• 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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