Matanda sa Bintana/ Old Man at the Window

ni/ by Michael M. Coroza

A Portrait of Juan Luna

Mahusay sa kulay ang kamay
na nagkuwadro sa iyo, abuhing
anino na parang sinadyang
iadorno, lapat na lapat, sa pagitan
ng mga kapis na panarang babahagyang
binuksan. Agaw-buhay ang araw
sa iyong mga mata, lusaw na ang ingay
at gulo sa kalsada. Sayang at hindi ko
marinig ang ritmo na iyong tinitipa
sa pasamano: marahill pananabik sa isang
pagbabalik o pagkainip sa katuparan
ng malaon nang panaginip.
Sadyang mahusay ang kamay
na nagkuwadro sa iyo, napatigil
ako at nagawang mapaglimi sa kabila
ng aking pagmamadali. Kumakaway
ang lumbay ng iyong mga kulay,
yumayakap sa malay nang napakahigpit:
gumuguhit ng alinlangan sa aking noo,
nagtatatak ng takot sa aking anino.
Dalubhasa ang kamay na nagkuwadro
sa iyo: nagbubukas ng bintana
ng kaluluwa, nakapagpapadungaw
ng pag-alaala. Nilulusaw ng pusyaw
ang aking kasibulan na ngayon
ay nakakuwadrong iyong pinagmamasdan.

The hand that framed you

knew color—a grayish

shadow consecrated at will,

placed well between

the nacre shutters, now parted

a little. In your eyes, the sun

is fading while, down the street,

the rush and din have slipped away. Too bad,

on the ledge your fingers tap

a rhythm I can’t hear: perhaps a longing for some

return or your sweet impatience, while

waiting for an old dream

to happen.

Fine hands framed you;

despite my rush, I

stopped and begun musing.

Your pensive colors

Wave, clinging to my mind,

Etching doubts on my forehead,

and against my own shadow,

impressing fear.

Masterful hands framed you,

parting open the soul’s

shutters, asking me to look out

and to strain. As you gaze on,

your fading colors shame

my youth, which stands

framed, as well.

(Translation by D. M. Reyes)

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