Huling Paalam(Mi Ultimo Adios) ni Jose Rizal salin ni Andres Bonifacio

Paalam na, sintang lupang tinubuan,
Bayang masagana sa init ng araw,
Edeng maligaya sa ami’y pumanawAt 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 paglaban
Handog din sa iyo ang kanilang buhay,
Hirap ay di pansin at di gunamgunam
Ang pagkaparool o pagtagumpay.
Bibitaya’t madlang mabangis na sakit
O pakikibakang lubhang mapanganib,
Pawang titiisin kung ito ang nais
Ng baya’t tahanang pinakaiibig.
Ako’y mamamatay ngayong minamalas
Ang kulay ng langit na nanganganinagIbinababalang 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 kuminang.
Ang mga nasa ko, mulang magkaisip,
Magpahanggang ngayon maganap ang bait,
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 pangamba,
Sa sandaling buhay maalab kong nais
Ang kagalingan mo’t ang paiwang sulit
Ng kaluluwa king gayak ng aalis:
Ginhawa’y kamtan mo!
Anong pagkarikit!
Nang maaba’t ikaw’y mapataas lamang,
Mamatay at upang mabigyan kang buihay,
Malibing sa lupang puspos ng karika’t
Sa silong ng iyong langit ay mahimlay.
Kung sa ibang araw ikaw’y may mapansin
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 matamis,
Mataos na taghoy ng may sintang sibsib,
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 pagpanw,
Itangis ng isnag lubos na nagmamahal;
Kung may umalala sa akin ng dasal,
Ako’y iyo sanang idalangin naman.
Idalangin mo rin ang di nagkapalad,
Na nangamatay na’t yaong nanganhirap sa daming pasakit,
at ang lumalangap naming mga ina luhang masaklap.
Idalangin sampo ng bawa’t ulila at nangapipiit na tigib ng dusa;
idalangin mo ring ikaw’y matubos na sa pagkaaping laong binata.
Kung nababalot na ang mga libingan
Ng sapot na itim ng gabing mapanglaw,
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 madla ay wala nang kurus at bato mang tanda 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 kapupunanng 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 hangin 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-aba, 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.

I am a Filipino by Carlos P. Romulo

I am a Filipino — inheritor of a glorious past, hostage to the uncertain future. As such I must prove equal to a two-fold task — the task of meeting my responsibility to the past, and the task of performing my obligation to the future.



I sprung from a hardy race — child of many generations removed of ancient Malayan pioneers. Across the centuries, the memory comes rushing back to me: of brown-skinned men, putting out to sea in ships that were as frail as their hearts were stout. Over the sea I see them come, borne upon the billowing wave and the whistling wind, carried upon the mighty swell of hope — hope in the free abundance of new land that was to be their home and their children’s forever.This is the land they sought and found. Every inch of shore that their eyes first set upon, every hill and mountain that beckoned to them with a green and purple invitation, every mile of rolling plain that their view encompassed, every river and lake that promised a plentiful living and the fruitfulness of commerce, is a hollowed spot to me.
By the strength of their hearts and hands, by every right of law, human and divine, this land and all the appurtenances thereof — the black and fertile soil, the seas and lakes and rivers teeming with fish, the forests with their inexhaustible wealth in wild life and timber, the mountains with their bowels swollen with minerals — the whole of this rich and happy land has been, for centuries without number, the land of my fathers. This land I received in trust from them, and in trust will pass it to my children, and so on until the world no more.
I am a Filipino. In my blood runs the immortal seed of heroes — seed that flowered down the centuries in deeds of courage and defiance. In my veins yet pulses the same hot blood that sent Lapulapu to battle against the alien foe that drove Diego Silang and Dagohoy into rebellion against the foreign oppressor.
That seed is immortal. It is the self-same seed that flowered in the heart of Jose Rizal that morning in Bagumbayan when a volley of shots put an end to all that was mortal of him and made his spirit deathless forever; the same that flowered in the hearts of Bonifacio in Balintawak, of Gergorio del Pilar at Tirad Pass, of Antonio Luna at Calumpit; that bloomed in flowers of frustration in the sad heart of Emilio Aguinaldo at Palanan, and yet burst fourth royally again in the proud heart of Manuel L. Quezon when he stood at last on the threshold of ancient Malacañang Palace, in the symbolic act of possession and racial vindication.
The seed I bear within me is an immortal seed. It is the mark of my manhood, the symbol of dignity as a human being. Like the seeds that were once buried in the tomb of Tutankhamen many thousand years ago, it shall grow and flower and bear fruit again. It is the insigne of my race, and my generation is but a stage in the unending search of my people for freedom and happiness.
I am a Filipino, child of the marriage of the East and the West. The East, with its languor and mysticism, its passivity and endurance, was my mother; my sire was the West that came thundering across the seas with the Cross and Sword and the Machine. I am of the East, an eager participant in its spirit , and in its struggles for liberation from the imperialist yoke. But I know also that the East must awake from its centuried sleep, shake off the lethargy that has bound its limbs, and start moving where destiny awaits.
For I, too, am of the West, and the vigorous peoples of the West have destroyed forever the peace and quiet that once were ours. I can no longer live being apart from those whose world now trembles to the roar of bomb and cannon shot. I cannot say of a matter of universal life and death, of freedom and slavery for all mankind, that it concerns me not. For no man and no nation is an island, but a part of the main, there is no longer any East and West — only individuals and nations making those momentous which are the hinges upon which history resolves.
At the vanguard of progress in this part of the world I stand — a forlorn figure in the eyes of some, but not one defeated and lost. For through the thick, interlacing branches of habit and custom above me I have seen the light of the sun, and I know that it is good. I have seen the light of justice and equality and freedom, my heart has been lifted by the vision of democracy, and I shall not rest until my land and my people shall have been blessed by these, beyond the power of any man or nation to subvert or destroy.
I am a Filipino, and this is my inheritance. What pledge shall I give that I may prove worthy of my inheritance? I shall give the pledge that has come ringing down the corridors of the centuries, and it shall be compounded of the joyous cries of my Malayan forebears when they first saw the contours of this land loom before their eyes, of the battle cries that have resounded in every field of combat from Mactan to Tirad pass, of the voices of my people when they sing:





Land of the Morning,Child of the sun returning …


Ne’er shall invadersTrample thy sacred shore.





Out of the lush green of these seven thousand isles, out of the heartstrings of sixteen million people all vibrating to one song, I shall weave the mighty fabric of my pledge. Out of the songs of the farmers at sunrise when they go to labor in the fields; out of the sweat of the hard-bitten pioneers in Mal-ig and Koronadal; out of the silent endurance of stevedores at the piers and the ominous grumbling of peasants in Pampangga; out of the first cries of babies newly born and the lullabies that mothers sing; out of the crashing of gears and the whine of turbines in the factories; out of the crunch of ploughs upturning the earth; out of the limitless patience of teachers in the classrooms and doctors in the clinics; out of the tramp of soldiers marching, I shall make the pattern of my pledge:



“I am a Filipino born of freedom, and I shall not rest until freedom shall have been added unto my inheritance — for myself and my children’s children — forever.”