear, Honey-coated and profound in presentation, Amplifying every petty little fear. From hyperbolic claims of miracle cures, To simple misquotes and Photoshop-tweaked posts, Each click and share is a dash of pungent gasoline, Each doubtful mind, a match stroked. Stoke not the fire in the masses, Hidden behind shields of plastic and glasses, Who, dauntless in their anonymity and distance, Tap and spill words with reckless abandon. Seek not their endless feud, Relentless in your own pursuit for justice, ‘Lest you fall deeper and deeper into a rabbit hole of things misconstrued, Lost in a montage of apparent bias or ignorance. ‘Tis the infodemic, a gnashing, snarling beast, Swift and almost invisible in its treads, An assassin trailing the oblivious traveler, Much like the pandemic and its deadly caliber. Social media alone, though, is nothing but an empty web, No feelings or motives, just bug fixes and features, Reflecting each movement, each choice, Echoing sentiments its dwellers choose to voice. Should embers of a different class spark, Warm like an embrace instead of scorching, Flags would raise, bold beacons against the dark, Strangers would convene as if lifelong friends. Do we join the cacophony of mindless clicks, Eyes flung open, but minds screwed shut? Or do we trend #Veritas, Caritas, and Unitas pics, Digitally link arms and march towards a stronger social media nation?

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Pixelated Spectrum Joshua Patrick Santillan

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Note to Self

Gwynethanne Villacastin

Si Inday ni Anne Harys Silubrico

Kasanag, kasanag, kasanag Akon na amat-amat nga nakita ang kasanag Ako si Inday nga gapangduha-duha sa desisyon nga pagahimuon Ini bala akon pagapadayunon ukon dapat na nga paga-untaton? Sa sini nga tini-on, sa pag-epekto sang pandemya Bilang isa ka esdtudyante, halos tanan nangin mabudlay na Akon na gusto nga makasulod sa pwerta sang eskwelahan Kung sa diin may presensiya sang akon ikaduha nga ginikanan

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Ang sitwasyon sang klase karon, akon na ginakuwestiyon Ako guid man bala may pagakadtunan kag makatuon? Ukon nadala lang sa pagtulod sang pamilya Ini nga depresyon, akon pa bala nga makaya? Tama na! Indi na! Ako na naka desisyon Akon na ini nga pagadayunon Tama na ini nga pangabudlay Ulihi na kag akon nabatian ang singgit ni nene nga, “Inday!” “Inday! Inday! Dali lang, buksi anay Buksi anay imo mga mata kag indi magpadala sa kabudlay Mabudlay tuod ang pangabuhi, apang yari kami nga gapalangga sa imo Inday, pasensiyahon mo kay ulihi na ako” Tani kung may tawo lang nga naghambal sa imo sang importansiya sang kabuhi Kung sa diin may kasadya gali kag indi lang puro hibi Nga sa pihak sang kabudlay may nabilin pa nga paglaum Kag may kasanag pa sa pihak sang sining kadulom Amu na ini ang masakit nga kamatuoran karon nga dapat naton paga-atubangon Nga kung sa diin madamo na ang nakaon sang kadulom Gani aton pagadayunon ang pagpalapnag sang kasanag kag paglaum Agud wala na sing Nene, Toto ukon Inday, nga magadula sa aton.

Glooms’ Glowing Shadow by Kyle Mark M. Popon

Luminous light scintillates in tenebrous gloom. As the root of all, grim crisis squeezed life’s spectrum. Beings were taken in this way health had values. Life is the light, through the prism, composed of hues — Red radiates infinite love and immense passion, Yet we contacted heavy menace and caution. Like orange that warms us with flamboyant success, Shredded into a variety of pieces. Before, we enjoyed the merriment of yellow. Then, how did it degenerate its golden glow? Green’s gift of rebirth, progress, and prosperity: Did it render the lives that were taken solely? In the space of blue’s depth of imagination, Drowning yet I held no one’s hand in that ocean. Violet holds up the mirror of wealthiness, Yet neither rich or poor has escaped in this darkness — Polychromatic Glooms’ aggregate plays a show. Succor to luminesce light: Glooms’ glowing shadow. irong-irong

Kulay Pula nga ba ang Pagmamahal? ni Kristel May J. Riego

Tipikal man kung pakinggan ngunit ito ang nadarama, Itong aking pag-ibig sayo’y maihahalintulad sa kulay pula, Pulang puso, pulang rosas, pati mga pisnging namumula, Iba’t-ibang klase ng pula, matingkad man o mapusyaw sa mata. Subalit itong kulay ay lumilitaw lamang sa umpisa, Matatanaw kung minsan ngunit madalas ay hindi na. Kung hindi na ba kulay pula, hindi na pag-ibig ang nadarama? Marahil ay mayroon pang ibang kulay na maaaring kumonekta. Ito’y kulay dilaw tulad ng ningning sa aking mga mata, Sa tuwing nasisilayan ang iyong mukha’y anong saya. Ito’y kulay kahel na natatanaw tuwing takipsilim, Tila’y ayaw mahiwalay kahit na maabutan ng dilim. Ito rin ay kulay bughaw tuwing namamayani ang lumbay, Sa saglit na panahon na tayong dalawa ay nawalay. Ito rin ay kulay berde kung sakali’y nagkabati na muli, Aayusin ang nabasag na tiwala kahit ‘di na tulad ng dati. Ang iyong pagmamahal naman ay parang puting ilaw, Kung itatapat sa prisma’y tiyak na lahat ng kulay ay matatanaw, Kaya hangad kong sana’y hindi ito mauubos at pumusyaw, ‘Pagkat kung ‘di dahil sa pag-ibig mo’y walang kulay ding lilitaw.

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Comfort Zone Dylan Jacob Suarez

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Break Out Dylan Jacob Suarez

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Enigma by Joshua Patrick C. Santillan

Beauty after chaos, Seven colors arise, Bewitching sight from afar, Is it still the same up close? Allured by the multi-colored arc, Curiosity hits hard, Where does it end? Where does it start? I love the unsolvable so much, I became one, This time it is nearer, What is holding me back? Always changing location, Never the same place twice, Wherever it may choose to be, An inexplicable mystery.

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WHEN LIGHT PIERCES THROUGH THE DARKNESS by Shergen Q. Villanueva

In a cave where the world dwells, no one plucks for light in wishing wells. But not I, for my ears heard the pitch from the darkness. It is a sound, no, more like a voice from a piper. It calls and it calls but others keep sleeping anyway. But not I, for He plays time by time until it rings for my soul and I refuse to fall in slumber. A tune being piped in a void summons me like a new musician. I can make music move, He says. I can, I can, He says because He can. Sunken in the majesty of His promise, I followed the narrow course to the Celestial City and as I looked back, I saw the abyss. I did not belong there. I am not brand-new; I am just washed-through. He just won me back; this King redeemed me. But the luminance blinded me as I got out. I must have been in the dark for too long. Ode to that sound, that voice, that power — with my eyes temporary blind, I saw Him even more.

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Pauline Dennisse Baldevieso

Just a Kiss from a Rose

Hanuut nga Bulak ni Pia Victoria E. Graza

Isa ka tikang Duwa ka lima sa balikawang Tatlo ka liki nga daw si Bakekang Palakpak kag mag iskang-iskang Naglagatik ang orasan kay alas tres na Hinali gin uba ang ginahigot-higot nga tela Ginhapay ang burangos kag namis-ak raha Ginsudlan ang balde, nag hakwat upa Nagaragasa ang balhas sa akun maskulo Nagparamuypuy ang kalawasan kay baldado Apang para sa pamilya, ako magabato Ang kapoy maumpawan gani padayon sa sakripisyo

Gulpyada nga may nag katok Ang kahoy nga pirtahan, naglagapok Gaparamungol ang talinga sa kagahod nga patok Kalimutaw naga sala-sala, pati ki-ay nag tap-ok

Nagpanglakaton ako sa kwarto nga makan Nagparapamito kag gin parapahuwayan Apang kolorete nga pula ang akon nakit an Tagipusuon naghumok, ginpal it sa yahon nga hawan

Ginsugalaw ako kang barako ko nga Tatay Gaparaniskug kag nagasampok ang kiray Nagparapit siya kag ako ginsalakay Umpisa na gali ang paborito ko nga rampahanay Nangisay ang akon lawas sa akon nabatian Bulag man si Tatay, apang akun balangaw iya nahibaluan Sa iya kadudulman Ako ang singaw nga magabutlak kang kasanagan. irong-irong

Ako si Blu ni Venjellie Muyco Garcia

Ga duyan-duyan sa hangin in the middle of Calajunan, Never mind ang baho mag abut ang ulan. Wow! May bag-o nga hakot si ‘tay Bato! PPE diri, face masks didto. Ka colorpul, curious ako, Galing hadluk ko magkadto. One fine day, May lubung sa neighbor, hu! S’ling ni ‘tay Bato: “beerus na ‘to!” Ano kuno? Kayuha bla ‘tay, veerus or beerus? Adviser in life ta ka bla, you know. One sad day… “Tay Bats, veerus okon beerus nag igo simo?” “Blu, time por me to go. Hibalu-a purpose mo” “Akon du-ag, obra maestra sang Diyos nga Manunuga Matahum, ga hatag kalipay, bisan sa tunga sang basura. ‘tay Bats, ini ang imo blue tapulanga, Ga duyan-duyan sa hangin in the middle of Calajunan, Never mind ang baho mag abut ang ulan”.

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The Canvas of Life by Athena Christy L. Soledad

You don’t ask for a better future And complain when you’re given a blank canvas White was not meant to stand alone It is a beginning meant to be colored A page waiting for words A canvas waiting for paint A future waiting for you White is absolute It is the emptiness of nothing But color is not A color can mean one thing And stand for another Red can be the passion of love Or the heat of fury Yellow can be victory Or it can be jealousy Blue can be deep but peaceful The mood is yours to choose Think of the colors in your head And command your hand to follow it If you make a mistake Cover it in white The color of hope And new beginnings

Cover the smudge and paint over it The error will be unnoticeable Unless you peel back the dried paint That you hid it with and healed with time But the dark of the past is not meant To be peeled back or dug up It is meant to be remembered And then buried and covered Life is not a finished painting To be complained when not to your liking Life is a blank canvas to be painted with colors The choice is always yours From the angle of the brush To take time or to work in a rush Angry strokes or gauged slash What colors to use What path to choose What future to pursue It’s all up to you.

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Of Cruel Proportions and Bleak Perceptions Hannah Jhanylle C. Po

What a crime it is to cough, to sneeze, To wheeze or feel a freeze, Contract something unerringly normal, Something entirely seasonal. It is justified, you think with a sardonic grin, To feel the gazes lit with fire, Twisting masked faces into something almost antagonistic, As if you had done something worthy of their ire. What a crime it is to smell of antiseptic, To wear the armor of a mask, face shield, and blue gown, As if healing those stalked by the silent killer, Is to live on the battlefield with no sign of whittling down. It is alright to be wounded beyond repair, To live akin to constant code reds and blues, Heal without being healed, And put one’s physical and mental well-being up lose. What irony it is for some to feel distressed about possibly getting hooked to IVs, To pine for protection and some semblance of normalcy, While others unflinchingly dispute the existence of a threat, And look at manners of protection scornfully. How many lies do we tell, Trepidations we feed, Discriminatory remarks we yell, And promises and values we refuse to heed? Still, what a hope it is to see fractals of color past the dark throes of humanity, Unfurling through vivid pieces of art and melody. Treading the digi-scape and the neighborhood, resilient and lionhearted, Are moments ingrained in the musings of history.

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The Gentle in Chaos Diane Almuenda irong-irong

The Gentle in Chaos Diane Almuenda 40

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SHADES OF THE OPPRESSED Syrell Doanne V. Nietes

Alone to nowhere On a corner of a known alley Sits a house, full-forgotten House full of memories Memories dark and bright Haunted with this and that Rats may even remember Different shades Of black and blue Hues of the taboo A taste of metal To those who speak And those who seek In silence of graves And the past Paper traded For fame and power Stories are told In different shades Red, green Yellow, pink But winter still lasted To those who tasted metal And to those who speak And those who seek

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Kaangtanan Angel Octoso 42

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A Sliver of White in Black Sharaine Ghail T. Taaca

i in tranquil waters clearer than any ocean, moving in swirls, swimming heedlessly, breathing in jagged and shallow gasps. patterned in blue, it is everything, dive through depths, glide over struggles see beyond uncertainties. the serenity irks me, it cannot calm the waves, solely, flowing into the unknown. ii in wavering streets draped in white and black, furtive glances, knee-trembling, heart-thumping, leaping into overdrive. quickly shuttering in chagrin, gone astray, unable to find a home, - I am nearly clear-felling. desiring to grasp what this path will offer, see what once bathed in my light, sensate the profundity of the hues. iii in an enclosed space painted in dark accents, light trickling through blinds, knocking me sideways with tattered remnants. I remember glistening eyes rushing by, getting up to soft sheets overwhelmed. for life does ask so much. this wholly nothing left a void, unveiled brokenness divulged frailty and tears, I give too much. iv in a cold night, shades darker than any other, wind rustles, it shares despair, no beauty within. serenity turns into anguish, the source of misery echoes with the frigid air, makes pixelated ink out of a shattered heart. when the soul reflects and recalls, I weep, I lark, and I soar, allowing the anchor to guide me towards tranquility.

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The Gentle in Chaos

Diane Almuenda

v next to a misty forest, smooth seductive greens, myriads of paradoxes, clawing the way out, thirsty for bliss. thousands of troubles underneath, creatures cry waters stop rippling, ground silences and I live on the edge. across the land, under the moon, uncomfortable and intense, yet, warms the feet, trees leading the way.

vi in the vastness, I found freedom in light palettes, ideating every impossible, flaring humanity with illuminating tints. while wishes had fallen, slipping out of hands, feeling quick sharp pains, expressive colors radiate behind shadows. these became abstract art, traces of reality, an absurd vision painted, my color schemes composition.

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KARTERO Jawn Caryss Justalero

Sarit-saring emosyon na ang aking natanggap. Ang iba nga’y hindi ko na masyadong Mahagilap. May mga letra akong nais, Pero siguro ang mga ito’y may kakulanga’t labis. Mahilig akong sumulat gamit ang tintang itim, Madalas nakakulong ako sa apat na sulok na kung saan madilim. Marami-rami na rin akong saknong na naigawa, At halos lahat hindi tumutugma. Punit-punit na papel sa paligid ang makikita, Ubos na rin ang nakasanayan kong mga tinta, At ang ginagawa ko gumuguhit ako gamit ang matutulis na metal. Uunahan ko na kayo, hindi sya “lethal” o nakamamatay. Mula sa dulo ng metal nito ay may namumuong likido, Mula sa guhit may gasgas na naiukit. Isa rin sa pinakapaborito kong tinta ay ang kulay pula, Kasi ito lang ang nagdidikta ng mga emosyong gustong kumuwala. Tuwing matatapos ko ang sulat, Saka lang ako namumulat. Dali-dali ko ring inabot sa kartero, At sinabing “Ang dahilan ng pagsulat ko ay para sayo.”

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Poinē Natasha Del Valle

Listening to arcane melodies Here I am waiting for apricity Blue butterflies fluttering in lyrical susurrus On flowers kissed by Aeolus My sanctuary. The chimerical viridity and serendipity The quatervois of this uncertain journey An abditory of my sanity The moon gazing yonderly, shining brightly. My serenity. An intoxicating composition of elegies The invigorating sight of red lilies A woeful cataclysm of auguries The transcendent lines of divinity Hear me, My deity. Make me a sonnet. Oh dear, Captivate my ears. Write sonatas, Reduce me to tears. Use this penetrating spear Of love and adoration Of warmth and devotion Of chivalric possession Of me, And of you, My inamorato. Of me and you.

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Epiphany Angel Octoso 48

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Personification of Us! Jairah C. Alfafaras

It’s sunset when we met It’s sunrise when we kiss Butterflies everywhere; Smiling roses Tough branch Closed together, get warmth. My veins begin to startle My heart wants a backflip It paints euphoria in my canvas Polished with ecstasy on us. Love grows fonder Roots of affinity connected Never been unfold; Never been vanished. How delightful by your side No chances to collide Hurricanes are impossible to lay over But I really beg you Please ride on my airplane And drift away up to the crane.

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At the Crack of Dawn Benz 50

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Efface thy shadows Ydna Jane R. Hierro

pink hues were covered in blues and blues turn blacks not seen coming through how it felt like an attack for a lamb who knows nothing in this place of ruins but knows this one thing and here to hint some clue in about her life that’s not good but whose existence is? yet we are bound to find that good out of the window or by accident things that turn our world from black and white to technicolor— hoping for it to last awhile to come and to say, “Efface thy shadows, welcome the sparkle” then pink hues will be visible.

Paleta Nicole Rose D. Fenita

Ikaw ay nakakabighani. Maputi ka man, maitim, o kayumanggi. Ikaw ay naririnig. Kung sayo’y berde o asul ang diwa ng umiibig. Ikaw ay mahalaga. Kahit para sayo ay hindi dilaw ang kulay ng pagiging masaya. Ikaw ay nakakaakit. Kahit sumasagisag ka sa kulay ng bahaghari. Sundin mo ang sigaw ng puso, Pero tandaang huwag mang-abuso. Hindi mo kailangang matinag sa iba, Dahil ikaw ay kakaiba. Anumang kulay ang iyong ibinabahagi, Ikaw ay natatangi. Dahil sa iisang paleta, Tayo ay magkakasama.

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An Obliterate Eternal Carl Evans Jover

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Stained Wings Dianne Nayeli Montero

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The Loneliest Ones Nico Julleza

You have the nerve to take a thousand sorrows in my heart, and sealed a million scars in my every part. After all that and I’m the one to blame. I patched it up the best way I can; to make you jealous of me. Roses I swallowed and even the thorns, drinking my fury to level my shame. After all that and you’re the one to blame. You had your part and I had mine. Taking chances what you and I can give; for such a miniscule time. Put out the smoke from the dying embers of our pleasured nights. After all that suppose we’re both to blame. Easy are the days I tend to forget you, but harder every night weeping about you. We were never ready, but I forgive you for that.

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Bahaghari Leona Joy H. Patricio

Nakatingala sa madilim na kalangitan Pinagmamasdan ang mabilis na pag buhos ng ulan Ang bughaw na ulap na nagbibigay liwanag Napalitan ng dilim at tuluyang di maaninag Kadiliman ang siyang bumabalot Hamog at ambon ang siyang nakapalibot Nakakulong sa madilim na kahapon Nagmistulang bulag nadi maka ahon Hinagpis ng panahon ay tuluyang natikman Hirap at pagsisisi ang kinalunuran Sa madilim at masakit na ating nararanasan May liwanag at pag asa pabang makakamtan? Sa paghinto ng ulan at pag sikat ng araw Bahaghari’y masisilayan ng iyong matang nakadungaw Nagpapahiwatig na huwag magpadala sa masalimuot na karanasan Sapagkat may panibagong pag asang naka abang Sa madilim na nakaraan Liwanag ay unti unti ng nasisilayan Mga kulay ng bahagharing kay gandang pagmasdan Nagmistulang pag asa sa aking karimlan Bawat kulay na dala ng bahagharing kay ganda May isinisiwalat na katangiang tayo ang magsasalba Sa landas na madilim na ating tinatahak Sa dulo ng bahaghari makakamtan ang pag asa at liwanag.

An Ode Not Sung Natasha Del Valle

Ooh As I perch upon this oak tree I see you gaze up on me Your blue eyes, Your cherry lips, Your smile captivated me. As if on cue, I fell for you Planned by the heavens above My body, unmoving. My eyes, still looking. My wings, were clipped by you. Ooh As I perch upon this oak tree I see you gaze up on me Your ebony hair, Your icy stare, Your smile intrigued me As if on cue, the stone fell too The sky turned grey and gloomy My eyes, now void. My breath, now short. My soul, now hopeless and blue. Ooh As I perch upon this old oak tree I saw you gaze upon me Blood like wine Chills down my spine Your smile terrified me. I heard a cry, a distant sigh And now I’m dead and lonely.

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Less Colorless Joshua Patrick Santillan irong-irong

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PROSE PROSE irong-irong

What Happened to the Humans? Athena Christy L. Soledad

The blinds were open by a slit, letting in a small sliver of light into the somewhat dim room. They used to be white, but took on a grayish hue throughout the years. My masters never bothered to change it. As I peeked through the small gap, I saw a scene straight out of the dystopian movies my master always watches. Something was off. It was a scene I’ve seen since the day I was born. Yet these past few months, it seemed so foreign and different. The stretch of road that used to be full of those roaring human inventions, was silent and empty. The neighbors who used to live with the windows flung open, but now they kept it closed. My masters used to go out so often, but now they remained at home, huddling together and whispering to themselves. I couldn’t make out what their hushed voices meant to convey, but every now and then, I would sense a burst of shock, and then their heads would hang in sorrow. They still watched the moving things on the bright screen with such intensity, but not like they used to. They used to laugh while watching it, or sometimes they would gather and settle beneath the blankets, screaming in surprise whenever something popped up on screen. But things have been different these past few months. They were watching the same old thing, but they rarely expressed any bit of emotion. They just watched, silent, although sometimes I would notice their foreheads crease and their eyebrows furrow and their corners of their mouths pulling downwards in a frown. Other than my masters, I rarely saw any other humans. They rarely pass by the sidewalk outside my window, and when they do, they cover their faces and walk briskly. I used to hear loud chatter and banter from outside the window, either from the neighbors or the passersby, but lately, they have been passing each other as if they were ghosts, as if they were unaware of each other’s existence. Sometimes, they would even steer clear of each other.

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Metanoia Angel Octoso

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There were no more little humans who would play games in their backyards. The neighbors no longer held their Sunday tea parties in their lawns. I no longer see the group of schoolboys who used to walk home together. The sidewalk was empty, and everything was silent. It was as if the world held its breath as something sinister ravaged the world. It was as if an unseen force caused the humans to cower and hide behind their blinds. Humans are powerful creatures, they do not back down so easily. Yet, as I licked my paw, I wondered, What happened to the humans? While the outside world took on a darker hue, the blinds of my window remained the same. Still a grayish white, taunting me with their silence as I asked the same question over and over again.

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Arc-en-ciel Mary Nicole M. Estrella

It’s hopeless. It ends here. No, says the voice inside my head. Yes, I say for now I have lost my way. Left in the dark, stuck in this gloomy place, there is nothing to do now than to have myself erased. Stop, it says again. For once I listened, and I succumbed in eternal silence. A force so strong sucked me in and the feeling of having a blanket wrapped around me came. So I sat and stared at the dark soil of land that extends endlessly. Come to think of it; the clouds, the sky, the soil under my feet, the grass, and the flowers are all painted in black and gray. Dark. Just like my thoughts a while ago. Ding, I heard something. Then something sprouted from below. A sapling but different. So little yet so beautiful. In the land of darkness, I am relieved to see something that glows. Ding, another sound again and time started to pass quickly. The sapling grew from a little glowing plant to a flower with petals the colors of the rainbow. The first of its kind. I looked at it, astonished. It was then I wished for it to stop growing. It’s as if many seasons have passed. Many winds blew. Now, the flower bids me adieu. Its petals fell slowly and when it hit the ground, the winds started to rise. From the spot where the fallen petal fell, colors escaped from it, flowing like a single streak of water, seeping into the soil. I float, the force taking me away as I witness how, from all of the pieces of the dead flower, colors engulf the land. I can see how everything is alive from up here. Another gust blew, waking me up. You, a precious flower. It can be tough sometimes. It can be dark sometimes. But in the confines of the very room that makes you feel trapped, I believe that you can get out of it. I believe that you can paint every color, every hue, in the darkest of the dark. You can grow and be that someone who can paint someone’s life, even your life, with all of the hue in the color spectrum. Flourish, my arc-en-ciel.

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Vice Versa Ulyses Sillonar

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To Bleed the Colors of the Rainbow With or Without You Mary Nicole M. Estrella

I thought you’d be back in February but I guess not because finally you left me. I reminisce to the time we shared. I look back to the times that you were there. It’s painful, I know. But I just can’t help myself. With you, everything is in full color. You took me from a place where I really thought dull and gray would be with me until the day I die. I can still remember the time we first met and you don’t know how happy I am because finally, someone has seen me; pulled me out of the hell I am living in. We painted on our own canvas. Our different colors merge, chasing away the gray I am so familiar with in the days that I am awake and in the nights that I rest. You taught me that despite having to live in a monochrome world, there are still ways and opportunities to paint it with every color known. I realize how amazing it is to know each color one by one. Of knowing the value of life one by one. And I did it with you. On the day you left, the beautiful picture we painted started to grow dull and mold. Somehow in my loneliness, the colors fade. Maybe because I am not with you. As I count the days, the weeks, the months that eventually grew into years, I did not notice how the picture in our own canvas is drowned by a jetblack paint. Only parts of it can be seen now. But I have already forgotten how it looked. I wish for you to come again and let me remember those colorful days but you never really came. February, the month you officially told me that we’re going our separate ways. My whole world crashed. If I were Atlas, I could’ve said my shoulders cannot take it anymore. At that very moment, I knew I was drowning in the dark chasm again. Drowned by the color I resent so much because you introduce blue, red, green, and yellow to my system. I hate gray. Years passed, now I realized. Without having the gray parts of my life, I wouldn’t have the hunger to see all the colors. For without it, I cannot shine. For without it, I cannot paint the world on my own. For without it, I can’t bleed with the colors of the rainbow. I have been devoid of color. I have been painting every hue with you. I slipped and stopped shining. Now, with only the memory of us I choose to keep bleeding every color you have shown me.

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“Pahinga” Leona Joy H. Patricio

Nanginginig ang mga paa ko habang pababa ng sasakyan. Nakatayo ako at parang ayaw ng humakbang. Biglang umihip ang malakas na hangin at akoy napapikit. Dala ng pagtabing ng aking buhok sa aking mukha. Niyakap ko ang aking sarili ng maramdaman ko ang dapya ng hangin sa aking balat. Napa upo ako sa berdeng damo at inilapag ang nagtitingkarang kulay pulang rosas. “Mahal,” biglang sumikdo ang aking puso ng marinig ko ang kanyang boses. Hinarap ko siya at pinagmasdang mabuti. Napakaganda ng kanyang mapungay na kulay asul na mga mata, mapupulang mga labi, ang balat niyang kayumanggi, maitim din ang kanyang buhok, at nag pupulahan ang kanyang mga pisngi. Napaka gwapo niya talaga sa aking paningin na tila siya lang ang nakikita ng dalawa kong mga mata. Kung hindi ko lang naalala na wala kaming maayos na pag uusap kahapon ay matutuwa akong makita siya ngayon, ngunit ng maalala ko biglang napangiwi ako. “Anong problema?, hindi mo ba nais na masilayan ang mukha kong maihahalintulad sa araw na nakakasilaw?” Klarong klaro sa repleksyon niya ang pagod at saya na kay linaw dala ng kanyang mga ngiti. “Nasaan ka ba kahapon? Mukhang marami ka yatang ginagawa?” kalmado ngunit seryosong tanong ko sabay baling sa kanya. “May mahalagang ginawa lang kung kaya’t hindi agad ako makapunta sayo, Mahal.” aniya at niyakap ako ng mahigpit, mas mahigpit pa sa normal na yakap na binibigay niya, na animoy ito na ang huli naming pagkikita. “Aalis na ako,” Paalam niya sa akin. Habang papalayo ang kanyang bulto ay sinundan ko siya ng tanaw palabas. Ng akoy papanhik na sana sa itaas ay biglang may malakas na salpokan ang aking narinig kumabog ng

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Padayon

Cherry Ann Pauya

malakas ang aking dibdib at tumakbo palabas upang tingnan ito. Biglang tumigil sa pag takbo ang oras at pag ikot ang mundo, wala akong naririnig at tila nag uunahan sa pag patak ang mga luha ko nanlalabo ang aking paningin nag umpisa na akong mapaluhod at napahiyaw ng makita ko ang pulang likido sa iyong katawan. Ang dating maliwanag at makulay kong mundo, biglang napalitan ng dilim dahil sa pagluluksa ko. “Kamusta kana?” sambit ko habang sinisindihan ang puting kandila. “Siguroy, masaya kana riyan sa iyong bagong mundo.” napatingala ako at pinagmasdan ang kulay asul na ulap habang pinipigilan ang aking pag iyak. Unti unti itong nagdidilim at nais pa yata akong damayan sa aking hinagpis. Ilang taon na ang nakalipas ng muli kung masilayan ang maamo mong mukha, siguro nga tama na ang pagtahak ko sa madilim na mundo. At bigyan ko naman ng liwanag ang nasirang buhay ko. “Nandito ako para mag paalam sayo, ako’y lilisan na baon ang mga alaalang naiwan mo.”

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Raul and His Crayons Maire O. Kan’t

Last night, I was only 115cm tall, but I’m 116cm now. I drink a cup of milk, just what my mom said, and it helps me grow, but I also sneak cola in the fridge. Also, when I wake up, I’m already six years old after sleeping a day. Voila! I’m a real man within this subtle body of mine. It’s also this day where I’ll meet my doctor. “Raul-honey, please move faster. We’re going to be late,” mom panicking while I’m choosing the right pair of socks. Alas! I think this is the appropriate combination. I hurriedly put it on with my shoes. “Baby, you can’t put on a different colored pair. Wear the stripes instead,” she’s mocking my fashion choice, but it’s better to wear something identical than not. “Don’t forget your crayons on the desk,” she adds. Along the way, I’m curious how I can identify these eight colors within this box. I raise the crayon with ‘red’ in its packaging. “Mom, how can I know that this is red?” mom wonders how she can explain it. “Red is blood, like when you cut your knees. It’s the color of my love for you. Here you go, your face is all red!” then she laughs after pinching my cheeks. “How about this, mom?” I ask while hiding my blushing face and pointing another crayon. “That’s orange, like the fruit. It’s like your friend Joy, a color of joy.” She answers while waving to Joy’s mom on the side of the road. “Sun is yellow while blue is the sky,” we look at the bright spot in the never-ending atmosphere, and here we are, pinching our eyes. “My skin is brown, and my hair is black?” while pointing both my arms and head. “Yes, Raul, but skins also have fair shades like whites and darker ones like blacks, and hair can be any color which the person favors,” she ends as we reached my doctor’s clinic. The doctor is smiling and hands me something, “Go! Try it on.” This is what I’ve been missing these past years. Watching myself in the mirror, I can clearly see red gradually engulfing my face as brown irises in my eyes start filling with clear liquid that gently caresses my brown face. I’m wearing my favorite shirt, which I think is green, but it’s blue-colored, and the character print is a blue cow instead of the typical brown that my teacher taught. My favorite crayon I’ve been using for a long time is brown rather than orange. Mom is crying with her flushed face while hugging my back.

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Padayon

Cherry Ann Pauya

Since I started to understand my environment, I could only see through grayscales because of achromatopsia. But, the rays began to spread in the spectrum of these glasses covering my eyes. My monochromatic world became a polychromatic paradise that led to more infinite possibilities. I grab my crayon box, “Let’s buy the 24 crayons’ box, mom.” “We will get the biggest one honey,” she wipes her tears and smiles.

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Iridescent Sky Joshua Patrick Santillan

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If We Were Colorblind Aleihsa Beatrice Alba

To My Dearest, Remember the night we met? It was the 70s – the decade of disco, bell-bottoms, and an unfortunate time for those sensitive to light as bars with flickering disco balls fill every corner of the city. God, my eyes! The pain was excruciating, I had to clutch them hard but it keeps on growing. Then a touch, unfamiliar yet a dose of warmth. Unknown souls bonded that night and beyond. For the first time, I saw the world in a different light. My parents used to tell me that being completely colorblind doesn’t change anything – it’s merely colors, they say. The day technology has once again proven itself and made me distinguish colors, I can attest that my parents were right. I cried because beautiful was an understatement. Yes, the world is the same, but even better as I get to appreciate colors and diversity. You were pretty in black and white, but even in color, you have made me feel the same way. You hesitated, scared you might offend me, but proceeded otherwise and said you wished a lot of people were colorblind. If only they see colors the way I do – unified despite clashing hues, and not used for oppressions – we would live in a better world. Maybe the reason why they take advantage of colors is because they don’t know what it’s like to see only one. The world was unnecessarily cruel especially to people with the same color as you, and though I couldn’t perceive colors, I knew what you meant. It wasn’t supposed to be like that but somehow it’s the reality we live in. I am writing to you because you aren’t answering my calls and I heard you’re seeing the world in darkness, an impending doom, reminding you of terrors you experienced, and neglecting everyone because of the rising brutality. Truth be told, we are not getting any younger and the world is getting scarier. My dearest, if there’s something I’ve learned from you, it’s to see the world beyond shades of grey. All the colors unimaginable and unknown to me just made sense – it’s proof that everything does get better – maybe not now but eventually. I know that this is hard for you and different for me but please, lean on me as I’ve leaned on you. There’s still light to shed. Even if it’s not you who should adjust in this world but your oppressors, there’s still so much to fight for. The reason why it ends is because we continuously fight and there is a universal effort. We owe this to ourselves and the future to never give up.

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Gate

Dylan Jacob Suarez

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Kulay sa Gitna ng Pandemya Bradlean G. Espejo

Dumadagundong ang kalangitan na parang kakoponiya ng ingay na pumapatak, lumalason sa lupang uhaw. Isang yugto ng panahon ang nabalot ng pangamba. Dilim ay para bang namuno sa aking puso. Kalaban ay hindi matablan ng alinmang hiwaga ng espada. Namuo ang takot sa aking isipan. Nagsarado lahat ng pintuan. Nabalot ang paligid ng nakakabinging katahimikan. Hindi mahanap ang pag-asa. Hindi makita ang ligaya. Sapagkat sa bawat pitik sa kuwadradong teknolohiya, numero ng kasawian ang nababasa. Isang araw. O sa makalawa. O baka sa susunod na linggo, matatapos rin ang kalbaryo dulot ng mikrobyo. Ngunit lumipas ang taon, aking mga luha’y nakakulong pa rin sa seldang iisang bombilya lamang ang nagsisilbing ilaw. Itinago ko ang lungkot sa piling ng mga bituing nagmamasid sa nalulumbay na mundo. Ngunit sa sulok ng rosas na silid, aking natanaw ang liwanag na nakatambak sa mga pahinang binalot ng nagsasayawang alikabok. Akin itong ibinuklat—natutunan ko ang lumipad patungong alapaap at maglakad sa ibang mundo. Nasa ibabaw ng mga palad ko ang bahaghari ng mga pangarap. Nakapinta sa mga salita ang mukha ng pag-asa na para bang mga kulay na nagliliwanag sa ligaya kasabay ng pagkisap ng mga mata. Mga alpabetong nagsisipaglaruan sa aking pagbasa at inilipad ang aking kaluluwa sa mga tanawing nakapinta. Nagsara man ang bawat pintuan ng paligid ngunit bumakas naman ang bintana ng pag-asa. At sa pagdagundong ng kalangitan pumapatak ang musikang humahalik at dumidilig ng mga kulay sa lupang nalulumbay.

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Natatanging Irog Pia Victoria E. Graza

Puting bestida. Luntiang sandalya. Lilang bayong. Dilaw na Mirasol. Handa na ako sa aming muling pagtatagpo. Marahan kong binaybay ang alat ng tabing dagat at napabuntung hininga sa mabigat na hampas ng hangin. Nagkaroon ng kaunting kirot ang puso kong kailanma’y hindi nagpatinag ngunit ipinagpatuloy ko na lang ang pag-apak sa buhanging perlas. Sa kalayuan, may naaaninag akong isang diwatang marahang tumatampisaw sa tubig. Dahan dahan niyang inilagay ang kaniyang hintuturo sa bestida at mayuming umikot na parang hindi pasan ang mundo. Tila sumasabay siya sa ritmo ng uyayi. Bumuhos ng nagsasayawang kulay ang puso ko ng nakita ko siyang ngumisi. Naramdaman ko ang daplis ng kaniyang hiningang puno ng halimuyak. Siya ang natatanging ilaw sa puso kong luhaan. Itinapi ko ang mga buhangin at dahan-dahang inilagay ang bayong na may bestida at sandalya. Ipinatong ko rito ang mirasol na kaniyang paborito. Ito ang mga bagay na kaniyang ihinagubilin bago niya iniwan ang mundong ating ginagalawan. Limang taon na ng siya’y lumisan, ngunit aninag niya’y nakaukit pa rin. Sa pagpatak ng bukang liwayway, tuluyan ko nang ipinaubaya ang pag-iibigang kinitil ng panahon. Siya ang aking bahaghari, ngunit kailangan ko pa bang lumuha ng lubos bago siya muling mahaplos?

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The Black Canvas Ydna Jane R. Hierro

I had never seen him cry after all that had happened. All that I had seen from him was his smiles and glistening eyes. There is no hint of tears or loneliness starting from that day. He acts as if nothing happened and goes back to our routine every morning, where he cooks my favorite egg sandwich topped with his love. Yet, minus the sweet voice of my mom. I see him back to his post, sitting, thinking, glancing back at me, smiling. “Oh no big girl, don’t give me that look,” he said and asked me to come next to him. In front of the unfinished canvas, it seemed like a mess with spilled black paint back from when he heard the news and rushed over to never noticing how it ruined this almost masterpiece. “So you’re going back to scratch now?” I asked him as we both looked at the canvas in front of us. “You know, Rile, black and whites are not colors, but they are shades. They exist to augment colors for them to look better. They function as colors, yet they are more than that,” he explains, preparing the brushes from the cans and trays. I stared at his work that I could not distinguish from art or emptiness. But then he starts to paint one stroke and another. Here and there, like how his hands slowly dance and flow cursively to create something that is out of words. “Truth be told, my dear Rile, I miss your mom. So much. But this is life. There are always things that can be spilled over, paint our lives dark, and make us feel empty.” He gazed at me talking, my eyes were teary, and looked away. To see what he just painted.

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“But I have my brush… your mom here in my heart, And you, right here by my side, shedding light to these darkest times.” He turns this blackened canvas into a picture of us three, slowly opening the curtain of black to see the colors of the rainbow hidden behind this blinding light. I tried to compose myself, but as I looked at my father’s eyes, I felt the feelings he bottled up inside, and it made me burst into tears, cradling to his arms and giving him a tight hug. “Your mom’s a warrior. She fought these little enemies that could put us in harm. She’s brave, Rile.” eyes.

“I know that dad, she was the bravest,” I said through his “And so are you, our dear Riley,” and I finally see his tears.

Fleur

Jon Michael Fabroa 76

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Dimming Lights Backstage by Yllana Kaye J. Hortilano

I am not a paid actress, but I act in this theatre called life. I was a surge of fireworks that pleased spectators, but now, I behave like a dull flicker from a bulb. I used to wear the make-up and costume that best represents the role I play in a show. On stage, I have to be careful from bleeding and stick to my part. People circle like sharks, and their fangs might snap me out of the limelight. There was a sense of superiority when I presented my part perfectly. But it seems that I have been feeding a stranger’s body. I no longer know who I am with all these shapeshifting of characters. The widespread shutdown since 2020 only made everything worse - but not for long. It was similar to a panic when a train entered a tunnel. Any moment, a python could have groped me down, and I won’t make it out alive. I have lived my whole life acting my way out to survive. Hence, to stare at the pixels instead of meeting people face-to-face shocked my system. Chameleon-like folks such as me have found the branches where they could flex more of themselves online, but I got lost in a time warp. Those people executed the smoothest ballet moves, flaunted their art, and struck viewers’ heartstrings the same with a harp. While, I got trapped backstage, unable to move forward. Demotivation has gulped me down to complete oblivion. I can only see different shades of black since that little virus wiped the color out of my soul. The silence of the pandemic was the same as the silence minutes before I perform for the crowd. Despite the screeching sounds and frigid air, all I can hear was my blood thundering in this body. No one sees my struggle. I was thought to cry behind the doors, in dim lights, and creaking chairs. After all the smiles, I also break down. With a tough facade, Icover this soft heart with a cardigan. Stars are born in the quietest moments as viewed on Earth. I know that I am a star, filled with all these internal movements of banging and crying. In that calm, I found who I am. The greatest gift the darkness brought, is the power to re-become any color I truly wanted. It is not to be a slave of the blaring image others wanted to see but to create a version of myself that benefits my story. I am not a paid actress, for I am insanely human. I was fireworks, a dimming circuit, a surge from glass prisms, and all freckles of luminescence. Staying at home, I learned to play my light.

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Indolence ni Venjellie Muyco Garcia

Pagbabago, blared the news. Again. It’s the same old battlecry. As noble as the objective for change is, nothing change. This merit some introspection, I start with mine. I am becoming complacent, indolent, and apathetic. I like life to be easy with one swipe of my fingers. I like my food and merchandise delivered at my door step… at another’s expense. I pour over my gadget, just a little over 5 hours screen time…everyday, and complaint of migraine the day after. Who cares if work came scarce because of pandemic? On-line selling is the trend, I’m working on it 6 months ago, while ayudas keep pouring in. Pilipinas kong mahal, we are a people geographically scattered, with unique local cultural nuances and colorful diversity (as colorful as Joseph’s coat). One tough job on unification during election. I can’t even unite my thoughts. I slowly diminish my sense of patriotism over pop culture. I confused the title of our Pambansang Awit from Lupang Hinirang to Bayang Magiliw. I asked who Patria Adorada was… was she the sister of Crisostomo Ibarra? In a way, I am stamped with talangka mentality, handed down from one generation to another, think about this enduring heritage. My glory over yours. If it can’t be mine, then it can’t be yours either. Who’s talking about teamwork? I am popularly passionate, evident in my discourse that bounded on emotionalism rather than facts and truths. I don’t like to engage in healthy discourse on issues prevalent of the current situation. It will reveal may lack of knowledge, but penchant for arm wrestling to get my own way. I am focused on feelings. Discernment and good judgment flew over the cuckoo’s nest, wherever that nest is. These are a few of mine that need to be changed. How about yours? Your bucket list is ready to be crossed- out…now.

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The Law of Refraction Ara

Perhaps, you’d never loved yourself enough. Have you opened your arms heedlessly at the world, thinking it will never be against you? Have you ever thought about how you desperately waited for “the rainbow” to come after you claim yourself to be the dreary rain? Remember how those pernicious words of demise haunt you every time, like strident winds pulling you back and forth—but you said it’s alright? Have you ever thrown away those disdainful leers from pretentious faces into a rivulet of tears, knowing they would just float back into the surface each time? Are you alive, or are you just pretending to be? You probably think suffering from the words of the cynics would keep you going, but it isn’t. It’s about becoming the white sunlight, gripping the edge of the sky and letting go, one at a time, slowly…and slowly. Take a deep breath—here comes the drop. A streak of light flashes; refracted an arc of seven colors formed in the remains of tiny raindrops. You’ll get used to the perpetual motion of a headlong freefall. Just go for it. Let those preconceived notions of the accursed society drift further away. And to be loved not in spite of this, but because of it. Whether it was Snell or Newton who proposed the theory, the bending path of light crossing an optical element will eventually disperse its white light into a spectrum of beautiful colors, creating a tyndall effect—like you. Yes, some of us may be dull, some in neutral, others are bound in etiolation. But once in a while, you’ll eventually find yourself to be iridescent. And nothing will ever compare to it. Remember. Be your own glass prism. Let your white light shine within you.

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Beacon

Dylan Jacob Suarez irong-irong

Sinister Kisses of CrimsoN Ma. Danica M. Campos

The pandemic lockdown unleashed a beast; being drunk and home causes him trouble, and his solution is to share the wealth. “How many times have I expressed my displeasure with that nonsense?” He would have yelled no matter what nonsense it was; and then, just before he attacked with his fists, he said, “I want to talk to you, honey.” There has never been pain like this, not since she was twelve when she swerved her bike to avoid a ditch and wiped out, bouncing her head off the asphalt, and opening up a cut that turned out to be precisely ten stitches long. What she remembered was a silvery jolt of pain, followed by starry dark surprise, but that pain had not been this agony. This dreadful agony. Her hand on her belly registers flesh that isn’t flesh at all; it’s as if she’s been unzipped and her living baby has been replaced with a hot rock. Oh, please, she begs. Please allow the baby to be okay. But now, as her breath finally begins to slow, she realizes that the baby is not okay, and he has made that clear. When you’re sixteen weeks pregnant, the baby is still more a part of you than it is of itself, and when you’re sitting in a corner with your hair in strings on your sweaty cheeks and it feels like you’ve swallowed a hot stone— Something is putting sinister, slick little kisses on the insides of her thighs. ‘No,’ she whispers, ‘no. Let it be sweat... or perhaps I peed myself. Yes, that’s most likely it. After he hit me for the fourth time, I peed myself and didn’t even realize it. That’s all. Except it is not sweating, and it’s not pee. It’s crimson. She’s sitting in the corner of the bedroom, gaping in front of a vase reduced to shards, and her womb is preparing to vomit up the baby it’s been carrying without complaint or problem. ‘No, God, please say no,’ she sobs. Her fingers make their way beneath her dress and up her thigh to the soaked, hot cotton of her underwear. Please, she begs. How many times has that word crossed her mind since he snatched and hurled the vase from her grasp? She has no idea, but here it is again. Please let the liquid on my fingers be clear. God, please. Please make it clear. But when she takes her hand out from under her dress, the tips of her fingers are bloody. A monstrous cramp rips through her like a hacksaw blade as she looks at them. She has to slam her teeth together to keep a scream from coming out. Boundless darkness engulfed her consciousness. After an unknown amount of time had passed, a light slowly flashed out from within the fathomless darkness. That speck of light slowly spread out as her vision gradually became clearer. In her hands is a smoking gun. Her perpetrator is lying in a pool of blood. There was a crime. But there is also a sense of freedom. 82

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Apatheia Benz

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ART ARTAND AND PHOTOGRAPHY PHOTOGRAPHY ART AND PHOTOGRAPHY irong-irong

Celestial Shower Kendra Felizimarie Magsico

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Bad Blood célimène

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Untouchable célimène

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Prism

Jedro L. Cawaling irong-irong

Butterfly Molecule Morgan Jade Abella

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Mejos

Elaine Faith Mejos irong-irong

Trashure Maire O. Kan’t

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Hoax célimène

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Your Light that is within you is faithful and worldly darkness cannot extinguish that from you. célimène

For these words shall be of peace adherence and service Oscar Fajardo

In writing, I can express myself coherently. In colors, I can show my emotions fluently. Colai

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Your existence is not real in my reality. célimène

Nanay — and just like that, my greatest poem was written. Ara

When the sun rises, a sliver of hope breathes a little sigh. Sharaine Ghail Taaca

May souls be glorious when heavens sing of light. Melissa

A crystal sphere contains the Universe, but the broken ones shine the most. Kendra Felizimarie Magsico

I am voiceless so speak to me in colors. Joshua Patrick Santillan

The storm outside compares nothing with the comfort of hue. Tammy Matthew

From behind the thick folds of curtains, light filters through, chasing away Stygian umbrae and painting the room with brilliant hues. Ara

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EXECUTIVE TEAM: EMY ROSE GALLEGO EDITOR-IN-CHIEF

JEFF TOLENTINO MANAGING EDITOR

GLAIZA RAE AMABLE PAULINE MARIE ARADA ASSOCIATE EDITORS

MRS. MA. CRISTY E. DAGUAY MODERATOR

PROGRAM MANAGERS: HECTOR COFREROS

PROGRAM MANAGEMENT DIRECTOR

EUGENIE BALURAN DIORIZZE PERANIA

STAFF WRITERS

DIGITAL MEDIA TEAM: HANNAH JHANYLLE PO

DIGITAL MEDIA DIRECTOR

SAMANTHA THEA ABIERA SYRELL DOANNE NIETES

STAFF WRITERS

COMMUNITY AFFAIRS TEAM: PIA VICTORIA GRAZA

COMMUNITY AFFAIRS DIRECTOR

MERYL BABOL ATHENA CRISTY SOLEDAD

DISCLAIMER: This book, unless specified otherwise in the individual works, is a work of fiction. All the names, characters, organizations, and events portrayed are either products of imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or deceased, is entirely coincidental.

STAFF WRITERS

CREATIVE WRITING TEAM: NICOLE ROSE FENITA

LITERARY DIRECTOR

SHERGEN VILLANUEVA OSCAR MARI FAJARDO

STAFF WRITERS

COLOPHON: This book was crafted using Addington and Typrighter typefaces. Page design and Enhancements were done using Adobe InDesign, Adobe Illustrator, Adobe Lightroom, and Adobe Photoshop.

The cover images were crafted by Joshua Patrick Santillan and Kendra Felizimarie Magsico.

ART AND DESIGN TEAM: GEREMY GALLENERO

ART DIRECTOR

KENDRA FELIZIMARIE MAGSICO JOSHUA PATRICK SANTILLAN DIANNE NAYELLI MONTERO KRYSTAL JEAN SILAO CARL EVANS JOVER DYLAN JACOB SUAREZ

STAFF ARTISTS

PHOTOGRAPHY TEAM: ROTSEN AGREDA

PHOTOGRAPHY DIRECTOR

JEDRO CAWALING ANGEL GRACE OCTOSO BENZ XEDRIC PUIG

STAFF PHOTOGRAPHERS

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Special thanks to Philip Robert Alaban for imparting his expertise and time in crafting this folio.

The overall layout and book design were done by the USA Publications.

Polychromatic Monochrome

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IRONG-IRONG XVI

Articles inside

Ara

Syrell Doanne V. Nietes

Joshua Patrick C. Santillan

Yllana Kaye J. Hortilano

Anne Harys Silubrico

Hannah Jhanylle C. Po

Eugenie A. Baluran

Marie O. Kant