Liyab

Hoarder of Purpose and Dreams

Hoarder of Purpose and Dreams

I THINK my flesh attracts the small and discarded. I pity these lifeless things to wander here at the park, which I protected from their creators in my ways.  I sat on the ground under the split power of the sun. The dancing leaves of mango trees protected me. As…
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In Thy Word

In Thy Word

When is a prayer answered?   I have long thought of this, Ever since my mother held me in her arms, And when my legs would wobble.   As I sing a song of Hallelujah, As I solemnly send Him my woes, I have yet to hear an answer From…
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A Tiger to His Cub

A Tiger to His Cub

  WHEN nine-year-old Jacob insisted to enter the University of Santo Tomas out of curiosity, the first thing Anton did was recognize the UST Carpark. "Alam mo anak, noong panahon ko, wala pa ‘to eh," Anton said. "Grumadweyt ako nung 2004, tinatayo pa lang 'yung building na ‘to." Jacob had…
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The end of wandering

The end of wandering

by YSABEL SACRAMENTO FROM A distance, the continuous drumming echoes throughout the campus walls. There is still a long path ahead for us to walk on, with each block from different faculties entering the triumphal Arch of the Centuries. We eagerly wait for our turn, the adrenaline rush through our…
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Last Shift

Last Shift

by TRIXCY ANNE B. LOSERIAGA THE GENTLE breeze welcomed my presence the moment I stepped foot inside her domain. Gaia’s children danced while I immersed myself in listening to nature's overture. A tune repeatedly sung by my mother during the early years of my existence.  It was dawn. My father…
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Nature’s deception

Nature’s deception

IT IS not surprising to see you wonder about what goes on as night falls. And today, you also sense something unsettling in the sunshine.  Could it be the statuesque sculptures that seemingly hide centuries worth of paradoxes? Or the empty, inhumane calls between birds and other creatures? Perhaps it…
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Into the yonder

Into the yonder

by YSABEL SACRAMENTO THICK SMOKE from passing vehicles swarm España’s streets. The sky blends dark hues of orange and blue. Below the setting sun is the usual traffic and the crowd of students rushing to hail a tricycle, or racing to the nearest pedestrian lane. Manila’s humidity and Cecile’s hasty…
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In the palm of your hands

In the palm of your hands

by YSABEL SACRAMENTO DELICATE is one of the many words that describe a child’s touch. Soft, fragile, unwrinkled— these portray a child’s touch the best. Similar to the vein pumping from their wrist, all the way to their chest.  Lightly and quietly beating, their hearts are just as fragile and…
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What a person seams

What a person seams

by YSABEL SACRAMENTO IN EACH passing day, there is a different combination of fabrics seamed together—denim on leather, lace on cotton, lace on silk. Sometimes, there is no fusion. The thread runs along smoothly on the seam line, binding both cotton and lace together. An ambiguous sensation rushing through each…
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To all of our days

To all of our days

AS THE day starts, my mind impersonates an empty hall. The deafening silence haunts the liminal space.  The passion that was once ablaze within my body dwindles. Truth be told, fatigue has scalded my body as if I was burned down to a cinder. Today is a bit different; after…
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