Fresh Friday: Niyog

Image Description: A black-and-white ink drawing of a coconut tree. The roots of the tree are entwined with a giant humanoid skull and a skeleton of a serpentine creature with wings. The word NIYOG is off-centre, with the “I” being represented by the trunk of the coconut tree. At the top left corner is Lukayo’s signature in English and in basahan/baybayin.

Niyog

There was no grave for me to weep over.

His ashes were ensconced in the home of
a woman who I had once asked “Who are you?”
in the waiting room.

She had said “His mother” but
his photos and stories told me otherwise.

I held my tongue,
the feel of his dying body still imprinted
in my arms as she took
his remains away from me

But what really remains?

Did Bathala ever ask this,
weeping over the grave of
Galang Kaluluwa?

What is my grief compared
to a god’s infinite loneliness,
knowing that the only being
ze ever loved lies buried
beside zir enemy?

I’ve buried no enemies–
unless you count the faces
I’ve seen in my mirror,
past, messy, dangerous selves
laid to rest
in the soil of my memories:
my brutal behaviours
intertwined with our first date,
my tantrums and his kisses,
my terrors and his perseverance;
from this, our love grew.

They say Bathala knew immediately
when, upwards, out of both graves,
with the winged and serpentine body of zir adversary
and the round, brown head of zir beloved,
that a new being had been born
meant to care for and challenge
the humans Bathala would create
to populate the empty Earth
the same way Galang Kaluluwa
had cared for Bathala when ze was alive,
the same way Ulilang Kaluluwa
had challenged Bathala when ze was alive.

Sometimes I tell my life’s story
like a ledger of losses,
more challenge than care:
broken childhoods, dysphoric genders,
stolen tongues, dead lovers…

I shy away from sympathetic gazes
— not out of pride, but confusion.

Can’t they see that it’s the losses which forged me?

Each a transformation unveiling a new connection.

My Ancestors’ blood pulsing within.
Their hands.
My hands.
Weaving new legacies.

The Dead fuel the Living.

I remember this, always
when I search for what remains
of Ulilang Kaluluwa
and Galang Kaluluwa:
oil on my tongue,
incense in my hair,
wood in my grip.

Together, their bodies, and
Bathala’s tears
created the first
coconut tree
to shelter us and feed us
to remind us in their silence
that even from the deepest grief,
even from the starkest death,
grows life,
grows the sacred.


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