longlivethebutterflies
Minsan pabebe, madalas otes. Karaniwang tao lang. Walang height ang arrogance, pero may baby fats ang petiburgesyang tendensya. Nangangarap ng lupang mabubungkal ng masa ng sambayanan, pambansang industriya ng bansa, at pagpawi ng pagsasamantala sa sanlibutan. Matakaw sa butchi, at red ice tea. Balang araw gusto niya ding maging chef, ng pambansang paglaya, o sa minimum maging paru-parong pang magpakailanman. / / Tiyaking nakajebs na bago magbasa ng kanyang mga tula.
This is no love poem
No love, no art work, no poem
No music nor rhythm
But of images
Of farmers exultant
Though they break their backs,
Or their bones creak,
With every slash of their sickles,
The heavy strokes
Wounding light in the fiery heat of noon,
The gaunt-faced sons of earth,
Bringing home harvests of gold
To the people's granary,
Where no greedy landlords are in sight.
For centuries, the land robbers
Had squeezed their souls dry
In constant toil.
It may be that their time is up.
But this is no love poem
No love, no art work, no poem
But of history
Of workers milling around a lingering twilight.
Pounding their hammers with their might,
Ecstatic at the thought of freedom,
Yet battling still, long dreaded ills
Of feudal ******* barratry,
Imperialism
Storing up for the people’s cause,
Building a new commune in the new place
Freed from the landlord-minded President
From the imperialist ogres
Of IMF-World Bank and Uncle Sam,
The warmongers,
From oppression
And poverty and wretchedness
That, like a python, had wound
Around them to the end.
But this is no love poem
No love, no art work, no poem
No fictive tale but of radiant truth.
As throngs of men
And women march
Out of their homes
With new-found hope,
Gathering strength
As from a blasting storm,
Defiant now of lying saints or heroes
Or of murderer Presidents
Who speak with forked tongues,
As the throng march out into the streets
Flooding the cities,
Ready to offer their lives for freedom
To them would come such happiness,
Such love
No poem would express,
No art suffice to render.
This is no love poem
No piece of art, no song
Only a sense
Of how it is to tell of battles won,
Of folding in to feel the surge of triumph
Though brief perhaps,
Within this flashpoint moment
Of the people's war.
Aug 12, 2015
Aug 12, 2015 at 6:24 AM UTC
Nakatawid na ang gabi sa umaga,
Umuusad ang magdamag ng digma.
Tahimik ang silahis na nakikiramdam
Sa paghulagpos ng salimbayan
Ng mga kulay na nagluwal ng dilim.
Hudyat ang kindat ng kislap ng talim,
Pagtitilad-tilarin sa pakikipagtalad
Naglalagablab naming mga balak.
Talampaka'y mangangahas sumampa,
Sa binakuran **** pagsasamantala.
Kabisado ng mga bisig kahit pa nakapikit,
Imbay ng sandata naming karit.
Matipid sa kilos, mabilis ang hagip
Dinambong sa aming libong ektaryang langit,
Babawiin, handa sa anumang kapalit,
Karapatan, aming muli’t muling igigiit.
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 10:59 PM UTC
Maalam maghintay ang mga magsasaka
Batid nilang mga butil ng bigas
Ay mula sa mga butil ng binhi ng palay
Na bago pa man maitundos sa lupa
May paghahandang dapat na maisagawa
Maalam maghintay ang mga magsasaka
Batid nilang kailangang palipasin
Ilang mga araw at linggong magdamag
Bago simulan bawat umaga ng pag-aararo
Bawat umaga ng pagpapalambot sa lupa
Maalam maghintay ang mga magsasaka
Batid nilang pagkatapos ng pagpupunla’y
Mahabang takipsilim ng pag-aabang
At pagdidilig. Hindi lamang ng tubig,
Kundi pati pawis at dugo, higit na pag-ibig
Maalam maghintay ang mga magsasaka
Batid nilang may panahon ng paghahasa
Ng mga gulok, sundang at karit
May panahon ng paghahawan
May panahon ng paggapas at pag-aani
Maalam maghintay ang mga magsasaka
Batid nilang may aangkin ng lupang kanila
Batid nilang may panahon ng paniningil
May panahon ng pag-ani ng karapatan
May panahon ng pagkapatas
Maalam maghintay ang mga magsasaka
Hindi sila nahihimbing sa kanilang paghihintay
Mababaw ang tulog, tiyak nila ang oras ng paggising
Ang oras ng pagtindig
Ang oras ng paghawak ng kanilang mga karit.
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 10:39 PM UTC