Before the second episode of the Philippines Graphic Literary Workshop (PGLW) concluded on March 21, we knew that we had one more thing that we can offer our bright young fellows: a starting platform for their creative endeavors. Here, we present one of their final outputs from the workshop. We also asked them to provide an artwork that they think best represents their stories. Read on.
It is the search for solitude,
a place of your home calling
by nomads’ stories, while sands
buried me, leaving no footsteps to trace.
Mirrored reflection from heat waves, spirited
mementos of made-up figurines
of a boy placing down the door’s mattress.
A home where memories ignored
and forgotten the lines made by the past.
I saw a group of riders staring up, pointing
over the north star, it showed them, called
to go home like a father picking up his son’s
first journey, but I was neither.
Nomads, like sand dunes shifting
from one place to another, their souls fainting
where no sands recalled their existence
I called for a flame, waving its pointy end,
smog over the top of the hill, reaching out to the oasis.
It was all the lies inside the blistered waters
where I scratched every pore, crevice,
as every prickling seed seeped on every hole.
Like tiny needles piercing through me, shattering
glass slashed my lips, home, it was not home anymore.
I screamed to zipped ears and shuttered eyes
towards the reflection of the water. Liar, no one
believed in a home, so did you, no star blinked like
a flair of senseless beacon.
Fables told of a land, greenery full of blissful deceit like
Lucifer’s culling on why we are humans.
You have been lied, I have been removed
for years, will you ever sweep the last
specks of dust over your rigid door?
Written by Psalmuel Lasquite
