My photo
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.

Monday, July 22, 2013



---On a cruise along Lachine, Quebec.
Today’s  Journal Note for a Play: @ She: “Had I known then, what I know now, that we were too young, and it was just our brimming desire that bound us…  @ He: “But has desire left while we were not looking? In the twilight of our years, I set you free. Our harbour is, after all, not named Regret…and the Streetcar it was on was not even named Desire…” @ Both: After a quick giggle, they fell silent. 07-22-13

The River as mother to the sea entraps us
into this womblike feeling of ease.
She draws us to this discovery of need,
a foregone joy, our quiet helplessness.
We are the river that has run its course
into an engulfment of this restless sea.

How far have we gone away from Nara?
How long have we silently gone astray?
Does the river current come full circle
from the breaking waves of this sea?
Do we meet each other, dreamlike,
in the endless stream of all Lachines?

The river runs full circle, and yet and yet,
we dread we have not even, halfway, met.
When will my currents flow into your rocks,
you distant sea, you entrapment of need?
When do we come back as rivulets
in some warm, some hidden rock spring?

Will we even find an engulfment of ease?
When will the sea create the river?
When will the river create the sea?
Where they meet in the trickle of a stone
garden, who laves the rolling river stones?
Who will lap the greenwood’s shores?

This River’s rush is finally our question:
Did love leave while we were not looking?

Mississauga, On. 07-22-13