here's another take

SAGKOD

Malisyahan ta na kun ta’no
an mga kahoy sa kampo-santo,
matataba, pusog an mga pisog
mababansay asin an mga dahon
berdeng nagkukurahaw
sa bulanit kan saldang
o sa kitik kan tagiti.

Aram ta na baga an rason
kun tano ta garo mga banderitas
an mga dahon kan kawayan
sa haraning pantyong,
kun tano ta garo may nagpipiyesta
sa tahaw kan satuyang kamundoan.

Kun tano ta biglang minadakula
an kanding kun nakakabuhi
asin nakuku’a tang nagsasapa-sapa
na kan mga doot sa daan nang mausoleo.

Ano ta dai kita nagbabakal nin alipi
asin puto lanson duman sa paratinda
na aswang daa idto na naglalakaw kun udto.
Kakolor pati kan alang na tulang nin tawo
an pigrunot na bagas asin ginibong puto.
Alagad ta’no ta masiram an saiyang mga tinda
ta aram tang gibo an alipi sa kamoteng kahoy
na pig-aataman kan mga kalag na dai nang pagmati,
dai na sabot an magutom, an mapungaw an dila.

Malisyahan ta na ini asin kun ako magadan na,
huli sa makuring pagka-uri kaining kinaban,
italbong ako tulos, duman sa kuntod,
na sakuyang nilalakawan kan ako aki pa
ta mawot kong maging layas na burak
na gugutuson nin sarong aki—
pwede akong ipaipli sa talinga
o saro-saro na tanggalon an mga petalyo
mantang pighahanap an simbag:
kun padangat ako, iyo, padangat ako, dai.

THE END
Translation by Frank V. Penones

We should take note how
the trees at the cemetery
are sturdy, their fruits full
and their leaves green
shouting at the splinter of sun
or the tickle of the shower.

We already know the reason
why the leaves of the bamboo
at the nearby grave
are like hanging streamers.
Or how it seemed there is a feast
in the midst of our sadness.
How a goat suddenly grows big
when it escapes
and when we found it chewing
the grass growing at the old mausoleum.

Why do we not buy rice cakes
from the peddler reputed to be a witch
who plies at noon
when the ground rice made into a cake
is of the same color as a human bone.
But why are they delicious
when we know that her alipi is made from cassava
which were grown by souls
now without feelings,
know no hunger, or their tongues don't miss anything.

Let us take note of these and when I die,
because of my deep envy of this world,
bury me at once on the hill,
where I walked once when I was young still
because I wanted to be a wild flower
which will be picked up by a child
and placed between her ear
or the petals will be plucked one by one,
while looking for the answer:
He loves me, he loves me not.