A Collection of
of Dr. Jose RizalPrepared by:
Rea M. Reyes
Mi Ultimo Adios / Huling Paalam
Salin ito ng huling sinulat ni Rizal nguni’t walang pamagat.
Sinulat niya ito sa Fort Santiago, isinilid sa kusinilyang
dealkohol, at ibinigay sa kapatid na si Trinidad nang huling
dumalaw sa kaniya bago siya (Rizal) barilin.
Paalam na, sintang lupang tinubuan,
Bayang masagana sa init ng araw,
Edeng maligaya sa ami’y pumanaw
At perlas ng dagat sa dakong Silangan.
Inihahandog ko ng ganap na tuwa
Sa iyo yaring buhay na lanta na’t aba;
Naging dakila ma’y iaalay rin nga
Kung dahil sa iyong ikatitimawa.
Ang nanga sa digmaan dumog sa
Handog din sa iyo ang kanilang buhay,
Hirap ay di pansin at di gunamgunam
Ang pagkaparool o pagtagumpay.
Bibitaya’t madlang mabangis na
O pakikibakang lubhang
Pawang titiisin kung ito ang nais
Ng baya’t tahanang pinakaiibig.
Ako’y mamamatay ngayong
Ang kulay ng langit na
Ibinababalang araw ay sisikat
Sa kabila niyang mapanglaw na ulap.
Kung dugo ang iyong kinakailangan
Sa ikadidilag ng iyong pagsilang,
Dugo ko’y ibubo’t sa isa man lamang
Nang gumigiti mong sinag ay
Ang mga nasa ko, mulang magkaisip,
Magpahanggang ngayon maganap ang
Ang ikaw’y makitnag hiyas na marikit
Ng dagat Silangan na nakaliligid.
Noo mo’y maningning at sa mga mata
Mapait na luha bakas ma’y wala na,
Wala ka ng poot, wala ng balisa,
Walang kadungua’t munti mang
Sa sandaling buhay maalab kong nais
Ang kagalingan mo’t ang paiwang sulit
Ng kaluluwa king gayak ng aalis:
Ginhawa’y kamtan mo! Anong
Nang maaba’t ikaw’y mapataas
Mamatay at upang mabigyan kang
Malibing sa lupang puspos ng karika’t
Sa silong ng iyong langit ay mahimlay.
Kung sa ibang araw ikaw’y may
Nipot na bulaklak sa aba kong libing,
Sa gitna ng mga damong masisinsin,
Hagka’t ang halik mo’y itaos sa akin.
Sa samyo ng iyong pagsuyong
Mataos na taghoy ng may sintang
Bayang tumaggap noo ko ng init,
Na natatabunan ng lupang malamig.
Bayan mong ako’y malasin ng buwan
Sa liwang niyang hilano’t malamlam;
Bayan ihatid sa aking liwayway
Ang banaang niyang dagling napaparam.
Bayaang humalik ang simoy ng hangin;
Bayaang sa huning masaya’y awitin
Ng darapong ibon sa kurus ng libing
Ang buhay payapang ikinaaaliw.
Bayaang ang araw na lubhang maningas
Pawiin ang ulan, gawing pawang ulap,
Maging panganuring sa langit umakyat,
At ang aking daing ay mapakilangkap.
Bayaang ang aking maagang
Itangis ng isnag lubos na
Kung may umalala sa akin ng dasal,
Ako’y iyo sanang idalangin naman.
Idalangin mo rin ang di nagkapalad,
Na nangamatay na’t yaong
sa daming pasakit, at ang
naming mga ina luhang masaklap.
Idalangin sampo ng bawa’t ulila
at nangapipiit na tigib ng dusa;
idalangin mo ring ikaw’y matubos
sa pagkaaping laong binata.
Kung nababalot na ang mga libingan
Ng sapot na itim ng gabing
at wala ng tanod kundi pawing patay,
huwang gambalain ang katahimikan.
Pagpitagan mo ang hiwagang lihim,
at mapapakinggan ang tinig marahil,
ng isang saltero: Ito nga’y ako ring
inaawitanka ng aking paggiliw.
Kung ang libingan kong limot na ang
ay wala nang kurus at bato mang
sa nangangabubukid ay ipaubayang
bungkali’t isabog ang natipong lupa.
Ang mga abo ko’y bago pailanglang
mauwi sa wala na pinaggalingan,
ay makalt munag parang
iyong alabok sa lupang tuntungan.
Sa gayo’y walaa ng anoman sa akin,
na limutin mo ma’t aking lilibutin
ang himpapawid mo kaparanga’t
at ako sa iyo’y magiging taginting.
Bango, tinig, higing, awit na masaya
liwanag aat kulay na lugod ng mata’t
uulit-ulitin sa tuwi-tuwina.
Ako’y yayao na sa bayang payapa,
na walang alipi’t punoing mapang-
doo’y di nanatay ang paniniwala
at ang naghahari Diyos na dakila.
Paalam anak, magulang, kapatid,
bahagi ng puso’t unang nakaniig,
ipagpasalamat ang aking pag-alis
sa buhay na itong lagi ng ligalig.
Paalam na liyag, tanging kaulayaw,
taga ibang lupang aking katuwaan,
paaalam sa inyo, mga minamahal;
mamatay ay ganap na katahimikan.
Our Mother Tongue
A poem originally in Tagalog written by Rizal
when he was only eight years old
IF truly a people dearly love
The tongue to them by Heaven sent,
They'll surely yearn for liberty
Like a bird above in the firmament.
BECAUSE by its language one can
A town, a barrio, and kingdom;
And like any other created thing
Every human being loves his freedom.
ONE who doesn't love his native
Is worse than putrid fish and beast;
AND like a truly precious thing
It therefore deserves to be cherished.
THE Tagalog language's akin to Latin,
To English, Spanish, angelical tongue;
For God who knows how to look
This language He bestowed us upon.
AS others, our language is the same
With alphabet and letters of its own,
It was lost because a storm did
On the lake the bangka 1 in years by
Hymn to Labor
Salin sa tulang “Himno al Trabajo” na sinulat ni Rizal sa
kahilingan ng kaniyang mga kaibigang taga-Lipaa,
Batangas upang awitin sa pag-diriwang dahil sa
pagiging lungsod ng Lipa. Inihandog niya ang tula sa
masisipag na tao ng Lipa. Pinuri niyang maigi ang
paggawa’t kasipagan ng tao “ Paggawa’y purihin na
siyang sa baya’y nagbibigay-ningning.”
For the Motherland in war,
For the Motherland in peace,
Will the Filipino keep watch,
He will live until life will cease!
Now the East is glowing with light,
Go! To the field to till the land,
For the labour of man sustains
Fam'ly, home and Motherland.
Hard the land may turn to be,
Scorching the rays of the sun above...
For the country, wife and children
All will be easy to our love.
Go to work with spirits high,
For the wife keeps home faithfully,
Inculcates love in her children
For virtue, knowledge and country.
When the evening brings repose,
On returning joy awaits you,
And if fate is adverse, the wife,
Shall know the task to continue.
Hail! Hail! Praise to labour,
Of the country wealth and vigor!
For it brow serene's exalted,
It's her blood, life, and ardor.
If some youth would show his love
Labor his faith will sustain :
Only a man who struggles and works
Will his offspring know to maintain.
Teach, us ye the laborious work
To pursue your footsteps we wish,
For tomorrow when country calls
We may be able your task to
And on seeing us the elders will
"Look, they're worthy 'f their sires
Incense does not honor the dead
As does a son with glory and
Dahilan sa Bayan sa pagdirigmaan,
Dahil sa Bayan din sa kapayapaan,
Itong Pilipino ay maasahang
Marunong mabuhay o kaya’y
Nakukulayan na ang dakong Silangan,
Tayo na sa bukid, paggawa’y simulan,
Pagka’t ang paggawa’y siyang
Sa bayan, sa angkan, sa ating
Lupa’y maaring magmamatigas
At magwalang-awa ang sikat ng araw
Kung dahil sa anak, asawa at Bayan,
Ang lahat sa ating pagsinta’y gagaan.
(Mga babaing may Asawa)
Magmasigla kayong yao sa gawain,
Pagka’t ang baba’y nasa-bahay natin,
At itinuturo sa batang mahalin
Ang Bayan, ang dunong at gawang
Pagdatal ng gabi ng pagpapahinga,
Kayo’y inaantay ng tuwa’t ligaya
At kung magkataong saama ang
Ang magpapatuloy ang gawa’y ang
Mabuhay! Mabuhay! Paggawa’y
Na siyang sa Baya’y nagbibigay-
At dahil sa kanya’y taas ng paningin,
Yamang siya’y dugo at buhay na angkin.
At kung may binatang nais na lumigaw,
Ang paggawa’y siyang ipaninindigan;
Sapagka’t ang taong may sipag na
Sa iaanak nya’y magbibigay-buhay.
Kami ay turuan ninyo ng gawain;
At ang bukas ninyo’y aming
Bukas, kung tumawag ang bayan sa
Ang inyong ginawa’y aming tatapusin.
Kasabihan niyong mga matatanda:
“Kung ano ang ama’y gayon din ang
sapagka’t sa patay ang papuri’y wala.
Maliban sa isang anak na dakila.
To my Creator I sing
Who did soothe me in my great loss;
To the Merciful and Kind
Who in my troubles gave me repose.
Thou with that pow'r of thine
Said: Live! And with life myself I found;
And shelter gave me thou
And a soul impelled to the good
Like a compass whose point to the
North is bound.
Thou did make me descend
From honorable home and
And a homeland thou gavest
Without limit, fair and rich
Though fortune and prudence it
Rizal dedicated this poem to Josephine
Bracken, an Irish woman who went to
Dapitan accompanying a man seeking
Rizal's services as an ophthalmologist.
Who to these shores have
Looking for a nest, a home,
Like a wandering swallow;
If your fate is taking you
To Japan, China or Shanghai
Don't forget that on these
A heart for you beats high.
Education Gives Luster To Motherland
Rizal loved his Motherland. Even at a very
young age, he cultivated an intense affection
towards his country and people. In this poem
“Education Gives Luster to Motherland”, he
extols the citizenry to strive towards education
in order to give glory to the country.
Wise education, vital breath
Inspires an enchanting virtue;
She puts the Country in the lofty seat
Of endless glory, of dazzling glow,
And just as the gentle aura's puff
Do brighten the perfumed flower's
So education with a wise, guiding
A benefactress, exalts the human
Man's placid repose and earthly life
To education he dedicates
Because of her, art and science are
Man; and as from the high mount
The pure rivulet flows, undulates,
So education beyond measure
Gives the Country tranquility secure.
Where wise education raises a throne
Sprightly youth are invigorated,
Who with firm stand error they subdue
And with noble ideas are exalted;
It breaks immortality's neck,
Contemptible crime before it is halted:
It humbles barbarous nations
And it makes of savages champions.
And like the spring that nourishes
The plants, the bushes of the meads,
She goes on spilling her placid wealth,
And with kind eagerness she constantly
The river banks through which she slips,
And to beautiful nature all she concedes,
So whoever procures education wise
Until the height of honor may rise.
From her lips the waters crystalline
Gush forth without end, of divine virtue,
And prudent doctrines of her faith
The forces weak of evil subdue,
That break apart like the whitish waves
That lash upon the motionless shoreline:
And to climb the heavenly ways the
Do learn with her noble example.
In the wretched human beings' breast
The living flame of good she lights
The hands of criminal fierce she ties,
And fill the faithful hearts with delights,
Which seeks her secrets beneficent
And in the love for the good her breast
And it's th' education noble and pure
Of human life the balsam sure.
And like a rock that rises with pride
In the middle of the turbulent waves
When hurricane and fierce Notus roar
She disregards their fury and raves,
That weary of the horror great
So frightened calmly off they stave;
Such is one by wise education steered
He holds the Country's reins
His achievements on sapphires are
The Country pays him a thousand
For in the noble breasts of her sons
Virtue transplanted luxuriant flow'rs;
And in the love of good e'er disposed
Will see the lords and governors
The noble people with loyal venture
Christian education always procure.
And like the golden sun of the
Whose rays resplendent
And like fair aurora of gold and
She overspreads her colors bold;
Such true education proudly
The pleasure of virtue to young
And she enlightens out
As she offers endless glow and
To the Philippines
Rizal wrote the original sonnet in
Aglowing and fair like a houri on high,
Full of grace and pure like the Morn
When in the sky the clouds are tinted
Of th' Indian land, a goddess sleeps.
The light foam of the son'rous sea
Doth kiss her feet with loving desire;
The cultured West adores her smile
And the frosty Pole her flow'red attire.
With tenderness, stammering,
To her 'midst undines and naiads
I offer her my fortune and bliss:
Oh, artists! her brow chaste ring
With myrtle green and roses red
And lilies, and extol the
When I recall the days
That saw my childhood of yore
Beside the verdant shore
Of a murmuring lagoon;
When I remember the sighs
Of the breeze that on my brow
Sweet and caressing did blow
With coolness full of delight;
When I look at the lily white
Fills up with air violent
And the stormy element
On the sand doth meekly sleep;
When sweet 'toxicating scent
From the flowers I inhale
Which at the dawn they exhale
When at us it begins to peep;
I sadly recall your face,
Oh precious infancy,
That a mother lovingly
Did succeed to embellish.
I remember a simple town;
My cradle, joy and boon,
Beside the cool lagoon
The seat of all my wish.
Oh, yes! With uncertain pace
I trod your forest lands,
And on your river banks
A pleasant fun I found;
At your rustic temple I prayed
With a little boy's simple faith
And your aura's flawless breath
Filled my heart with joy profound.
Saw I God in the grandeur
Of your woods which for centuries
Never did I understand
In your bosom what sorrows were;
While I gazed on your azure sky
Neither love nor tenderness
Failed me, 'cause my happiness
In the heart of nature rests there.
Tender childhood, beautiful town,
Rich fountain of happiness,
Of harmonious melodies,
That drive away my sorrow!
Return thee to my heart,
Bring back my gentle hours
As do the birds when the flow'rs
Would again begin to blow!
But, alas, adieu! E'er watch
For your peace, joy and repose,
Genius of good who kindly dispose
Of his blessings with amour;
It's for thee my fervent pray'rs,
It's for thee my constant desire
Knowledge ever to acquire
And may God keep your candour!
Rizal wrote “Kundiman” in Tagalog in
September 12,1891. A kundiman is actually a
traditional Filipino love song used by a young
man to serenade the woman of his love. The
theme of Rizal’s “Kundiman” is his intense love
for his Motherland. His words reflected his
optimism that Philippines would be freed from
injustice and bondage.
Truly hushed today
Are my tongue and heart
Harm is discerned by love
And joy flies away,
'Cause the Country was
Vanquished and did yield
Through the negligence
Of the one who led.
But the sun will return to dawn;
In spite of everything
Will be liberated;
The Filipino name
Will return perhaps
And again become
In vogue in the world.
We shall shed
Blood and it shall flood
Only to emancipate
The native land;
While the designated time
Does not come,
Love will rest
And anxiety will sleep.
Tunay ngayong umid yaring
dila't puso Sinta'y umiilag,
tuwa'y lumalayo, Bayan
palibhasa'y lupig at sumuko
Sa kapabayaan ng nagturong
Datapuwa't muling sisikat ang
araw, Pilit maliligtas ang
inaping bayan, Magbabalik
mandin at muling iiral Ang
ngalang Tagalog sa
Ibubuhos namin ang dugo't
babaha Matubos nga lamang
ang sa amang lupa Habang di
ninilang panahong tadhana,
Sinta'y tatahimik, iidlip ang
Ang awit ni Maria Clara
Ang tulang ito'y matatagpuan sa Noli
Me Tangere ang inawit ni Maria Clara,
kaya gayon ang pamagat. Ito’y punung-
puno ng pag-ibig sa bayang tinubuan.
Kay tamis ng oras sa sariling bayan,
Kaibigan lahat ang abot ng araw,
At sampu ng simoy sa parang ay buhay,
Aliw ng panimdim pati kamatayan.
Maalab na halik ang nagsaliw-saliw
Sa labi ng inang mahal, pagkagising;
Ang pita ng bisig as siya’y yapusin,
Pati mga mata’y ngumgiti mandin.
Kung dahil sa bayan, kay tamis
Doon sa kasuyo ang abot ng
Kamatayan pati ng simoy sa
Sa walang pag-ibig, ni ina, ng
Sweet the hours in the native
where friendly shines the sun
Life is the breeze that sweeps the
tranquil is death; most tender,
Warm kisses on the lips are
as we awake to mother’s face:
the arms are seeking to embrace
the eyes are smiling as they gaze.
How sweet to die for the native
where friendly shines the sun
Death is the breeze for him who
no country, no mother, and no
To the Filipino Youth
He submitted a poem for the poetry contest
which had been organized for Filipinos by the
Manila Lyceum of Art and Literature, and
though he was but eighteen years of age
(1879), he won the first prize, a silver pen. This
poem, one of his most famous and most
difficult to translate, was dedicated to the
Hold high your faultless brow,
Filipino youth, on this day grand!
Shine forth resplendent now,
In gallant glory stand,
Handsome home of my motherland!
Radiant Genius, arise!
Make thy noblest dreams his own;
Catch his mind in keen surprise;
Swifter thn by tempest blown
Sweep him up to glory's throne!
Descend, O youth, -- the lovely
Of art and science in your train; --
On life's arena, smite
And break the heavy chain
Where long your pinioned poetry
Behold how, on this ardent zone
Where shadows dwell, the
So wise and pious grown,
Confers a garland grand
Upon the youth of our fair Indian
O you, who now aspiring rise
On fancy's gifted wings
From Mount Olympus to the skies,
While Poetry more sweetly sings
Than any sweetness nectar ever brings.
Ye rivals of the nightingale
Who carol some celestial lay
Beneath the night moon pale,
And by the tune you play
Drive bitter mortal pain away.
All ye who hold the power to free
Those sorely grieved, by your
And fix in their fond memory,
That by your genius is stirred,
The immortal thought that ye
And ye who Phoebus' charms
That stole divine Apollo's heart;
And borrowing from nature's
With artist's magic art,
On linen canvas portray every
O hasten! See whose sacred flame
Of genius will be laurel crowned;
And hear what moral name,
While trumpet peals resound,
Around the whole wide world will be
O blessed day and hour,
Beloved Filipinas, for your land,
Thanks to the mighty Power
Which, with loving hand,
This venture and this consolation
Itaas ang iyong noong aliwalas
ngayon, Kabataan ng aking
ang aking talino na tanging
ay pagitawin mo, Pag-asa ng
Ikaw ay lumitaw, O Katalinuhan
magitang na diwang puno sa
mga puso nami'y sa iyo'y
at dalhin mo roon sa kaitaasan.
Bumaba kang taglay ang
na mga silahis ng agham at
mga Kabataan, hayo na't
ang gapos ng iyong diwa at
Masdan ang putong na
sa gitna ng dilim ay matitigan
maalam na kamay, may
sa nagdurusa mong bayang
Ikaw na may bagwis ng pakpak na
kagyat na lumipad sa tuktok ng
paghanapin mo ang malambing na
doon sa Olimpo'y pawang
Ikaw na ang himig ay lalong mairog
Tulad ni Pilomel na sa luha'y gamot
at mabisang lunas sa dusa't
ng puso at diwang sakbibi ng
Ikaw, na ang diwa'y
matigas na bato'y mabibigyang-
mapagbabago mo alaalang taglay
sa iyo'y nagiging walang kamatayan.
Ikaw, na may diwang inibig ni Apeles
sa wika inamo ni Pebong kay rikit
sa isang kaputol na lonang maliit
ginuhit ang ganda at kulay ng langit.
Humayo ka ngayon, papagningasin mo
ang alab ng iyong isip at talino
maganda mong ngala'y ikalat sa
at ipagsigawan ang dangal ng tao.
Araw na dakila ng ligaya't galak
magsaya ka ngayon, mutyang Pilipinas
purihin ang bayang sa iyo'y lumingap
at siyang nag-akay sa mabuting palad.
To the Virgin Mary
Jose Rizal was a Marian devotee and even
carved a statue of the Virgin Mary when he
young boy. “To the Virgin Mary” is a sonnet
that was said to have been written in
December 3, 1876 while Rizal was studying in
Mary, sweet peace and dearest
of suffering mortal: you are the fount
the current of solicitude that brings
unto our soil unceasing fecundation.
From your abode, enthroned on
in mercy deign to hear my cry of woe
and to the radiance of your mantle draw
my voice that rises with so swift a flight.
You are my mother, Mary, and shall
my life, my stronghold, my defense
and you shall be my guide on this
If vice pursues me madly on the
if death harasses me with agony:
come to my aid and dissipate my
Ikaw na ligaya ng tanang kinapal,
Mariang sakdal tamis na kapayapan,
Bukal ng saklolong hindi
Daloy ng biyayang walang
Mula sa trono mong langit na
Ako'y marapating lawitan ng habag,
Ilukob ang iyong balabal ng lingap
Sa daing ng aking tinig na may
Ikaw na Ina ko, Maraing
Ikaw ang buhay ko at aking
Sa maalong dagat, ikaw ang
Sa oras ng lalong masisidhing
At kung malapit na ang
Lumbay ko'y pawiin, saklolohan
They Asked Me for Verses
was written while he was a member of Circulo
Hispano Filipino. Me Piden Versos (They Asked
Me for Verses) reflected how sad it was for him
to have the ability to steer emotions through
his poems yet stifled and muted by the
powerful and oppressive Spaniards.
They bid me strike the lyre so long
now mute and broken, but not a
note can I waken nor will my muse
inspire! She stammers coldly and
babbles when tortured by my mind;
she lies when she laughs and thrills
as she lies in her lamentation, for in
my sad isolation my soul nor frolics
There was a time, ’tis true, but now
that time has vanished when
indulgent love or friendship called
me a poet too. Now of that time
there lingers hardly a memory, as
from a celebration some mysterious
refrain that haunts the ears will
remain of the orchestra’s actuation. -
A scarce-grown plant I seem,
uprooted from the Orient,
where perfume is the atmosphere
and where life is a dream.
O land that is never forgotten!
And these have taught me to sing:
the birds with their melody,
the cataracts with their force
and, on the swollen shores,
the murmuring of the sea.
While in my childhood days
I could smile upon her sunshine,
I felt in my bosom, seething,
a fierce volcano ablaze.
A poet was I, for I wanted
with my verses, with my breath,
to say to the swift wind: ‘Fly
and propagate her renown!
Praise her from zone to zone,
from the earth up to the sky!’
I left her! My native hearth, a tree
despoiled and shriveled, no longer
repeats the echo of my old songs of
mirth. I sailed across the vast ocean,
craving to change my fate, not noting, in
my madness, that, instead of the weal I
sought, the sea around me wrought the
spectre of death and sadness.
The dreams of younger hours, love,
enthusiasm, desire, have been left there
under the skies of that fair land of
flowers. Oh, do not ask of my heart that
languishes, songs of love! For, as without
peace I tread this desert of no surprises,
I feel that my soul agonizes and that my
spirit is dead
describes in “My Retreat” his exile in Dapitan. From
1892 to 1896, he lived an unexciting but fruitful life.
Even in his exile, Rizal proved that life can still be
abundant and full of achievements. He lived as a
merchant and a farmer and built three houses made
from bamboo, wood and nipa. Interestingly, his
houses were of varied geometrical shapes. “I shall
tell you how we lived here. I have three houses-one
square, another hexagonal, and the third octagonal.”
This is part of his letter to Blumentritt in December
19, 1893 about his peaceful life in Dapitan and the
following is his poem:
Beside a spacious beach of fine and
and at the foot of a mountain greener
than a leaf,
I planted my humble hut beneath a
seeking in the still serenity of the woods
repose to my intellect and silence to my
Its roof is fragile nipa; its floor is brittle
its beams and posts are rough as rough-
hewn wood can be;
of no worth, it is certain, is my rustic
but on the lap of the eternal mount it
and night and day is lulled by the
crooning of the sea.
The overflowing brook, that from
the shadowy jungle
descends between huge bolders,
washes it with its spray,
donating a current of water through
makeshift bamboo pipes
that in the silent night is melody and
and crystalline nectar in the noon
heat of the day.
If the sky is serene, meekly flows
strumming on its invisible zither
but come the time of the rains, and
an impetuous torrent
spills over rocks and chasms—
hoarse, foaming and aboil—
to hurl itself with a frenzied roaring
toward the sea.
The barking of the dog, the twittering of
the hoarse voice of the kalaw are all
that I hear;
there is no boastful man, no nuisance of
to impose himself on my mind or to
disturb my passage;
only the forests and the sea do I have
The sea, the sea is everything! Its
brings to me atoms of a myriad faraway
its bright smile animates me in the
and when at the end of day my faith has
my heart echoes the sound of its sorrow
on the sands.
At night it is a mystery! … Its
is carpeted with thousands and
thousands of lights that climb;
the wandering breeze is cool, the
firmament is brilliant,
the waves narrate with many a sigh
to the mild wind
histories that were lost in the dark
night of time.
‘Tis said they tell of the first
morning on the earth,
of the first kiss with which the sun
inflamed her breast,
when multitudes of beings
materialized from nothing
to populate the abyss and the
and all the places where that
quickening kiss was pressed.
But when the winds rage in the darkness
of the night
and the unquiet waves commence their
across the air move cries that terrify the
a chorus of voices praying, a lamentation
to come from those who, long ago,
drowned in the sea.
Then do the mountain ranges on high
the trees stir far and wide, by a fit of
the cattle moan; the dark depths of the
their spirits say that they are on their way
to the plain,
summoned by the dead to a mortuary
The wild night hisses, hisses,
confused and terrifying;
one sees the sea afire with flames of
green and blue;
but calm is re-established with the
approach of dawning
and forthwith an intrepid little
begins to navigate the weary waves
So pass the days of my life in my
cast out of the world where once I
dwelt: such is my rare
good fortune; and Providence be
praised for my condition:
a disregarded pebble that craves
nothing but moss
to hide from all the treasure that in
myself I bear.
I live with the remembrance of those
that I have loved
and hear their names still spoken, who
haunt my memory;
some already are dead, others have
but what does it matter? I live
remembering the past
and no one can ever take the past away
It is my faithful friend that never turns
that cheers my spirit when my spirit’s a
that in my sleepless nights keeps watch
with me and prays
with me, and shares with me my exile
and my cabin,
and, when all doubt, alone infuses me
Faith do I have, and I believe the day
when the Idea shall defeat brute
force as well;
and after the struggle and the
a voice more eloquent and happier
than my own
will then know how to utter victory’s
I see the heavens shining, as flawless
as in the days that saw my first
I feel the same breeze kissing my
the same that once enkindled my
and turned the blood ebullient within
my youthful heart.
Across the fields and rivers of my
perhaps has traveled the breeze that
now I breathe by chance;
perhaps it will give back to me what
once I gave it:
the sighs and kisses of a person
and the sweet secrets of a virginal
On seeing the same moon, as silvery
I feel within me the ancient
a thousand memories of love and
a patio, an azotea, a beach, a leafy
silences and sighs, and blushes of
A butterfly athirst for radiances and
dreaming of other skies and of a larger
I left, scarcely a youth, my land and my
and vagrant everywhere, with no
qualms, with no terrors,
squandered in foreign lands the April of
And afterwards, when I desired, a weary
to go back to the nest of those for whom
suddenly fiercely roared a violent
and I found my wings broken, my
dwelling place demolished,
faith now sold to others, and ruins
Hurled upon a rock of the country I adore;
the future ruined; no home, no health to
bring me cheer;
you come to me anew, dreams of rose and
of my entire existence the solitary
convictions of a youth that was healthy
No more are you, like once, full of fire and
offering a thousand crowns to
somewhat serious I find you; and yet your
if now no longer as merry, if now no
longer as vivid,
now bear the superscription of fidelity.
You offer me, O illusions, the cup
you come to reawaken the years of
hurricane, I thank you; winds of
heaven, I thank you
that in good hour suspended by
to bring me down to the bosom of
my native earth.
Beside a spacious beach of fine
and delicate sand
and at the foot of a mountain
greener than a leaf,
I found in my land a refuge under a
and in its shadowy forests, serene
repose to my intellect and silence
to my grief.
Miss C.O. y R.
Rizal dedicated this poem to Miss Consuelo
Ortiga y Rey, daughter of the Mr. Pablo Ortiga y
Rey who was the vice president of the Council
of the Philippines in Madrid. Many Filipinos
habitually visited his house while in Madrid.
The poem was written in August 22,1883.
Why ask for those unintellectual verses
that once, insane with grief, I sang
Or are you maybe throwing in my face
my rank ingratitude, my bitter past?
Why resurrect unhappy memories
now when the heart awaits from love a
or call the night when day begins to
not knowing if another day will shine?
You wish to learn the cause of this
delirium of despair that anguish wove?
You wish to know the wherefore of such
and why, a young soul, I sing not of
Oh, may you never know why! For the
brings melancholy but may set you
Down with my corpse into the grave
another corpse that’s buried in my
Something impossible, ambition,
dreams of the soul, a passion and its
Oh, drink the nectar that life has to offer
and let the bitter dregs in peace repose!
Again I feel the impenetrable shadows
shrouding the soul with the thick veils
a mere bud only, not a lovely flower,
because it’s destitute of air and light
Behold them: my poor verses, my
damned brood and sorrow suckled
each and every brat! Oh, they know
well to what they owe their being,
and maybe they themselves will tell
To The Child Jesus
“Child Jesus” was written in Spanish by Jose
Rizal in 1875 at the age of 14. The poem is an
octave real or a short poem with eight verses
only which was actually according to the
Spanish standard of writing poems.
Why have you come to earth,
Child-God, in a poor manger?
Does Fortune find you a stranger
from the moment of your birth?
Alas, of heavenly stock
now turned an earthly resident!
Do you not wish to be president
but the shepherd of your flock?
O Diyos na Sanggol, paano ba
kaya't Ang sinilangan Mo ay
sabsabang aba? Diyata't di pa man
ay pag-alipusta Ang dulot ng Palad
sa Iyong pagbaba?
Kaylungkot! O hari ng
sa lupa'y tumahan, Hindi Mo ba
ibig na Haring matanghal Kundi
Pastol namin na kawan Mong
mahal?Isinalin sa Tagalog dikilala
Song of the Wanderer
This poem talks about Jose Rizal, himself. Yet
even as a wanderer, his brilliance and bravery
are reflected in his works and heroism, his
name is etched in history and in peoples’
hearts. You can share your comments about
this sentimental poem.
Dry leaf that flies at random
till it’s seized by a wind from above:
so lives on earth the wanderer,
without north, without soul,
without country or love!
Anxious, he seeks joy everywhere
and joy eludes him and flees,
a vain shadow that mocks his
and for which he sails the seas.
Impelled by a hand invisible,
he shall wander from place to
memories shall keep him
of loved ones, of happy days.
A tomb perhaps in the desert,
a sweet refuge, he shall discover,
by his country and the world
Rest quiet: the torment is over.
And they envy the hapless wanderer
as across the earth he persists!
Ah, they know not of the emptiness
in his soul, where no love exists.
The pilgrim shall return to his country,
shall return perhaps to his shore;
and shall find only ice and ruin,
perished loves, and graves nothing
Begone, wanderer! In your own
a stranger now and alone!
Let the others sing of loving,
who are happy but you, begone!
Begone, wanderer! Look not
nor grieve as you leave again.
Begone, wanderer: stifle your
the world laughs at another’s
My First Inspiration
The following poem in Spanish Mi Primera
Inspiracion or “My First Inspiration” was
believed to have been written by Dr. Jose Rizal
when he was just nine years old. Other
documents reported that this is the work of his
nephew, Antonio Lopez-Rizal (Narcisa’s son)
because of seeming likeness in handwriting of
the two Rizals.
Why falls so rich a spray of
fragrance from the bowers of the
balmy flowers upon this festive
day? Why from woods and vales
do we hear sweet measures
ringing that seem to be the
singing of a choir of nightingales?
Why in the grass below do birds
start at the wind's noises,
unleashing their honeyed voices
as they hop from bough to
bough? Why should the spring
that glows its crystalline murmur
be tuning to the zephyr's mellow
crooning as among the flowers it
Why seems to me more
endearing, more fair than on
other days, the dawn's
enchanting face among red clouds
appearing? The reason, dear
mother, is they feast your day of
bloom: the rose with its perfume,
the bird with its harmonies.
And the spring that rings with
laughter upon this joyful day with
its murmur seems to say: "Live
happily ever after!" And from
that spring in the grove now turn
to hear the first note that from
my lute I emote to the impulse of
Thank You so much