Got your email today, son.
You say all is fine back there
In the homeland, in the country
Of our loving and longing and yearning.
You do not tell me, of course,
How your mother and all mothers
Manage the pain of terror
In the streets, the congress, the senate
Of our lost, unnamed hopes.
Tell me of the raped minds, our own.
The big men sell our souls, you know,
Make a bargain with the highest bidder,
Mindless of who will die or be born
Before dying again and again
From not having lived.
You do not tell me
Of the rallies you are going
To word our anguish and fear.
I understand. We must keep on singing.
(For publication in the Eternal Portraits, Winter 2005)
Aurelio S. Agcaoili
Los Angeles, CA