Hayaan n’yong lumuha ang aking puso.
Malungkot na tanawin ang ganitong tagpo:
Hinihiwa mo ang balat ng iyong kinabukasan
at duguan na ang angking kasalukuyan
gayong hindi pa nga naghihilom man lang
ang mga sugat ng mapait nating nakaraan.
Subalit masahol ka pa sa putang bayaran
na katawan ang puhunan, kapalit ng panghapunan
at pagkain sa kinabukasan.
Ikaw - dalawa, tatlo, limang daan,
kapalit di lang ng iyong karangalan.
Idinamay mo pa ang kapakanan ng bayan.
Hindi na maaasahan ang dati’y sagradong balota.
Karaniwang papel na lamang ito na may mga nakalista
At tila tiyan **** nag-alboroto ang diniktahang makina,
na kung ano’ng isinubo, siya ring isusuka.
Pagkatapos kukulapulan ang daliri ng panandang tinta.
Nang humiga ka sa tae, nagmamalaki ka pa:
Sapagkat ang makinang tila kumpisalan,
may kapirasong tari ng makabagong sabungan
na kahit na alin pang mga tandang ang maglaban,
tukoy na ng kristo ang panalo sa pustahan.
Tapos na ang kwento’t hindi na totoo
ang sinabi ng bayaning ang Pilipino
ay karapat-dapat sa buhay na nasasakripisyo.
Hindi na. Hindi sa salinlahing ito.
Sa darating pang mga kabataan, siguro,
sa kanila, magbabaka-sakali ako.
One hundred forty years ago Dr. Jose Rizal wrote that "youth is the hope of the Filipino nation." This year (2019), the Philippines celebrates the 123rd anniversary of his martyrdom. Whereas I agree with him on vesting his hope on the youth, I have doubts on the truth of such hope in the present generation of Filipinos. Here's a rough translation:
Not In This Generation
Let my heart weep
This is such a sad scene:
You're slashing the skin of your tomorrow
and the present that you claim is bloodied
and yet the wounds of painful yesterday
has not even started to heal
But you're worse than a *******
who lets her body for rent, to pay for dinner
and food for the next day.
You - two, three, five hundred bucks
in exchange for your honor and dignity
and the welfare of your nation as well, unfortunately.
The once-sacred ballot is not one savior we can rely upon
It has turned into an ordinary paper with roster of names listed on
And just like your troubled tummy goes the vote-counting machine
what you made it swallow, it will gag it whole just the same
After the indelible ink stains your finger and nail
You're lying down on ****, and yet you can brag of your shame
For that machine that's like a confessional
has a little piece of scythe of fighting ***** these modern times
whichever roosters fight on the line
the referee in the arena already knows the winners to proclaim.
The story's done and it has ceased to be true
as one hero said that the Filipino
is worth dying for
Not anymore. Not in this generation. No.
Among the young ones, maybe, my bets I'll throw,
on them, I'll try again, I'll have a go.
