here is something they do not teach
in school, that is why
Juaniyo put a bandana around his head
in red and like a sturdy kalasag, he raised
his hand high, championing all —
nobody shall strike this country with
impunity.
Juaniyo was an anarchist — a decibel in the voice of this nation, standing strong
for the deprived, the voiceless,
the pithless. this was inscrutable force
awakened — they did not teach this
in school. they taught us that we'd
be winners, hotshots,
millionaires, tycoons, dogs and slaves to
capitalists — this total equation
they didn't tell us together with the
suicides and the extra-judicial killings,
the limp democracy of the state,
summary executions, the displaced
groups, shelterless mothers with children
suckling their ******* while seeking
alms, the downfall of all economies
for Juaniyo, a hurled rock is the imperative as a thick wall of alloy
and fiber glass drive him to the edge
of the street where somewhere in the periphery, a bombardier of water is waiting with a steady aim;
they did not want their powers
challenged, they did not find it appealing that their oppressive authoritarian stance
is put to the test and is at the verge
of being dismantled to be replaced by
freer, egalitarian structures.
Juaniyo leaves the class in total pursuit,
heeds the call of heartland.
For my cousin, a propagandist for a rebellious group here in the Philippines.
