Unang gabi sa huling sandali
Nag-aagaw ang ilaw at dilim
Katahimika'y namamayani.


Nakatayo sa gilid ng bangin
Isang hakbang tungo sa libingan
Nakapikit ngunit nakatingin.


Sumilip ang buwan sa kalangitan
Hudyat ng katapusan ng duyog
Tuluyang bumukas ang pintuan.


Lumiyab ang bawat alikabok
Mga alitaptap na dumadapo
Sa bawat sugat nangingimasok.


Buhok ay nagsimulang lumago
Sabay sa pag-ikli ng hininga
Nagpupumiglas sa bawat pulso.


Isang bulaklak na bumubuka
Dugo at ginto ang tanging dilig
Usbong sa hungkag at tuyong lupa.


Buto at laman ay nanginginig
Balat ay nagsimulang uminit
Halik ng apoy sa pulang tubig.


Umuungol sa bawat pagpunit
Likuran na may bagong pasanin
Ngipin na sukdulang nagngangalit.


Nakalutang sa payak na hangin
Kamay ang nagsisilbing kandila
Maglalakbay sa tulay na itim.


Isang sulyap bago kumawala
Ibinuka ang pakpak na pilak
Huling yugto ng pakikidigma.

Let us tell you of our adventure, they said.
Of war and all its horrors we've seen.
Dying dough boys screamed and moaned as they bled.

And the flash of mortar fire would glean,
displaying his numbers on our surface,
and the terracotta blood and drab green.

We are just a playbill for Satan's circus,
with no part lest our roll is through,
or did not perish in his wicked furnace.

And now, retired, no more to do.
But handed down to next of kin
til now I tell this story to you.

We are not just made of tin,
so many tales lay deep within.

The world awakes when light at dawn shines
             and wrinkled blankets greet the coming day,
                   then hazy colors dance and form in lines,
                        a surging mass that moves as if to say,
  “We’re here but can’t you see we’re not the same?”
                          A sea of lonely souls in deep dismay
                that rise from lovers’ beds in sleepy shame
         to dance the dance of their redundant pain
They pray the world might someday know their name
           while working jobs they hate for money’s gain.
                      So sad that in this world the lonely pine
                            in morning traffic looking for a lane,
                           to set themselves apart and so define
                        their lives by lucky breaks, as if divine.