Four Poems



We marched until our heads knock the clouds
As our feet were buried on the muddy ground top
Our hands had touched the river
And creeks earlier, and struck the pebbles
We have been here many times and we have named
This unnamed mountain before,
We feel her powers to pull our thoughts
Stop the howling winds and toss them up higher
She can make giant trees dance and make leaves purr
She can close the nets of the day and
Silence the night, then circle it with peace
She let the choir of crickets sing,
And make us sleep,
Then wake us by her cloudy morning
She let us light a fire to prepare the coffee
And make one full round day
Before the sundown, we start to make steps
Down the village, where there are souls
Waiting for us.

The Oracles

I read and posted
The oracles of the old
And you have seen it
The affairs are coming fast
Map it on your mind
They are not baseless predictions
Or witchcraft, or of house cards
Palmistry, numerology
Or rituals to weep and gamble…
The flowers bloom
But there are stinging bees
Flowers may wilt in summer
But there are songs to waken them up
We know where to start
The ghosts are afraid
There we are, we change…


I am a daughter of this noble nation
And earth, a nursling of the old
rottening social disorder of semifeudalism
and semicolonialism
I was born to a pore of the maginals
Along the rivers, farmlands, haciendas,
the dirty streets, dead houses, maladies
and I want change, I may lack idioms for it
I may have less metaphor for it, but
for social liberation I fight for it,
and our dreams cannot die…
Amidst the storms that may bend
or even break my knees and when
The dark world thinks we are over
and the devils are feasting on blood
and torch schools and houses
Like a child from the womb of this nation and earth,
Like a ghosts from the tomb,
Fighters arise to struggle and build anew…

Waiting in silence to capture the hiding
bad ghosts

we sat near the murmuring river
as clouds lazily move rearranging the sky
packing up into our minds
we have to be silent
but we could hear the birds singing
coming from the deep woods…
we have to wait until tomorrow,
and walk under the moonlight
we are mastering guerrilla movements
our predecessors mastered the forest
and social terrain by appearing
and fading into the light
they have captured the hiding bad ghosts
we are learning from them.


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