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.
The Hill-station touches
the sky. Where blood trickles
like rain. I stand in the clouds
of green plateaus and pines,
where a demon is concealed.
The winding rivers wrought
in gold. Roads zigzag
like a nauseating maze. Thinning. Towering dams surge
as trees fall. Desolate towns
and desecrated black estuaries
are abandoned. Enveloped
my body in sheer cold.
It tears weaved memories
of plundered narratives.
Where progress cauterises
the sacred ground. Unhurriedly
unfurling its appendages on untouchable mountains of time immemorial.
The demon feeds ceaselessly.
So do its inhabitants'
protests. Battering voices
like irate waters. Cries
of the terraced Hill-station feeds
the demon. As weeping figs
shelter lilies. As still water clots,
sweet with rot.
As long as Lady Loakan roams
the cursed ground. The god
eternally squats. The Hill’s crevice
opens. Its maw salivating
with curdled blood.
I stand
at the Hill-station
that has hollowed itself
from within.
Written by Francis Fresnillo.
