Sa Aking Mga Kabata

Kapagka ang baya’y sadyang umiibig

Sa kanyang salitang kaloob ng langit,
Sanlang kalayaan nasa ring masapit
Katulad ng ibong nasa himpapawid.

Pagka’t ang salita’y isang kahatulan

Sa bayan, sa nayo’t mga kaharian,
At ang isang tao’y katulad, kabagay
Ng alin mang likha noong kalayaan.

Ang hindi magmahal sa kanyang salita

Mahigit sa hayop at malansang isda,
Kaya ang marapat pagyamaning kusa
Na tulad sa inang tunay na nagpala.

Ang wikang Tagalog tulad din sa Latin

Sa Ingles, Kastila at salitang anghel,
Sapagka’t ang Poong maalam tumingin
Ang siyang naggawad, nagbigay sa atin.

Ang salita nati’y huwad din sa iba

Na may alfabeto at sariling letra,
Na kaya nawala’y dinatnan ng sigwa
Ang lunday sa lawa noong dakong una.

Reflections:

This poem tries to awaken the Filipino Youth, to love our country and respect people. It also
tells the significant role of the youth for the betterment of the country. To remind us how
important our youth in society. On how we care our own nation.

To the Virgin Mary

by Dr. José Rizal
Mary, sweet peace and dearest consolation
of suffering mortal: you are the fount whence springs
the current of solicitude that brings
unto our soil unceasing fecundation.
From your abode, enthroned on heaven’s height,
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 be
my life, my stronghold, my defense most thorough;
and you shall be my guide on this wild sea.
 If vice pursues me madly on the morrow,
if death harasses me with agony:
come to my aid and dissipate my sorrow!

Reflection:

this first stanza reads, “Mary, sweet peace and dear solace, You are the fount of pained mortal. It is
clearly in praise of the Virgin Mary, whom Rizal says in this verse is the reason for a prosperous yield, and
without the help of whom no hard working man can prosper. These next four lines are more straight to
the point. He prays to Mary who sits in what he imagines is her glorious throne above, and begs her to
hear his plea. The last stanza sounds more like a prayer. It is evident in these verses that even though
Rizal was still at such a young age, he had felt and foreseen that life to him would be difficult.

To Josephine
Josephine, Josephine
Who to these shores have come
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 shores
A heart for you beats high.

Reflection:

these short lines of verse depend greatly on the historical background between Rizal and the lovely
Josephine. However, from these verses alone, at least 3 things are apparent: first, that Rizal here is the
unmoveable of the two, having been exiled and unable to leave the island; second, that as Josephine
arrived in Dapitan in a sort of volatile, fleeting fashion although building a home there with him, he sees
her as one that might also leave as freely as she had come, as she had none of the ties that bound her to
that place; third, that any reader of these verses would sense that posture of loving, humbled
submission that sets the tone of this entire piece.

To the Philippine Youth

Unfold, oh timid flower!

Lift up your radiant brow,

This day, Youth of my native strand!
Your abounding talents show
Resplendently and grand,
Fair hope of my Motherland!
 Soar high, oh genius great,
And with noble thoughts fill their mind;
The honor's glorious seat,
May their virgin mind fly and find
More rapidly than the wind.

Descend with the pleasing light

Of the arts and sciences to the plain,
Oh Youth, and break forthright
The links of the heavy chain
That your poetic genius enchain.

See that in the ardent zone,

The Spaniard, where shadows stand,
Doth offer a shining crown,
With wise and merciful hand
To the son of this Indian land.

You, who heavenward rise

On wings of your rich fantasy,
Seek in the Olympian skies
The tenderest poesy,
More sweet than divine honey;

You of heavenly harmony,

On a calm unperturbed night,
Philomel's match in melody,
That in varied symphony
Dissipate man's sorrow's blight;

You at th' impulse of your mind

The hard rock animate
And your mind with great pow'r consigned
Transformed into immortal state
The pure mem'ry of genius great;

And you, who with magic brush

On canvas plain capture
The varied charm of Phoebus,
Loved by the divine Apelles,
And the mantle of Nature;

Run ! For genius' sacred flame

Awaits the artist's crowning
Spreading far and wide the fame
Throughout the sphere proclaiming
With trumpet the mortal's name
Oh, joyful, joyful day,
The Almighty blessed be
Who, with loving eagerness
Sends you luck and happiness
Reflection:

The poem "THE FILIPINO YOUTH"wrote by rizal is the best message to us especially to the youth.
The poem “To the
To remind us how important our youth in society.On how we care our own nation.
Filipino Youth” by Dr. Jose Rizal is a message primarily to tell the importance of one’s
love and appreciation to his dialect or language, for it is the bridge and intermediary
connecting people’s country to each other. He wanted the Filipino youth to use their
capabilities, talents and skills to stand out not only for their own praise and success
but also for the praise and success of their own motherland, the Philippines. Dr. Jose
Rizal wanted the Filipino youth to build up their abilities and use them to help those
who are in need.

The Song of Maria Clara

Sweet the hours in the native country,

where friendly shines the sun above!
Life is the breeze that sweeps the meadows;
tranquil is death; most tender, love.

Warm kisses on the lips are playing

as we awake to mother's face:
the arms are seeking to embrace her,
the eyes are smiling as they gaze.

How sweet to die for the native country,

where friendly shines the sun above!
Death is the breeze for him who has
no country, no mother, and no love!

Reflection:

First Inspiration
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 flows?

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 my love.

Reflection:

My Retreat

Beside a spacious beach of fine and delicate sand

and at the foot of a mountain greener than a leaf,
I planted my humble hut beneath a pleasant orchard,
seeking in the still serenity of the woods
repose to my intellect and silence to my grief.

Its roof is fragile nipa; its floor is brittle bamboo;

its beams and posts are rough as rough-hewn wood can be;
of no worth, it is certain, is my rustic cabin;
 but on the lap of the eternal mount it slumbers
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 music
and crystalline nectar in the noon heat of the day.

If the sky is serene, meekly flows the spring,

strumming on its invisible zither unceasingly;
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 birds,

the hoarse voice of the kalaw are all that I hear;
there is no boastful man, no nuisance of a neighbor
to impose himself on my mind or to disturb my passage;
only the forests and the sea do I have near.

The sea, the sea is everything! Its sovereign mass

brings to me atoms of a myriad faraway lands;
its bright smile animates me in the limpid mornings;
and when at the end of day my faith has proven futile,
my heart echoes the sound of its sorrow on the sands.

At night it is a mystery! … Its diaphanous element

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 overhanging summits
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 agony,
across the air move cries that terrify the spirit,
a chorus of voices praying, a lamentation that seems
to come from those who, long ago, drowned in the sea.

Then do the mountain ranges on high reverberate;

the trees stir far and wide, by a fit of trembling seized;
the cattle moan; the dark depths of the forest resound;
their spirits say that they are on their way to the plain,
summoned by the dead to a mortuary feast.
 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 fishing vessel
begins to navigate the weary waves anew.

So pass the days of my life in my obscure retreat;

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 long forgotten—
but what does it matter? I live remembering the past
and no one can ever take the past away from me.

It is my faithful friend that never turns against me,

that cheers my spirit when my spirit’s a lonesome wraith,
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 with faith.

Faith do I have, and I believe the day will shine

when the Idea shall defeat brute force as well;
and after the struggle and the lingering agony
a voice more eloquent and happier than my own
will then know how to utter victory’s canticle.

I see the heavens shining, as flawless and refulgent

as in the days that saw my first illusions start;
I feel the same breeze kissing my autumnal brow,
the same that once enkindled my fervent enthusiasm
and turned the blood ebullient within my youthful heart.

Across the fields and rivers of my native town

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 idolized
and the sweet secrets of a virginal romance.

On seeing the same moon, as silvery as before,

I feel within me the ancient melancholy revive;
a thousand memories of love and vows awaken:
a patio, an azotea, a beach, a leafy bower;
silences and sighs, and blushes of delight …

A butterfly athirst for radiances and colors,

 dreaming of other skies and of a larger strife,
I left, scarcely a youth, my land and my affections,
and vagrant everywhere, with no qualms, with no terrors,
squandered in foreign lands the April of my life.

And afterwards, when I desired, a weary swallow,

to go back to the nest of those for whom I care,
suddenly fiercely roared a violent hurricane
and I found my wings broken, my dwelling place demolished,
faith now sold to others, and ruins everywhere.

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 gold,
of my entire existence the solitary treasure,
convictions of a youth that was healthy and sincere.

No more are you, like once, full of fire and life,

offering a thousand crowns to immortality;
somewhat serious I find you; and yet your face beloved,
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 of consolation;

you come to reawaken the years of youthful mirth;
hurricane, I thank you; winds of heaven, I thank you
that in good hour suspended by uncertain flight
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 pleasant orchard,
and in its shadowy forests, serene tranquility,
repose to my intellect and silence to my grief.

Reflection:

my retreat shows how great you are even you are a slave,you are
optimistic and sees great things ahead even you are in that
situation..thanks for inspiring us,your children.may your poems
inspires more children in the next generation.
Child Jesus
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?

Reflection:

Memories of My Town
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 stand;
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!

Reflection:

Our Mother Tongue

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 judge

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 tongue,

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 after us
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 destroy
On the lake the bangka 1 in years bygone.

Reflection:

This poem talks about love and taking pride of one’s own language to
acquire a sense of freedom . Rizal want us to love our own language
because its our identity.

Hymn to Talisay
Hail, Talisay,
firm and faithful,
ever forward
march elate!
You, victorious,
the elements
—land, sea and air—
shall dominate!

The sandy beach of Dapitan

and the rocks of its lofty mountain
are your throne. O sacred asylum
where I passed my childhood days!
In your valley covered with flowers
and shaded by fruitful orchards,
our minds received their formation,
both body and soul, by your grace.

We are children, children born late,

but our spirits are fresh and healthy;
strong men shall we be tomorrow
that can guard a family right.
We are children that nothing frightens,
not the waves, nor the storm, nor the thunder;
the arm ready, the young face tranquil,
in a fix we shall know how to fight.

We ransack the sand in our frolic;

through the caves and the thickets we ramble;
our houses are built upon rocks;
our arms reach far and wide.
No darkness, and no dark night,
that we fear, no savage tempest;
if the devil himself comes forward,
we shall catch him, dead or alive!

Talisayon, the people call us:

a great soul in a little body;
in Dapitan and all its region
Talisay has no match!
Our reservoir is unequalled;
our precipice is a deep chasm;
and when we go rowing, our bancas
no banca in the world can catch!

We study the problems of science

and the history of the nation.
We speak some three or four languages;
faith and reason we span.
Our hands can wield at the same time
the knife, the pen and the spade,
the picket, the rifle, the sword—
companions of a brave man.

Long live luxuriant Talisay!

Our voices exalt you in chorus,
clear star, dear treasure of childhood,
a childhood you guide and please.
In the struggles that await the grown man,
subject to pain and sorrow,
your memory shall be his amulet;
and your name, in the tomb, his peace.

Reflection:
The "Hymn to Talisay" is a poem-song. The poem talks about place, people
and tree. Rizal let the Dapitan students sing his poem-song. The "Hymn to
Talisay" is a poem-song. The poem talks about place, people and tree.
Rizal let the Dapitan students sing his poem-song.
The Last Poem of Rizal
His friend Mariano Ponce gave it the title of MI ULTIMO ADIOS, as it originally had none

Farewell, my adored Land, region of the sun caressed,

Pearl of the Orient Sea, our Eden lost,
With gladness I give you my Life, sad and repressed;
And were it more brilliant, more fresh and at its best,
I would still give it to you for your welfare at most.

On the fields of battle, in the fury of fight,

Others give you their lives without pain or hesitancy,
The place does not matter: cypress laurel, lily white,
Scaffold, open field, conflict or martyrdom's site,
It is the same if asked by home and Country.

I die as I see tints on the sky b'gin to show

And at last announce the day, after a gloomy night;
If you need a hue to dye your matutinal glow,
Pour my blood and at the right moment spread it so,
And gild it with a reflection of your nascent light!

My dreams, when scarcely a lad adolescent,

My dreams when already a youth, full of vigor to attain,
Were to see you, gem of the sea of the Orient,
Your dark eyes dry, smooth brow held to a high plane
Without frown, without wrinkles and of shame without stain.

My life's fancy, my ardent, passionate desire,

Hail! Cries out the soul to you, that will soon part from thee;
Hail! How sweet 'tis to fall that fullness you may acquire;
To die to give you life, 'neath your skies to expire,
And in your mystic land to sleep through eternity!

If over my tomb some day, you would see blow,

A simple humble flow'r amidst thick grasses,
Bring it up to your lips and kiss my soul so,
And under the cold tomb, I may feel on my brow,
Warmth of your breath, a whiff of your tenderness.

Let the moon with soft, gentle light me descry,

Let the dawn send forth its fleeting, brilliant light,
In murmurs grave allow the wind to sigh,
And should a bird descend on my cross and alight,
Let the bird intone a song of peace o'er my site.

Let the burning sun the raindrops vaporize

And with my clamor behind return pure to the sky;
Let a friend shed tears over my early demise;
And on quiet afternoons when one prays for me on high,
Pray too, oh, my Motherland, that in God may rest I.

Pray thee for all the hapless who have died,

For all those who unequalled torments have undergone;
For our poor mothers who in bitterness have cried;
For orphans, widows and captives to tortures were shied,
And pray too that you may see your own redemption.

And when the dark night wraps the cemet'ry

And only the dead to vigil there are left alone,
Don't disturb their repose, don't disturb the mystery:
If you hear the sounds of cittern or psaltery,
It is I, dear Country, who, a song t'you intone.

And when my grave by all is no more remembered,

With neither cross nor stone to mark its place,
Let it be plowed by man, with spade let it be scattered
And my ashes ere to nothingness are restored,
Let them turn to dust to cover your earthly space.

Then it doesn't matter that you should forget me:

Your atmosphere, your skies, your vales I'll sweep;
Vibrant and clear note to your ears I shall be:
Aroma, light, hues, murmur, song, moanings deep,
Constantly repeating the essence of the faith I keep.

My idolized Country, for whom I most gravely pine,

Dear Philippines, to my last goodbye, oh, harken
There I leave all: my parents, loves of mine,
I'll go where there are no slaves, tyrants or hangmen
Where faith does not kill and where God alone does reign.

Farewell, parents, brothers, beloved by me,

Friends of my childhood, in the home distressed;
Give thanks that now I rest from the wearisome day;
Farewell, sweet stranger, my friend, who brightened my way;
Farewell, to all I love. To die is to rest.

Reflection:

These are the words of one about to die for his country. He expresses no regret but only gladness,
knowing that in giving his life, he is giving his country the greatest gift any citizen could offer.

Rizal says that it does not matter where one dies, but why one dies and to what purpose. Whether it’s
“scaffold, open field, conflict or martyrdom’s site,” all death hold the same honor if given for home and
Country.