(Fourteen have died in the dispersal at Hacienda Luisita,
news at Inq7.net)
I am another lord of the rings, the lord
Ringing around what justice means
In contested lands and fierce fields and quiet dreams.
Even those of children, I have robbed
Them of their lusty nursery rhymes,
Their lilting limericks about Fernando Poe Jr.
Giving hope to the hopeless, Erap blabbering
About giving more for the less,
And Alma Moreno promising that eternal sweetness
And the ambience she buys in Hong Kong
With Joey Marquez, they who talk of hometown
Service like the one in the pueblos encircling
The hacienda of Kris and Joshua and Philip,
They who sell truth and politics and goodness,
They who sell the feel-good quality
Of pleasing me in that perpetuity of parodies.
There is that dark theatricality in all these,
These children dying by waiting to live,
These farmers living by waiting to die,
But, well, oh well, this is how the script runs,
All those who are useless,
All those who dwell in the margins,
Those who are nameless,
Those who are faceless,
Those who cannot chant the mantra of keeping silence
Those who fight and struggle and seek what is right
Those who write verses to announce their fair aims,
All of those, all of them, they are to play that role
Of living by waiting to die
Of dying by waiting to live
And then they fade to black,
The dark that declaims about darkness itself,
The dark that consumes the spirit of the just
The dark that does not know light
The dark that owns the singing of children
The dark that snatches their laughter
The dark that poisons their once-a-day meal.
I am the lord of the rings, the rings
That belong only to the dark
That belong only to those who hear me sing
In the dark. As it is, I preside in this blessed butchering,
This cariño brutal for sacadas and their prayers
This cariño brutal for the bruised land and its nightmares
This cariño brutal for the wounded spirit and its memories.
But I will see the coming of that dawn that erases
All the traces of the bloodied stories of fourteen deaths
In a day, the dawn that breaks into a morning of glory
And then the food will announce their coming
The fruits of the land will anounce their rocky birthing
And the the feasting will commence and go on
For days and days on end
And the bounty will remember the dead, all those
Who died in the name of this redeemed land.
And then, and then, I will fade to black,
Be buried in the storms, the floods, the rains
Swallowed by the sea and the light of that morning
Of feasting and dancing and triumphing.
Aurelio S. Agcaoili
Redondo Beach, CA
Nov. 18, 2004
No comments:
Post a Comment