THE WHISPER
Melchor F. Cichon
Aboy-aboy, batya and patadyong,
Listen to my heartbeats.
The chain I have with you
Is a cross to my calvary.
My parents told me
To just wipe away my biting tears
And put ice on my swollen lips,
A gift from my husband’s quick fists.
I have become his tail, my parents say,
After I have pressed my thumb
On our marriage contract.
Aboy-aboy, batya and patadyong,
It’s not a sin, isn’t it
To put off my chain from you
And march in the streets
With closed fists?
