If music is wine for the soul, I suppose I have had my satisfying share of this liquor of life, one that has sustained me all these years.
All this time I have savored the timeless ballads of Matt Monro and Carpenters, have drunk much rock of say, Queen and Juan de la Cruz Band, which I have grown to love, or sometimes sipped from the modern R&B and acoustic alchemy concocted by younger songwriters and singers like Ogie Alcasid and Ne-yo. My favorites range from chanteuse Grace Nono to Paul Potts to Patsy Cline to Rico J. Puno, and the alternative Labuyo to Richard Clayderman.
Such sense of music has been influenced by people around me and people whom I grew up with—my mother, sister and brothers—my family, or better yet, our clan who sang and danced our way through life, now and then drinking from own cups.
I
How and why I have grown to like music—like every human being perhaps—I owe first to my mother, who must have adlibbed the best melodies only for me to sleep the cold nights of being left without a father. After my father’s demise, my mother’s melodies must have sounded more like elegies being sung by a widow who now as a single parent, had to fend for six growing children.
One evening, Mother told me a story of how she had to sing Victor Wood’s “Teenage Señorita” when she was being recruited for a sorority in college. I could only imagine she sang it in the corridors of Burns Hall where I first saw my very own teenage señorita Cecile Naldo, a bubbly DevCom major from Iriga who would sing the melodies of Celine Dion like an LP after our Biology class. The Celine Dion connection did not materialize much—just when my Cecilia’s singing of “If You Asked Me, Too” ended.
Mother loved Nat King Cole that whenever Manoy played “Stardust” and the rest of his collection nights after supper in Bagacay, the Banat household would be filled with her voice that sounded like it’s tiptoeing the corners of the house.
Her singing voice would delicately hit the right notes but contained “a certain sadness” that perhaps even Astrud Gilberto must have never known. Manoy recorded Cole’s collection on tapes—along with those of Carpenters and Pet Shop Boys—through our cousin Manoy Ynos’s stuff in Manila during his engineering board review in 1991.
One cool Sunday afternoon in 1993, Mother introduced me to Jerry Vale, when we were enjoying the coolness of the folding bed in our sala at siesta time. We listened to Vale’s “If You Go Away” being played on an AM radio program on the Sharp radio which Manoy bought upon her request.
She was perhaps singing away the moment thinking how to sustain in the following week her four sons studying in Naga—or perhaps she was humming away her gratitude that she was supporting only four students in the city. I and my sister stopped schooling that year.
Some seventeen years later, Mother’s swan song would be one graceful and heavenly melody, inspiring everyone in her last rites about how one single parent had weathered all odds through the years to make the best of all her six children.
II
In our brood of six, Manoy has biggest share of influence in each of us, younger siblings. While Ano and Alex also strutted their way to get our nerves equally break-dancing to the tunes of Michael Jackson and his local copycats towards the mid-1980s, Manoy’s influence in the rest of us has been indispensable.
Being the eldest, Manoy held the possession of the phonograph like the Two Stone Tablets, where the songs being played later became the sibling’s anthems. From the phonograph, everyone came to love Mother’s favorite trio the acoustic “Trio Los Panchos” whose pieces did not sound different from her aunt Lola Charing’s “La Tumba” number which she would sing during clan reunions. While Yoyoy Villame’s rpms would be played alternately with Baby Jane and Tarzan’s yellow plaka, it would be the “Santa Maria” chorus which would ring more in my memory.
Yet, the phonograph music would last only until the time when there would be no way to fix it anymore after Manoy dropped it one day when he was retrieving or returning it from the cabinet which should have been out of our reach.
Everything else in the family’s long-playing collection had escaped my memory—I would be too young to even know how to operate the phonograph. We chanced to retrieve some of LP discs in the 90s after a long list of typhoons; I could only help my brother Ano in placing them on the walls as decoration. And they certainly looked classic there—like memories pasted on the wall for anyone’s immediate recollection.
Not long after, Manoy would be addicted to tapes that he would bring in a new recorded record of many artists in the eighties. The eighties was a prolific era--with almost anything for everyone. On his boombox and other sound gadgets, Manoy played Pink Floyd, Depeche Mode, Heart, Sade, America and Tears for Fears, among a million others.
He recorded songs while they were played on FM stations on the radio. It was his way of doing things. It was his way of cheering the household up--he played music when he would cook our food--his perennial assignment at home was to cook our food. He played music on the radio anytime, everytime that Mother would usually tell him to lower down the volume.
III
Creativity or art has never escaped my second eldest brother Ano’s keen senses. In the eighties, Ano did not only have a record of break-dance tunes in their high school days in BCAT—he also made an unforgettably cool tape jacket which became a bestseller among the siblings. While Ano and Alex break-danced to their hearts’ content, we younger siblings could only look at them in amazement, later adopting their moves to our own sense of enjoyment and thrill—wherever and whenever we found avenues for it.
This time, our anthems were now being played over the Sanyo radio, the family phonograph’s successor. Mother must have acquired it through a loan presented by lending businessmen whose special offers lured a number of public school teachers in Bagacay.
Ano loved the popular music, collecting pinups from song hits of say, Gerard Joling and mounting them as frames in our sala, as if he were a familiar cousin of ours. Of course, he maintained a collection of his tapes perhaps apart from Manoy's growing collection of recorded stuffs and original albums.
IV
Then, there was a time in our lives when music would not ever be sung for a long time. Nothing demoralized us more than being poor that music must have been forgotten as pastime—as growing young adults, our needs were more of corporeal rather than spiritual—"survival," not "theatrical."
I believe when someone in a movie said that nothing impoverishes the spirit more than poverty itself. Who would not be crushed by the fact that there was not just enough to sustain ourselves? Mother’s income had never been enough so that each of us had to hum our own melodies to sing our way through our days.
But just like wine, music’s soothing properties worked wonders. While the rest of us must have found avenues to continue singing their lives, brother Alex’s quiet and restraint was music itself. In him, we would not find so much loud melodies or even singing—because such countenance solicited friendship in cousin Bong, Auntie Felia’s eldest son who played and paraded the music of the eighties like soul food. With Bong, Alex’s sense of music has been sharpened—finding their voice in the groovy and still danceable and angst-ridden mid-eighties.
Later, Alex's tight-lipped restraint significantly found its voice in the sociopath Kurt Cobain and icons of the grunge era, among others. This was the time when Bong studied medicine in Manila, while Alex pursued engineering in UNC. Nothing better could have captured his sense of isolation than the pieces of Metallica, Guns and Roses, Bon Jovi and other intimacies which he now shared with new found frat brother Nanding, our landlady’s son in Diaz Subdivision.
After 1996, reverting back to the jukebox pieces was necessary for Alex to mingle with the crowd of fellow boarders working in the busy economic zone in Laguna. After all, Michael Learns to Rock, Rockstar and Renz Verano, for instance, could certainly help bring him back to the old Bagacay, which he sorely missed. Alex would romance rock ballads even after he has established his own family in Laguna.
Wednesday, June 18, 2025
Songs of Ourselves: Fragments
If music is wine for the soul, I suppose I have had my satisfying share of this liquor of life, one that has sustained me all these years.
All this time I have savored the timeless ballads of Matt Monro and Carpenters, have drunk much rock of say, Queen and Juan de la Cruz Band, which I have grown to love, or sometimes sipped from the modern R&B and acoustic alchemies concocted by younger songwriters and singers like Ogie Alcasid and Ne-yo. My favorites range from chanteuse Grace Nono to Paul Potts to Patsy Cline to Rico J. Puno, and the alternative Labuyo to Richard Clayderman.
Such sense of music has been influenced by people around me and people whom I grew up with—my mother, sister and brothers—my family, or better yet, our clan who sang and danced our way through life, now and then drinking from own cups.
I
How and why I have grown to like music—like every human being perhaps—I owe first to my mother, who must have adlibbed the best melodies only for me to sleep the cold nights of being left without a father. After my father’s demise, my mother’s melodies must have sounded more like elegies being sung by a widow who now as a single parent, had to fend for six growing children.
One evening, Mother told me a story of how she had to sing Victor Wood’s “Teenage Señorita” when she was being recruited for a sorority in college. I could only imagine she sang it in the corridors of Burns Hall where I first saw my very own teenage señorita Cecile Naldo, a bubbly DevCom major from Iriga who would sing the melodies of Celine Dion like an LP after our Biology class. The Celine Dion connection did not materialize much—just when my Cecilia’s singing of “If You Asked Me, Too” ended.
Mother loved Nat King Cole that whenever Manoy played “Stardust” and the rest of his collection nights after supper in Bagacay, the Banat household would be filled with her voice that sounded like it’s tiptoeing the corners of the house.
Her singing voice would delicately hit the right notes but contained “a certain sadness” that perhaps even Astrud Gilberto must have never known. Manoy recorded Cole’s collection on tapes—along with those of Carpenters and Pet Shop Boys—through our cousin Manoy Ynos’s stuff in Manila during his engineering board review in 1991.
One cool Sunday afternoon in 1993, Mother introduced me to Jerry Vale, when we were enjoying the coolness of the folding bed in our sala at siesta time. We listened to Vale’s “If You Go Away” being played on an AM radio program on the Sharp radio which Manoy bought upon her request. She was perhaps singing away the moment thinking how to sustain in the following week her four sons studying in Naga—or perhaps she was humming away her gratitude that she was supporting only four students in the city. I and my sister stopped schooling that year.
Some seventeen years later, Mother’s swan song would be one graceful and heavenly melody, inspiring everyone in her last rites about how one single parent had weathered all odds through the years to make the best of all her six children.
II
In our brood of six, Manoy has biggest share of influence in each of us, younger siblings. While Ano and Alex also strutted their way to get our nerves equally break-dancing to the tunes of Michael Jackson and his local copycats towards the mid-1980s, Manoy’s influence in the rest of us has been indispensable.
Being the eldest, Manoy held the possession of the phonograph like Two Stone Tablets, where the songs being played later became the sibling’s anthems. From the phonograph, everyone came to love Mother’s favorite trio the acoustic “Trio Los Panchos” whose pieces did not sound different from her aunt Lola Charing’s “La Tumba” number which she would sing during clan reunions. While Yoyoy Villame’s rpms would be played alternately with Baby Jane and Tarzan’s yellow plaka, it would be the “Santa Maria” chorus which would ring more in my memory.
Yet, the phonograph music would last only until the time when there would be no way to fix it anymore after Manoy dropped it one day when he was retrieving or returning it from the cabinet which should have been out of our reach.
Everything else in the family’s long-playing collection had escaped my memory—I would be too young to even know how to operate the phonograph. We chanced to retrieve some of LP discs in the 90s after a long list of typhoons; I could only help my brother Ano in placing them on the walls as decoration. And they certainly looked classic there—like memories pasted on the wall for anyone’s immediate recollection.
Not long after, Manoy would be addicted to tapes that he would bring in a new recorded record of many artists in the eighties. The eighties was a prolific era--with almost anything for everyone. On his boombox and other sound gadgets, Manoy played Pink Floyd, Depeche Mode, Heart, Sade, America and Tears for Fears, among a million others.
He recorded songs while they were played on FM stations on the radio. It was his way of doing things. It was his way of cheering the household up--he played music when he would cook our food--his perennial assignment at home was to cook our food. He played music on the radio anytime, everytime that Mother would usually tell him to lower down the volume.
III
Meanwhile, creativity or art has never escaped my second eldest brother Ano’s keen senses. In the eighties, Ano did not only have a record of break-dance tunes in their high school days in BCAT—he also made an unforgettably cool tape jacket which became a bestseller among the siblings. While Ano and Alex break-danced to their hearts’ content, we younger siblings could only look at them in amazement, later adopting their moves to our own sense of enjoyment and thrill—wherever and whenever we found avenues for it.
This time, our anthems were now being played over the Sanyo radio, the family phonograph’s successor. Mother must have acquired it through a loan presented by lending businessmen whose special offers lured a number of public school teachers in Bagacay.
Ano loved the popular music, collecting pinups from song hits of say, Gerard Joling and mounting them as frames in our sala, as if he were a familiar cousin of ours. Of course, he maintained a collection of his tapes perhaps apart from Manoy's growing collection of recorded stuffs and original albums.
IV
Then, there was a time in our lives when music would not ever be sung for a long time. Nothing demoralized us more than being poor that music must have been forgotten as pastime—as growing young adults, our needs were more of corporeal rather than spiritual—"survival," not "theatrical."
I believe when someone in a movie said that nothing impoverishes the spirit more than poverty itself. Who would not be crushed by the fact that there was not just enough to sustain ourselves? Mother’s income had never been enough so that each of us had to hum our own melodies to sing our way through our days.
But just like wine, music’s soothing properties worked wonders. While the rest of us must have found avenues to continue singing their lives, brother Alex’s quiet and restraint was music itself. In him, we would not find so much loud melodies or even singing—because such countenance solicited friendship in cousin Bong, Auntie Felia’s eldest son who played and paraded the music of the eighties like soul food. With Bong, Alex’s sense of music has been sharpened—finding their voice in the groovy and still danceable and angst-ridden mid-eighties.
Later, Alex's tight-lipped restraint significantly found its voice in the sociopath Kurt Cobain and icons of the grunge era, among others. This was the time when Bong studied medicine in Manila, while Alex pursued engineering in UNC. Nothing better could have captured his sense of isolation than the pieces of Metallica, Guns and Roses, Bon Jovi and other intimacies which he now shared with new found frat brother Nanding, our landlady’s son in Diaz Subdivision.
After 1996, reverting back to the jukebox pieces was necessary for Alex to mingle with the crowd of fellow boarders working in the busy economic zone in Laguna. After all, Michael Learns to Rock, Rockstar and Renz Verano, for instance, could certainly help bring him back to the old Bagacay, which he sorely missed. Alex would romance rock ballads even after he has established his own family in Laguna.
Summer
Quiet, calm afternoons bring me back to my afternoons in our old house in Bagacay. To avoid the baking heat of the rooms, I often lay down on the canopy of our rooftop, safe under the eaves. There, I fell asleep until a cooler breeze from the backyard of the Absins, our neighbors who owned the house at the foot of the hill, woke me up. The late afternoon was the best time to linger, then someone from the house, Mother, brother, or sister, called me for an afternoon treat of linabunan na batag or gina’tan.
Flores de Mayo
Susog sa Obra Ni Clemente S. Manaog,
Mio Hermano Intimo
Agosto 2007
Bagacay, 1942
Kan si Rafael San Andres mga pitong taon pa sana, dahil naman gayod sa kahisdulan, igwang nakalaog na crayola sa saiyang dungo. Mga pirang aldaw an nag-agi, mala ta maski ano an gibohon kan ina niyang si Visitacion, dai nanggad mahali-hali an crayola sa dungo kan aki.
Kan bulan na iyan, Mayo, igwa nin pa-Flores si Visitacion sa saindang harong sa Iraya. Dawa na ngani gayod makulugon ang dungo, nin huli ta igwa baya nin tandan na sopas na tanggo saka galleta an mga aki, nagbale sa Flores si Rafael.
Sa saday na harong ni Visitacion, an mga aki minadarara nin mga sampaguita, gumamela, dahlia, dahon nin cypres na ginurunting na saradit. Maparangadie muna an mga gurang mantang an mga aki nakaturukaw sa salog. Dangan maabot sa cantada an pagpangadie ninda sa Espaniol. Dangan maabot sa parte na an mga aki masarabwag kan mga dara nindang burak sa altar ni Inang Maria. Magkapirang beses masabwag an mga aki nin mga burak segun sa cantada.
Sa mga pagsabwag ni Rafael kan saiyang mga burak sa altar, basang na sanang tuminubrag hali sa dungo niya an crayola. Nagparaomaw si Visitacion asin daing untok na nagpasalamat sa nangyari. Nin huli man sa nangyari, nangayo-ngayo si Visitacion na gigibohon kan pamilya an Flores de Mayo sa masurunod pang taon bilang pasasalamat sa pagkahali kan crayola sa dungo ni Rafael.
Poon kaidto sagkod ngonyan, pinapadagos kan pamilya ni Visitacion San Andres an saiyang panata na dae mababakli ni isay man. Hasta ngonyan, tinutungkusan kan pamilya San Andres an pasasalamat kan saindang mga apoon, patunay na binibisto kan tawo an karahayan kan Mas Nakakaorog.
Mio Hermano Intimo
Agosto 2007
Bagacay, 1942
Kan si Rafael San Andres mga pitong taon pa sana, dahil naman gayod sa kahisdulan, igwang nakalaog na crayola sa saiyang dungo. Mga pirang aldaw an nag-agi, mala ta maski ano an gibohon kan ina niyang si Visitacion, dai nanggad mahali-hali an crayola sa dungo kan aki.
Kan bulan na iyan, Mayo, igwa nin pa-Flores si Visitacion sa saindang harong sa Iraya. Dawa na ngani gayod makulugon ang dungo, nin huli ta igwa baya nin tandan na sopas na tanggo saka galleta an mga aki, nagbale sa Flores si Rafael.
Sa saday na harong ni Visitacion, an mga aki minadarara nin mga sampaguita, gumamela, dahlia, dahon nin cypres na ginurunting na saradit. Maparangadie muna an mga gurang mantang an mga aki nakaturukaw sa salog. Dangan maabot sa cantada an pagpangadie ninda sa Espaniol. Dangan maabot sa parte na an mga aki masarabwag kan mga dara nindang burak sa altar ni Inang Maria. Magkapirang beses masabwag an mga aki nin mga burak segun sa cantada.
Sa mga pagsabwag ni Rafael kan saiyang mga burak sa altar, basang na sanang tuminubrag hali sa dungo niya an crayola. Nagparaomaw si Visitacion asin daing untok na nagpasalamat sa nangyari. Nin huli man sa nangyari, nangayo-ngayo si Visitacion na gigibohon kan pamilya an Flores de Mayo sa masurunod pang taon bilang pasasalamat sa pagkahali kan crayola sa dungo ni Rafael.
Poon kaidto sagkod ngonyan, pinapadagos kan pamilya ni Visitacion San Andres an saiyang panata na dae mababakli ni isay man. Hasta ngonyan, tinutungkusan kan pamilya San Andres an pasasalamat kan saindang mga apoon, patunay na binibisto kan tawo an karahayan kan Mas Nakakaorog.
O, Clement, O, Loving, O
Remembering Clemente T Manaog [1910-1986]
Today I remember--some twenty years ago--my father's father who succumbed to a lingering illness he had had for a long time.
Some two decades ago today, our eldest brother Manoy Awel, along with Uncle Berto's eldest daughter Manay Gina, stood long hours for him in his deathbed.
Clemente Taduran Manaog--born in 1910--said to belong to a lineage who pioneered clearing the land and "started civilization" in barangay Banao in Iriga City most probably even before it became a city--was a farmer whose simple and humble life lived with his equally magnanimous wife Rosario Monge Cepe, had not failed to inspire their seven children to strive hard and succeed in their chosen fields.
I remember my grandfather's simple, dark but cozy room where he stayed in 128 
During vacation days, Lolo Ente would visit Bagacay from Iriga and bring us to the sea after visiting the tomb of my father. After prayers and rituals in my father's tomb, he would take us to swim in the beach near the cemetery, a familiar place I would later call The Sea House.
I remember how I was once thrown to the water along with my cousins, but I managed to swim up to where Lolo Ente was. The water looked dark and abysmal--it was blurred but warm. Young as I was, I was too afraid to swim that the experience had not been enough to make me learn to swim sensibly at all.
During his visits to Bagacay, Mentz, Nene and I would show Lolo Ente our good papers in grade school--from grade one until 1985 or at that time. He'd be so happy to look at them. In fact, he would really get our class papers graded "100%" or "Very Good" in exchange for a particular sum of money.
Most of my Writing papers under Mrs. Cornelio must have ended up with Lolo Ente's moments catering to his call of nature. Very well earned, indeed. Interesting that our lives as "businessmen" already started when we were young.
I just want to stop writing here or else I would really want to cry. So long for a grandpa's life well lived with his orphaned grandchildren.
I can just wish I could retrieve Lolo Ente's last letter to mother written in two or three pages of tablet paper which he sent through Manoy Awel some twenty years ago.
If I can just recall it right, Lolo was very much saddened by our poor situation back in the Bagacay house--where his son's widow, our mother, the sole parent of six growing children, scrimped and scrammed just to make ends meet. Just to make ends meet.
But I suppose the same letter also came with a half sack of rice or so and other fruits or crops which were harvested from the old man's farm where he toiled with his own blood, sweat and tears for his grandchildren who were far away from him.
The old man must have missed them dearly as much as he must have badly missed his son Manuel, their father who was gone too soon, too early.
But as they say, God's time is never our time. So I just repose and say--all things must have happened for sensible purposes--and everything happens right in God's own time. In his time.
May God bless your kind, loving and warmhearted soul, Lolo Ente.
Eternally.
Amen.
Cancion Kan Taga-Bagacay
I
Mga aki sa Bagacay kun dai nag-iiriskwela,
minsan nagkakarawat, o nagkakara-karanta
Kaibahan kan mga magurang ninda
Sa radyo maghapon dangog nin drama—
Mayo na gayod hahanapon pa ta gabos yaon na—
Presko an duros, nag-uuran sa may harong
Magurang, pinsan, kahoy, mga dahon
May ayam, may ikos, may orig sa tangkal
Pagkatapos kan lumlom, may init an saldang,
Pag bakasyon, may aurora, o pabayli,
Pag habagat o aya-ay, may pabiga', pasali.
Sa pamilya, magayon an iribanan,
Mayong turuklingan; nagkakairintindihan;
Nag-iirinuman—pag naburat, bagsak;
Pag dai nakabangon, kabaong.
Urutangan, siringilan, murulestyahan,
Minsan sirilyakan ta’ dai nagkakadarangugan
Pero maugma ta’ abang prangka
Mayo kitang masasabi ta’, basta.
An kalbo pugo man giraray;
An kawayan butong man giraray;
An mga aki mayong kalson man giraray.
An may buhok nabubulugan man; an nagtitinda nabebentahan;
An nalilipot naiimbongan; anuman na mainit nayeyelohan;
An naglalantuag nakakauli man; an may helang inaaswang.
An siisay man na gutom nagkakakan—
Kun bakong gina'gang karne, mahamis na ginatan;
Mirindalan pinakro, bulgur, sinuman;
Pulutan, kutsinta, kun ano na sana man.
II
Sa sugalan, mga gurang tiripon lalo na kun hapon,
May nagtitinda pang sitsaron; sa tindahan, mamon.
Sa binggohan, kadaragahan o may mga agóm urumpukan.
An mga aki sa magurang aba anang pakinabang—
Sa laog kan harong, o sa tindahan,
Linilibot an lahot hanggang sa simbahan.
An putong tinitinda uurutangon;
Mauli an aki sirisingko an gugom; Nom!
Bagas na pamanggihan mayong tutungudon.
An mga omboy makunswelo man
Nahulog sa hagyan, nabakros an laman;
Kun mayong tipdas, kinukumbulsyon,
Kun bakong lugadon, maniwangon;
Garo mga talapang; mga tulak darakulaon—
Urugmahon dawa gurutom.
Mga daraga kapot an komiks maghapon
Mga soltero pugapo, sugpo papabakalon,
An mga ama sa pantalan maghapon—
Baggage o labor sa lantsang pa-Siruma-hon,
Bani, Popoot, mga biyahe pag sinárom.
Pag-uli kun hingaw, problema yaon;
Kun burat, iiwalon an agom;
An masaway magurang o tugang kan agóm.
Pag nagkakurulugan, harabuan;
Malayas, mabuwelta; may nalingawan na kwarta,
An mga aki dara, et cetera.
III
Maestrang sa high school bakasyon na, dai pa nag-uli ta’ siya
Saka estudyanteng taga Iraya nagkairintindihan na;
Nagkairiyuhan, mayong napugulan; pag uban-uban, turuytuyan,
Burunuan, harandaan; mga abay paturuyatoy sa simbahan.
Pero dawa arog kaini, Marhay an buhay ninda digdi—
Nakangirit kadaklan sainda; sa saro, dai ka magsuba-suba
Ta’ pag napasala ka, nya! Pasensya!
Hali sa dagat an bahod dangog-dangog
An mga parasira biyong nag-aaranggot
Ta’ mayong pasayan; tikong an nadakop
Sa Mauban mauran; dakulaon an bahod.
An langit sa bukid abang lumlom
An bagyo yaon na daa sa Quezon
Tapuyas sana man daa,
Pero nagsasalimagyo na baga!
Pag nagbaha na, dai ka magluwas
Kun habong maingas o mabasa nin tapuyas;
Ta’ pag maanayo, masakit ipatawas;
Mahal; an presyo kan bulong makangalas.
Kun aya-ay na, an banggi malipot;
Mayong niisay man na naaanggot—
Paraoma, sungo an hakot; parasira, saklay an hikot;
Mga aking sinusurugo pag banggi, tarakot;
An tinampo mahalnas; sa harong mapulot.
An lugar na ini habong halian ta’ marhay an pagkakan
Maski ralabot an istaran nakakaraos man.
Basta butog an tulak an isip daing hugak
Mayong maraot ta’ dai ka maaanggot.
IV
Kun pista, urugma; o dawa Kwaresma
May salabat o galleta an nagpapabasa.
Mga ilaw kan poste pundido daa
Pero naglalaad kun aga, baterya
Pag banggi na nauubusan daa—
Kaya madiklom, malipot
Sa harong an agóm maimbong;
Daing kasing na’góm.
Sa pag-agi kan aldaw
Pu'on kan santol minarambong
Kaya sa harong madoot, madahon;
May hinilunuhan kun maation—
An sawa pag nadakop, asalon;
Pag tinuka’ ka, kinyentoson.
Magsalang basog, gutom;
Kun bakong mataba’, helangon;
Kun mayong agóm, poro’ngoton;
Kun daraga, nakaporma;
Kun daragang gurang man, nakasaya;
Kun mayong sambay, relihioso;
Nin huli ta Hermano, politiko.
Digdi samo sa Bagacay
Ordinaryo an buhay, simpleng maray—
Mayong gayong problema
Apuwera kwarta, kun tinitikapo na.
Daing kaartehan, mayong lilikayan
Mayong aalanganan, mayong aralanganan.
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