Another poem-in-progress.



Urduja



i.



(her name)

filled our lores

our oral histories

with colors and

prowess



(the poetry)

in the mien

of her eyes

in the contours

of her breasts

in the tip

of her blades

fell many a lover

(in battlefields)



her kissless lips

silenced the serpent-

tongues to keep her kingdom

in the hearts of men

whose ashes and

bones are sown

in the fields

(of Caboloan)



ii.



this is

her story

storytellers

dared not tell

for they have not

hack a trail

in the jungles

in the annals

of our past

to print

and paint

the metaphor

of her name

the nobility

of her blood





the genesis

and exodus

of her people

(before the time

of the four kings

in the green womb

of Feng Shia Shih Tan)



iii.



if you ask me

how she died

i will tell you

how she lived

how she loved

yes i will tell you

(in the language of salt

brown English and

bamboo grass)



the rest is myth




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