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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.

Sunday, April 20, 2014



“Why on earth do we have Easter Egg Hunt?” --- Grandson in University

What’s inside the egg, little one?
You said you have to break it.
“There, abuelo, it is just a chocolate.”

You parted bramble to find them
Sparkling with colours only mothers
Can imagine. “Anything else in the egg?”

I knew grandmother put some coins
In them, too, because it was a surprise,
Not unlike the thirty pieces of silver.

Why Easter Egg Hunt? What’s to hunt?
She said, impatiently brushing shrubs,
Abuela said, Jesus is there in the egg.”

How the pagan ritual has transformed
This annual revelry into the mystery
Of the Cave I also call a womb tomb!

What’s inside your new egg, this time,
Little one? “I told you, Dada: Jesus.
When we break the egg, he comes again.”

Like a womb tomb, I said. “Not tom-tom.
Only Jesus coming out of the egg, ‘cause
He likes children to hunt coloured eggs.”

Among the bramble, I prayed quietly:
Into your tomb, Master, we will march,
Saving all the world’s suffering children.

04-20-14, Mississauga, Ontario




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