"Poems from the Trenches"
"In pursuit of future: Memories of Barrio Ugong"
Each day I see the silos
Remembering an Idealistic past
With the scent of wheat
Recalls the productive fervour
Each time I see the laborers
The machinery, the concrete edifice
That once towering over Pasig river
A legacy of an almost abandoned splendour
All because of a failed order
They hated to be competed
By those whose ideal is worth remembered
Whose concern is rooted in truth
A fertile land yet a poor mass
Prosperity allegedly "trickled down"
Yet benefited the corrupted
Imagine all the edifices of glass and steel
Of malls thriving with the well paid
All these made by the ones in the shanties
All coming from the mismanaged estates
Of unfair wages and widespread maltreatments
Of strikes end up in bloodsheds and disappearances
Is this the prosperity proclaimed by the papers?
What a bullshit those articles then
All contrary to the truth
How poor the supposed prosperous country is
How backward the supposed progressive nation is
Or perhaps a continuing "was"
All because of its continuing past
Again all thanks to a failed order
And its rulers thereof
And in it no wonder why strikes happen
Be it in the street or in the countryside
Be it with a burning effigy or a bloody ambuscade.
"My Father's house"
Inspired by Gabriel Aresti's poem of the same name
I will defend the house of my father.
I will defend it against wolves,
Thieves,
Usurers,
And various forms of Injustices;
I will defend the house of my father.
Thinking that they're all coming to exploit
Yet still I trying to resist
Time to time,
day after day
I will defend his house as much I can stay
I may lose all the cattle,
Orchards,
The produce I tilled and sown;
I may lose all my remains,
The goods,
Possessions,
But I will still defend his house.
They will take off my gun
But with my hand I will still defend it;
They will cut off my hand
Yet with my arm I will still defend it;
They will leave me without arm nor shoulder,
Even the soul that makes me defend
The house of my father.
In spite of pain enduring,
I will still die fighting,
But even without me still,
His house-my house, will remain standing.
And one will soon take over mine
Out of what I am struggling.
"Change is Coming"
Change is indeed coming said by the papers, and
Hope is bringing says by the reports
Amidst the existing inconvenient truths
Not one admitted by the apologists as they proclaimed:
"Gone is the corrupted and the oppressive, for
Everything will be given justice!"
"Impossible!" says the skeptic, knowing that the reality is contrary
Such as widespread hunger, poverty, murder, a series of idiosyncrasy
Coming from a corrupted order
Outsmarting the struggling commoner
Making hell to a country
Its people, even its history, until
Nothing, for they made it all
Gone.
"Nighttime offensive"
I swore to the blood red banner
And to the graves of my comrades
And take the gun to me given
As I take the road less taken
Tonight the offensives been set
As the campfires been set off
Tonight will traverse the forests
As the foes sleeping in their encampments
The bells of struggle continues to chime
In spite of numerous deaths
If not survivors end captured
Tortured, imprisoned, or disappeared
For their "heavens" be shaken with fear
As the action begins in the waxing moon
With the barrage of bullets
Surprising the sleeping attack dogs
One screams in pain
Another felt its untimely fear
As the partisans vent their wrath
On a plantation that blocks the path
Of peasant folks desired for land
Of farmworkers desired for decent wage
Of people sick and tired of hell
Brought upon by a state sponsored brigandage?
As storms continue, seeing blood and death
Comrade and foe alike felt the pain
Bright red blood will water all the trees
Staining the flags whose word is liberty
And end cleared all the noises
And comrades taken all the enemy guns
Foes end becoming captives
Criminals waiting their untimely fates.
Enough to be part of an epic
"The people's war" as what they proclaim.