Region 1 (Ilocos Region)

BLASTED HOPES (ca. 1880)

by Leona Florentino

translated by M. Foronda, Jr.

What gladness and what joy

are endowed to one who is loved

for truly there is one to share

all his sufferings and his pain

My fate is dim, my stars so low

perhaps nothing to it can compare,

for truly I do not doubt

for presently I suffer so.

For even I did love

the beauty whom I desired

never do I fully realize

that I am worthy of her.

Shall I curse the hour

when first I saw the light of day

would it not have been better a thousand times

I had died when I was born.

Would I want to explain

but my tongue remains powerless

for now do I clearly see

to be spurned is my lot.

But would it be my greatest joy

to know that it is you I love,

for to you do I vow and a promise I make

it’s you alone for whom I would lay my life

(original version:)

NALPAY A NAMNAMA

Amangan a ragsac ken talecda

dagitiaddacaayanayatda

ta addapimanmangricna

cadagitiisuaminaasugda.

Ni Gasatco a nababa

aoanenngatatcapadana,
 ta cunacdiacagduadua

ta agdamangarudgnainnacagsagaba.

Ta nupay no agayatac

itimaysaaimnas

aoanlatpangripripiripac

ngaaddapacaibatugac.

Ilunodcontotihoras

ngainnacpannacayanacta

mamenribo coma naseseat

no natayacidin ta nayanacac.

Gayagayec coma a ipalaoag

ngembumdeng met toy dilac,

a ta maquitac met a sibabatad

nganipaayticalac-amac.

Ngemumanayento a liolioac

tipannacaammonitoy a panagayat,

ta icarickencaketisapatac

ngasicaaoansablitipacatayac.
CRITERIA:

It is not bad to hope, to expect something, whether it be

physical or not. Love is one of the many things that starts with
hope. Because of the happiness it brings, many of us continue to
seek love. As the poem says, there is something in each of us that
will help us through our difficulties and sorrows. Someone who will
bring us love that will produce happiness. There are those who are
looking, there are those who are waiting, who have been there, who
are there but who are yet to be seen and who have seen but who do
not have the courage to do anything just to try, let them have that
love. It is satisfying to find love and to know that it is for them and
that the person they are giving is there.

It is good to love, it is nice to know that we can see the

person we are going to love first, the one we hope to love.

Don't we all love it? Because without the love of the sadness
and darkness of our lives. The sadness is caused by an expectation
of falling apart because of inaction.
Region 2 (Cagayan Valley)

The Rural Maid

By Fernando M. Maramag

Thy glance, sweet maid, when first we met,

Had left a heart that aches for thee,

I feel the pain of fond regret—

Thy heart, perchance, is not for me.

We parted: though we met no more,

My dreams are dreams of thee, fair maid;

I think of thee, my thoughts implore

The hours my lips on thine are laid.

Forgive these words that love impart,

And pleading, bare the poet’s breast;

And if a rose with thorns thou art,

Yet on my breast that rose may rest.

 I know not what to name thy charms,

Thou art half human, half divine;

And if I could hold thee in my arms,

I know both heaven and earth were mine.

CRITERIA:

The language comes alive not from the present words and their

common meanings, but from the usage which enables our senses to

achieve reality. Fernando Maramag was an excellent poet and

journalist in English. His rich style and deep understanding of the

human nature make his poems appealing to all readers.

In his poem, The Rural Maid, the persona is a guy who fell in love

with a girl. Even if he left, the memory of his maiden still remains in

him; proving that his love for her transcends time and distance. I

especially like the last 2 lines since they visualize and magnify his

love for her.

Region 3 (Central Luzon)

Youth by maximoramos

These have known the tingling freshness

Of the coming forth from God;

The sweetness of mother's breast

The ringing sinewiness of growth,

The feel of the loved one's cheek, the song

Of April suns and showers...

And these will know

The quiet dimming down of age

And the silent wonder

of going back

to God.
CRITERIA:

The poem describes the beauty and the mystery of life as it is

endured by every individual. In the first stanza, the fulfillment of

being given the chance to see the light of the world for the first time

was beautifully described. Being born and having been given the

chance to live a life is one great manifestation of God's graciousness

and love. It is one's first witness of acceptance and care. Promises of

fun and wonderful memories are being savored in the restless days

of childhood, until such time when one comes of age and gets the

chance to raise a family.

The second stanza unfolds another mystery of life. This is

somehow the moment when one finally expresses content and

enrichment of one's experiences of the life that he has been given.

He takes the final phase of surrendering the life to be able to enter a

new one and reunite with the Giver, and that is the greatest and the

most beautiful mystery of mankind.

Region 4A (CALABARZON)

Servant

On the shut door of the mind

We knock, we of soul and body torn;

We who serve and are ignored,

Broken into pieces to be of use.

Our heads nod, our arms lift,

Our feet are quick, our faces turn:

We scatter our parts to the beck

And call of those higher than us.

Deep within, we have a name,

A story to tell. Against a harsh life

We’ve put up a fight, only

To end up with a servant’s life.

We serve the strong, we are

Feet and arms wanting to climb,

 Heads and faces used to fool the law,

Will we be whole again tomorrow?

Up ahead the new day shines,

The change-of-fate we seek—

Then we shall rise again,

With our names and bodies back.

CRITERIA:

This poem written by Mr. Lumbera is very heart touching and

life changing. It is very easy to understand and can inspire broken

souls that are being enslaved. It is a free verse poem. Metaphor is

its figurative language which states a fact or draws a verbal picture

from a large point of view. This poem focuses on what enslaved

persons feel. Not literally a slave or servant, but according to what a

person feels. To cut the long story short, “hope” is always there in

the side of every tragic story. New beginnings follow after harsh

endings.

There are two Point of Views in the interpretation of this poem;

The “positive and the negative side.”

 Positive: All people undergo “servant hood” (signifies a stage in our

lives). Being a servant in the sense of following our elders, respecting

them, and taking good care of them. It is a process of life, where we can

be our own through the help of our elders or masters. This will give us

our purpose in life; that is to be leaders and good stewards. It is said in

the poem that we have a name deep inside us. In order for you to justify

your identity, you must be a good steward and in turn pursue your own

way.

Negative: It is inspired by the story of people who where neglected,

forsaken, and overtaken. I can relate this to the Filipino people who were

abused by foreign visitors. Even if they want to fight, stand up, and be

free, they have no choice but to follow and be a slavey. But all people

have names and identity, unique and absurd. No one can hinder an

individual to grow and fight for his right. You cannot stop an eagle to fly,

it needs space to soar. You cannot hold up a thunder bolt from striking

above the sky. It needs to shout and shine bright blinding the enemy.

You cannot stop a genius mind to think of ideas that could change the

world. Every body needs to be treated equally, because deep inside all of

us have an ember capable of starting a fire.

Region 4B (MIMAROPA)

AMBAHAN 131

This my problem, my headache,

I had called the doctors all,

Had it treated frequently

But my headache didn’t go

Like the storm not calming down,

Like the rain that doesn’t stop

It was even getting worse:

My head almost cracking up

But the final medicine, why did I not think of it?

We must love each other more.

Then the problem will be gone,

Carried along by the wind,

Covered by forest trees,

And we will be sad no more

CRITERIA:

Sickness is unavoidable in human life. A person who is ill can

easily be recognized. Sometimes, whatever is done, all treatment

seems to be in vain. But there is always a treatment that's been

forgotten. A serious condition might develop. The usual treatments

are of little help.

Region 5 (Bicol Region)

SPOUSE BY LUIS DATO

Rose in her hand, and moist eyes young with weeping,

She stands upon the threshold of her house,

Fragrant with scent that wakens love from sleeping,

She looks far down to where her husband plows.

Her hair dishevelled in the night of passion,

Her warm limbs humid with the sacred strife,

What may she know but man and woman fashion

Out of the clay of wrath and sorrow—Life?

She holds no joys beyond the day’s tomorrow,

She finds no worlds beyond her love’s embrace;

She looks upon the Form behind the furrow,

Who is her Mind, her Motion, Time and Space.

O somber mystery of eyes unspeaking,

O dark enigma of Life’s love forlorn;

 The Sphinx beside the river smiles with seeking

The secret answer since the world was born.

CRITERIA:

It speaks about the great passion for love but suppressed by

some intervening circumstances such as performing or fulfilling

one’s responsibility inherent to the act of loving. In the Philippine

context and in the feminist point-of-view, the poem may speak of

how men dominate women in various aspects as suggested in the

third stanza “She holds no joys beyond the day’s tomorrow, She

finds no worlds beyond his arm’s embrace, She looks upon the

FORM behind the furrow, Who is her mind, her Motion, Time and

Space. In here, the woman is imprisoned in her love for the man.

The man is established as her life, her strength, her only joy, and

her everything. She is obliged to perform the act of loving her man

under whatever circumstance. Such case deprives the woman of

living outside the world of her love. A second look at the piece

however will give us a different perspective.

Region 6 (Western Visayas)

Love of Country

(GugmasaPungsod)

Santiago Alv. Mulato

Is there a love perhaps… truer and more sacred,

More chaste … purer, comparable

To the sincere … total love … of native land?

What other love? … No one can tell.

CRITERIA:

The poem is all about ones love for his own country which is

nothing greater than any forms of love, we Filipinos truly love our

country since the days of our national hero up to now , thats why I

picked this poem.

Region 7 (Central Visayas)

Our Pride Juliet Samonte

We are humble among the humble

But to the tyrant we bow not

Brothers we are akk

Equal are the city folks and the country folks.

This thought is not arrogance

That led people to failure

If they want to shine like the sun we will be

Dark like the night

But tyranny we tolerate not.

Love and freedom are our path ways

Our guide in our aspirations

Without hesitation our name we reveal

To those who wish our name to know.

If the good bow their heads

 And the bad hold their heads high

No difference will it make to the humble

For what we are no shame we feel.

We seek not fortune nor fame

Our country’s welfare is our only desire

Why cant we all unite as one

When we all have the same goals and right?

We have faith in our ideals

Misfortunre and poverty our enemies

More formidable than the mountain

Though like a little plant

Defeated we’ll never be.

CRITERIA:

It is about courage from cruel ruler or dictator. People are

equal and must unite against the ruler to attain freedom.

Moral lesson: Don’t be afraid. Stand for your right.

Region 8 (Eastern Visayas)

AngKanyangMga Mata

byClodualdo del Mundo

Dalawangbituing

kumikislap-kislap

sagitna

ngdilim. . .

Tambalngaliw

nasasayaw-sayaw

satuwingako'y

naninimdim. . .

Bukang-liwayway

ngisangpagsintang

walangmaliw!

Takipsilim

ngisangpusong

di magtataksil!
CRITERIA:

I choose this poem because the poet describes his admiration

in the eyes of his beloved, which for me is very sweet.

Region 9 (Zamboanga Peninsula)

My Beloved Zamboanga City - Poem by Didith Marcelo

Oh my beloved hometown is now restless, horror rumbling

everywhere, rubbish rebels sneak day and night to look beyond

damage and death.

Oh greed when you was born demons absurd, you cause trouble,

ruin lies, poor soul arose everywhere as they are sinking to their

fears, they beg for justice but chaosity brought as an answer.

We wonder where is the finger of God to point out and subdue those

rubbish. But someone tells me 'a conspiracy is going on.'

CRITERIA:

This poem shows the love of the poet in his hometown, in

which he stated the incitu situation of his location and wondering

what has happened in Zamboanga.

Region 10 (Northern Mindanao)

ANY WOMAN SPEAKS

by Angela Manalang Gloria

Half of the world's true glamour

Is held--you know by whom?

Not by the gilt Four Hundred

Parading in perfume,

Nor by the silvered meteors

That light the celluloid sky--

But by these eyes that called you,

Blind fool who passed me by!

CRITERIA:

In Any Woman Speaks, the persona describes seeing something

particularly magnificent in a passing stranger, reminiscent of the

story, the 100% perfect girl on an april morning.

Region 11 (Davao Region)

Tulang Tumututol

Poetry by Linda Bansil | August 26, 2007

Paano kung ang tula ay may presyo?

Puwede nang pambayad sa bus,

sa dyipni, sa traysikel,

sa eroplano, sa grocery,

sa ilaw, sa tubig, sa kuryente?

Siguro lahat ay makikinig.

Paano kung ang tula ay may katawan?

Magpupursigi kaya itong ibenta

ang kaluluwa sa bangketa?

Paano kung ang tula ay maaari nang

pambayad-utang sa puting may-ari

 ng pandaigdigang kalakalan?

Maiahon kaya nito ang Pilipinas sa kahirapan?

Ano ba ang magagawa ng makatang tulad ko

Na hanggang sulat lang ang kayang gawin?

CRITERIA:

This poem is all about the metaphor of a poem in the current

situation which is all about financial.

Region 12 (SOCCSKSARGEN)

Lamge ha, lamba wadu

Wonde, gende wukelo genha

Fambo ha wakela tun ha

Wadu wadene mande mande wagene han akeba han ha

Hubalyo han ha wadene mande hononka yon ha

Nangat hu kong dende wukilak gengen ha

Wanulu han aladjuaman ha

 Agumupgon indi undigo han along a fon ha hay ha!

What can we do? Oh, What can we do?

This is our work, this we should do.

Oh my, how, oh how is this to go on?

Continue, then comeback when you reach the top.

“Tis not there! “Tis not here! They said.

We’ll try till we can make it.

It’s not here, according to them, but dont relax

Don’t be surprised. They’re still far.

Let’s hurry!

CRITERIA:

This poem is all about persistence dont panic when time

comes where you are in need.

Region 13 (Caraga Region)

THE OLD WOMAN OF THE CANDLES

by Kevin Piamonte

HOLY Thursday.

The house loomed over the street. Massive. Windows gaped open

like mouths. So this would be summer for me. There were other

houses nearby, but not as big and old as this one. As I stood

outside the rusty iron gate, Doray came running out of the heavy

wooden door. It was almost sundown.

"You're finally here. I've been waiting since morning." She kissed me

on the cheek.

"The bus broke down," I sighed and gave her a hug.

She brought me inside the house. The basement was dark. A

familiar scent filtered through my nose. I sneezed.

"It's old wood, remember?"

 SHE had brought me to Ibajay, Aklan, a year ago for her Lola

Conching's 90th birthday. We stayed for a couple of days.

Doray and I usually spend summer at beaches. She suggested that

we spend this particular one in her Lola Conching's house. I

declined at first, but couldn't bear the thought of going to the beach

without her. So we made a deal. An hour's ride from Ibajay was a

white sand beach.

"I promise." She held up her hand. "We'll go to Boracay after. You

just have to see how they spend Holy Week in my Lola Conching's

town."

"But I'm not even a practicing Catholic," I protested.

"Don't deny it Burt Macaraig," Doray pointed her accusing finger at

me." Once I saw you lighting all the candles in church so that Rona

would live."

Ask and you shall be given. I thought that was the doctrine of the

Church. Rona died of abuse three years. ago. She was one of those

deaf children we took care of in the Center. The twelve-year old girl

was suddenly missing one day. When we finally found her in a

cemetery, her body had been battered. She lingered in the hospital

for two days. The pain was deeply etched on her face. Even her

pleas for comfort had ceased to be human.

"All right, all right." I gave up. "We'll go to your Lola Conching's

house first, purify our souls during Holy Week and burn them after

in Boracay."

Doray and I have been the best of friends since college. We were

drinking buddies. Everybody on campus thought we were a couple.

In a way we were, since we were always together. After college we

went on to do volunteer work for the deaf. We thought we would be

serving the best of humanity. But the truth was we were both

reluctant to get an eight-to-five job. We called that a straitjacket.

For some reason I wasn't able to make it on the day Doray and I

were supposed to leave for Ibajay.

"You'd better follow, mister," she warned, her hand balled to a fist.

SAN Jose Street, Ibajay. Doray told me that on Holy Week the

townspeople follow a certain tradition. Her Lola Conching owned a

 Santo Entierro, the dead Christ. It had been with the family for

years. Every year, during Holy Week, they would bring out the

statue and everybody would participate in the preparation. Some

people would be in charge of dressing up the statue while others

would take care of decorating the carriage that would carry it

through the streets.

"What's so exciting about that?"

"It's a feast, Burt, a celebration."

I thought it was ridiculous celebrating death. There was something

eerie about the whole idea.

"Lola Conching, do you remember Burt?" Doray asked as we got to

the landing.

The old woman sat on a chair carefully lighting candles on the altar

in front of her. Her lips reverently moved in silence and her gaze

was strange as if she wasn't looking at any of the images in

particular. It was this same sight that greeted me a year ago.

"The old woman of the candles," I whispered to Doray on our first

visit.
 "He's here to help in the activities for the Holy Week."

"It's good to see you again, Lola Conching."

"Did you have a good trip? Perhaps you need to rest."

The old woman stared at me. Her face looked tired. It sagged with

wrinkles. But I could see there had been beauty there ages ago. The

fine line of her brow softly curved to gray almond eyes. Her nose

suggested not Spanish descent. Beside her was a wooden cane

bedecked with shells intricately embedded, forming a floral design.

"Come." Doray led me through the living room. Carved lattice

frames on walls complemented the chandelier made of brass and

cut-glass.

"Where is the rest of the family?"

"They'll be here in the morning," Doray said as she opened the door

to the bedroom.

I stepped inside.

"You'll sleep here." She indicated. "That's the washroom."

"And the other door to the right leads to your room," I recalled.
 Lola Conching was blind. She suffered greatly at the hands of the

Japanese. This I came to know last year. Lola Conching was a

comfort woman. She had to give in so her parents could be saved.

At first she resisted. Then the Japanese hit her on the head with a

plank of wood. She became blind. Then she got pregnant.

Was it her story or was it for want of a grandmother that somehow

had drawn me to her?

"I think I'll rest for a while," I said quietly.

"Yes, do," she replied as she opened the door to her room. "We'll

have dinner later."

The room was replete with old wooden heads of saints. Some had

no eyes, but they looked real. I shivered--a familiar feeling. In front

of my bed was a cabinet with glass casing. It was empty. The whiff

of camphor from the wooden heads made me dizzy and I fell asleep.

Soundly.

I WOKE up to the sound of voices. A soft stream of morning light

seeped through the gauze of the mosquito net. I hurriedly washed

and dressed. Then I opened the door and stepped out of the room.

There were people moving around, talking.

"Burt Macaraig?" An elderly woman looked at me knowingly.

"Yes. Burt, you've met Tiya Basyon," Doray began. "And Tiya

Patring, Tiyo Lindo, my cousins Ted, Joey, Ina, Elena, Nicky and

Damian."

"Well, I'm back." I didn't know what else to say.

"Let's have breakfast." She tugged at my arm. "Everybody has

eaten."

The combination of dried fish, scrambled eggs and fried rice

sprinkled with chopped onion leaves made me very hungry.

"Nobody here eats meat on Good Friday," Doray explained as we sat

down. "It's the belief."

I was too hungry to mind whatever Doray was trying to say.

"I didn't bother to wake you up last night," she said between bites.

"You were snoring and I took care not to wake you when I put up

your mosquito net."

"I fell asleep as soon as I hit the pillow."

 "Did Burt have a good sleep last night, Doray?" Lola Conching

asked as she walked into the dining room.

She sat on the chair at the head of the table. It was uncanny how

she could move with just a cane. She seemed to know every inch of

space in her house.

"Good morning," I greeted her.

"Ah, there you are." Her head followed the sound of my voice. "Did

you sleep well last night?" "Yes, I did."

"You should. You will be doing many things today."

After breakfast, we went downstairs. The light from the bulb coated

the basement in amber. I sneezed. In a corner was the carriage.

Black. It was lined with leaves of silver. On the carriage was a

casing whose sides were made of glass. Angels with dark faces

adorned each of the upper four corners. The carriage looked

ominous, like a hearse. Tiyo Lindo and Tiya Patring came in.

"Boys, let's do this together." Tiyo Lindo went to the carriage and

started pulling it out from the corner. All of us did our share. The

wheels creaked.
 "It needs oiling," Tiyo Lindo said.

We positioned the carriage under the bulb.

"Why don't we just open the door?" I suggested. "Then we can have

light."

"No, don't," Tiya Patring said. "It's a tradition. Nobody should see

the Santo Entierro until everything is done."

I helped polish the carriage, shining the leaves of silver lining. With

agility Ted climbed the carriage and dusted the wooden top of the

casing. Tiyo Lindo wiped the inside of the glass. No way would I go

in there, I thought. It would be like going inside a coffin.

"We're ready with the Santo Entierro," one of the girls called out.

They had been cleaning the body.

The dead Christ was laid out on a mat. My stomach tumbled over. I

felt like I was looking at a corpse in a morgue.

"Are you all right?" Doray approached me. She had been arranging

the flowers and leaves of palm.

"Look," I said quietly. "I don't know what this is all about, but I'm

not at all comfortable."

 "What is it?"

"The dead Christ. I just don't like it." I sneezed. "And this scent of

old wood, it's driving my nose nuts."

She laughed.

"What is so funny?" I looked at her squarely.

"That's what you get for being a heretic." She brushed my face with

the bouquet she held in her hands.

"Oh, stop that." I wiped my face. "I think I'd better go upstairs for a

while and rest."

"Don't be so lazy. Lola Conching won't like that kind of attitude."

"Well, she's not my grandmother in the first place." I made my way

up.

Lola Conching was sitting by the altar when I got to the top of the

stairs. The subtlety of light coming from the candles caressed the

features of her tired face.

"Are you done?"

I was startled.
 "No, Lola Conching."

CRITERIA:

The Old Woman of the Candles is about a man named Burt

who agrees to stay with his friend Doray at her grandmother's home

for Holy Week. Doray's grandmother tells Burt the story of Santo

Entierro, the dead Christ, and how her family owns the statue. On

Good Friday there is a parade and the take the statue to the church

so everyone may see it. Later that night Burt awakes and takes a

walk only to find the statue is missing. It then reappears on Easter

Sunday.

NCR (National Capital Region)

Forever Love

By: Joseph S. Santos

Sweet Thoughts Of You

Are In My Mind

You'll Be Remembered
 Till The End Of Time

So When You're Feeling

Down And Blue

Remember These Feelings

I Have For You

Although We're Not Together

And It Seems We're Far Apart

You'll Be With Me For Eternity

Always In My Heart

CRITERIA:

I picked this poem because it is all about love, an everlasting

love which resulted the poet to make a poem about his loved ones.

He expressed his love and affection using flowerful words.

ARMM (Autonomous Region in Muslim Mindanao)

Si Amomongo at si Iput-Iput

(Ang Gorilya at ang Alitaptap)

“Huwag maliitin ang maliliit dahil may magagawa silang di

magagawa ng malalaki”

Isang gabi, naglalakad si Iput-Iput, (ang alitaptap) patungo sa

bahay ng kanyang kaibigan.Nang mapadaan siya sa tapat ng bahay

ni Amomongo (ang gorilya), tinanong siya nito.

“Hoy, Iput-Iput,bakit lagi kang may dala-dalang ilaw?”

Sumagot si Iput-Iput. “Dahil natatakot ako sa mga lamok.”

“Ah, duwag ka pala,” ang pang-uuyam ni Amomongo.

“Hindi ako duwag!” , ang nagagalit na sagot ni Iput-Iput.

“Kung hindi ka duwag, e bakit lagi kang may dala-dalang ilaw?”,

ang pang-aasar ni Amomongo.

“Nagdadala ako ng ilaw para kapag nilapitan ako ng mga lamok at

kakagatin ay makikita ko sila kaagad at nang sa gayo’y

maipagtanggol ko ang aking sarili.”, ang tugon ni Iput-Iput.

Tumawa nang malakas si Amomongo. Kinabukasan, maaga utong

gumising at ipinamalita sa lahat ng kapitbahay na kaya daw laging

may dalang ilaw si Iput-Iput ay dahil duwag ito. Kaagad na kumalat

sa buong bayan ang balita.

Nang mabalitaan ito ni Iput-Iput, nagalit siya. Dali-dali siyang

lumipad patungo sa bahay ni Amomongo. Gabi noon at natutulog

na ang gorilya, ngunit itinapat niya ang kanyang ilaw sa mukha

nito hanggang sa ito ay magising.

“Hoy, gorilya, bakit ipinamamalita mong duwag ako? Upang

mapatunayan ko sa’yong hindi ako duwag, hinahamon kita sa

isang labanan. Magkita tayo sa sa plasa sa susunod na Linggo ng

hapon.”

Pupunga-pungas na nagtanong ang gorilya. “Mayroon ka bang mga

kasama?”

“Wala!”, ang sigaw ni Iput-Iput. “Pupunta akong mag-isa.”

Nangiti si Amomongo sa tinuran ni Iput-Iput. Dili’t isang maliit na

insekto ang humahamon sa kanya ng away.

Nagpatuloy ang alitaptap. “Hihintayin kita sa plasa sa susunod na

Linggo sa ganap na ikaanim ng hapon!”

“Magsama ka ng mga kakampi mo dahil magsasama ako ng libu-

libong gorilya na mas malalaki pa sa akin.” Sinabi ito ni Amomongo

upang takutin ang alitaptap, na sa pakiwari niya ay nasisiraan ng

ulo.

Ngunit sumagot si Iput-Iput: “Hindi ko kailangan ng kakampi.

Darating akong mag-isa! Paalam!”

Dumating ang araw ng Linggo. Bago pa mag-ikaanim ng hapon ay

nagtipon na ang mga dambuhalang gorilya sa plasa ngunit

nadatnan na nila ang alitaptap na naghihintay sa kanila.

“Maya- maya, tumunog ang kampana ng simbahan bilang hudyat

ng oras ng orasyon o pagdarasal. Iminungkahi ni Iput-Iput sa mga

gorilya ma magdasal muna sila. Pagkatapos magdasal, agad sinabi

ni Iput-Iput na nakahanda na siya. Inutusan ni Amomongo ang

kanyang mga kasama na humanay. Pumuwesto siya sa una bilang

pagpapakilalang siya ang pinuno ng

mga ito.

Dagling lumipad si Iput-Iput sa ilong ni Amomongo at inilawan niya

ito. Hinampas ng kasunod na gorilya si Iput-Iput ngunit kaagad

itong nakaalis kaya ang tinamaan ng gorilya ay ang ilong ni

Amomongo na halos ikamatay nito. Dumapo si Iput-Iput sa ilong ng

pangalawang gorilya. Hinampas ng pangatlong gorilya si Iput-Iput

ngunit kaagad itong nakalipad, kaya ang nahampas niya ay ang

ilong ng pangalawa na ikinamatay nito. Muli, inilawan ni Iput-Iput

ang ilong ng pangatlong gorilya. Hinampas ng ikaapat na gorilya si

Iput-Iput na kaagad na kalipad.

Muli, namatay ang pangatlong gorilya dahil sa lakas ng

pagkakahampas ng ikaapat na unggoy sa ilong nito. Nagpatuloy

ang ganitong pangyayari hanggang si Amomongo na lamang ang

natirang buhay na gorilya na halos hindi makagulapay dahil sa

tinamong sakit. Nagmakaawa ito kay Iput-Iput na patawarin na

siya, at huwag patayin. Pinatawad naman siya ni Iput-Iput, ngunit

simula ng hapong iyon, nagkaroon na ng malaking takot ang mga

gorilya sa mga alitaptap.

CRITERIA:

Do not judge your neighbor based on his size or body size. Often,

small ones do more than the big ones can do. Avoid spreading false

news to discredit others.

CAR (Cordillera Administrative Region)

The Man with the Coconuts

A Tinguian Folktale

One day a man who had been to gather his coconuts loaded his

horse heavily with the fruit. On the way home he met a boy whom

he asked how long it would take to reach the house.

“If you go slowly,” said the boy, looking at the load on the horse,

“you will arrive very soon; but if you go fast, it will take you all day.”

The man could not believe this strange speech, so he hurried his

horse. But the coconuts fell off and he had to stop to pick them up.

Then he hurried his horse all the more to make up for lost time, but

the again. Many time he did this, and it was night when he reached

home
CRITERIA:

I picked this folktale because it is all about consistency, you

can go fast but at the end of the day it will only take you more time

consumed rather that going slowly but surely.