To an Athlete Dying Young

To an Athlete Dying Young
The time you won your town the race
We chaired you through the market-place;
Man and boy stood cheering by,
And home we brought you shoulder-high.
Today, the road all runners come,
Shoulder-high we bring you home,
And set you at your threshold down,
Townsman of a stiller town.
Smart lad, to slip betimes away
From fields where glory does not stay,
And early though the laurel grows
It withers quicker than the rose.
Eyes the shady night has shut
Cannot see the record cut,
And silence sounds no worse than cheers
After earth has stopped the ears.
Now you will not swell the rout
Of lads that wore their honours out,
Runners whom renown outran
And the name died before the man.
So set, before its echoes fade,
The fleet foot on the sill of shade,
And hold to the low lintel up
The still-defended challenge-cup.
And round that early-laurelled head
Will flock to gaze the strengthless dead,
And find unwithered on its curls
The garland briefer than a girl’s.
—A. E. HOUSMAN

ANG TREN

ANG TREN

Tila ahas na nagmula
sa himpilang kanyang lungga,
ang galamay at palikpik, pawang bakal, tanso, tingga,
ang kaliskis, lapitan mo’t mga bukas na bintana.

Ang rail na lalakara’y
nakabalatay sa daan,
umaaso ang bunganga at maingay na maingay,
sa Tutuban magmumula’t patutungo sa Dagupan.

O, kung gabi’t masalubong
ang mata ay nag-aapoy,
ang silbato sa malayo’y dinig mo pang sumisipol
at hila-hila ang kanyang kabit-kabit namang bagon.

Walang pagod ang makina,
may baras na nasa r’weda,
sumisingaw, sumisibad, humuhuni ang pitada,
tumetelenteng ang kanyang kainpanada sa tuwina.

“Kailan ka magbabalik?”
“Hanggang sa hapon ng Martes.”
At tinangay na ng tren ang naglakbay na pag-ibig,
sa bentanilya’y may panyo’t may naiwang nananangis.

—Jose Corazon de Jesus

 

They say pen is mightier than sword.

They say words are more harmful than  bullets of guns

And of blades of knives.

But what happen to words:

If  nobody wants to listen,

If  no one cares to read

Or to appreciate the truth

And what it should be.

If pictures speaks a thousand words

Or moves finite feelings.

Stressed discussions and conversations.

Create pandemonium of fanatics

What happen to words

When it should be mightier than swords,

More harmful than guns and knives.

What happen to it’s language…

What happen of change.