MASKARA NG MAKATA

Ni E. SAN JUAN, Jr.


Wala, walang hugis ang aking mukha
At wala ring pangalan
Ang aking pagnanasa:
Sa silid ay maraming pinto’t durungawan
At ang kawayang lumalagutok
Sa daluyong ng hangin
Huwag mong aminin
Na sa iyong buntunghininga nagpuputok
Ang kanyang pagkatao, subalit
Sa paningin at pandinig
Sa diwa’t pag-ibig ng isang nilalang
Gumagalaw, kumikilos ang bawa’t nilikha
Pagkat ako’y nag-iisa sa ulilang silid
At naglalamay sa buong daigdig.

Wala akong kaakuhan; ako’y iyan
Kung anong buhay
Sumisilay
Sa damdamin ng lupa, hayop, halaman, bubong, tala—
Sa kabilugan ng pangmalas nasasaklaw:
Ibubunga ito
Ng tahimik na pagninilay-nilay—
Gigising ako
Sa iglap ng kometang naupos sa karimlan:
Isang tanglaw sa bangin ng kaisahan
Ngunit tubos ng batis at sibol ng bawa’t bagay.

______________________________________


MASK OF THE POET

None, no contour to my face
And no name also
To my desire:
In this room you’ll find a multitude of doors and windows
And the bamboos creaking
To the gusts of the wind
Don’t accept
That in your impassioned breathing there explodes
The authentic self in you, but
In one’s vision and hearing
In the soul and love of every creature
Moves and dances every organic being
Because I am all alone in this room mourning
And keeping vigil alone in the whole world.

No self is there; I exist alone
In every life
Lurking
In the sensibility of the earth, animals, plants, roof, stars—
Whatever is circumscribed by the orbit of the senses—
What will bear fruit
From quiet reflection—
I will wake up
At the sudden burst of a comet that sizzles in the darkness;
A torch illuminating the cliff of solitude
But redeemed by the streams and sprouts of every life on earth.

--translation by E. SAN JUAN, Jr.