The first to be consumed in her were our memories.
We forgot her the way we burned things
that we wanted consigned to the past. That’s why now
we could return to nothing but the grief
of other goddesses: Cacao, Makiling, Sinukuan.
We stare at the conflict and wonder
why no myth of fire resides anywhere
within our breast and consciousness.
What nymph stole Ladlao’s flame,
our sun god, to fill her body
with life’s warmth? We are lovers whose past
spill with emptiness yearly in the dry
and rainy seasons. Surviving on our swiddens
burned out of forest, why are we frightened still by the slash
and warning from nature: wind thrashing
and floods raging in heart of city lashed by typhoon; earth
cracking in parts visited by temblors.
Our hearts are numb in the mingling
of water, earth, and wind, that’s why we ask:
when will it rage, the fire in the breast?
She must have disappeared at the time when forests
were burning, and we were ashes who were left loving
her–which was forbidden because it was ordinary:
if we got just a bit closer our bodies burned.
And so we say now: there is no fire goddess,
even as we grieve over victims of conflagration
or can’t sleep in Amihan’s cold during the rainy season.
[Translation by Marne L. Kilates of "Walang Diwata ng Apoy." Together with the original in Filipino, this translation was published in Pitik-Bulag, Letra at Liwanag: A Celebration of Contemporary Filipino Art & Poetry (Manila: Government Service Insurance Service, 2009), edited by Virgilio S. Almario, p. 129. It was accompanied by an art work by painter Leonardo Aguinaldo.]
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