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ALBERT B. CASUGA, a Philippine-born writer, lives in Mississauga, Ontario, Canada, where he continues to write poetry, fiction, and criticism after his retirement from teaching and serving as an elected member of his region's school board. He was nominated to the Mississauga Arts Council Literary Awards in 2007. A graduate of the Royal and Pontifical University of St. Thomas (now University of Santo Tomas, Manila. Literature and English, magna cum laude), he taught English and Literature (Criticism, Theory, and Creative Writing) at the Philippines' De La Salle University and San Beda College. He has authored books of poetry, short stories, literary theory and criticism. He has won awards for his works in Canada, the U.S.A., and the Philippines. His latest work, A Theory of Echoes and Other Poems was published February 2009 by the University of Santo Tomas Publishing House. His fiction and poetry were published by online literary journals Asia Writes and Coastal Poems recently. He was a Fellow at the 1972 Silliman University Writers Workshop, Philippines. As a journalist, he worked with the United Press International and wrote an art column for the defunct Philippines Herald.

Friday, August 3, 2012



None will be/ exempt from ruin and devastation— so quit behaving like/ you’ll have a golden ticket out. Heed the poet who points out/ zen in the onion’s innermost chamber: stripped clean, empty.---From “Ecology”, Luisa A. Igloria, Via Negativa, 08-02-12

There must be a way of finding out the core
Of what makes a man a human being.
Stripped of its whorls, the onion is empty.
Stripped of his words, can man survive?

Is language then a licence to his being here?
Will it save him from being forgotten there,
Like pebbles dropped along the shore,
As landmarks of how far he has walked?

When washed away by evening tide, all
Footprints cannot be retrieved by palaver,
They, too, are lost like the stone markers
On the shore, they have never been there.

Trees talk with the rustle of their leaves,
Homo sapiens with a language of sounds
That defines his world, paints his reality.
When sounds are gone, would sense also go?

Everything in its time will be nothing,
Save the language he shaped his time with,
The signs will remain, their meanings, too.
It is his only shield against his final ruin.

---Albert B. Casuga

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