• Wounded Warrior


    Wounded-Warrior-poemThe barren battlefield before me was once
    a conflagration that fumed against abuse
    three centuries before a medicine man wrote
    pain in volumes so eloquently told
    they caused his exile and subsequent execution
    on the blood-moistened ground
    where his death-wish signaled a revolt,
    albeit brief. Was it not the first and finest
    heroism of a rebel, who, by treachery, was shot,
    post haste abandoned, so like the apathy today
    against the honor we have yet to own?

    I am a wounded warrior
    wearing the scars of combat against my own
    grief at the flickering embers of a future non-fulfilled,
    caught between the present and what should have been
    had I unleashed my sword and sliced open every heart
    that did not know the meaning of love for one another
    as the credo of every soul’s salvation beyond
    inordinate non-heroic lives.

    Would that we engage in a confrontation of pain
    each to one’s weapon of hurt, one’s armament of agony,
    suffice to stand with all our wounds, expressing which among
    our deprivations would find relief and offer incantations
    for deliverance, for the fullness of restitution to recede
    the unsayable sufferance to nothingness, to bliss.
    Would that our longing for answers to our supplications,
    lying prostrate after so many years, be hastened exhaustively
    because we have wanted it, because we are so wounded.

    A wounded warrior I am, voiceless, after many nights
    noise-filled with lamentations, my spirit adrift,
    pensive, and frayed, my silence uneasy as though
    to make a sound is an enemy I cannot place myself
    beside it if it were necessary to be still one moment more.

    No more.

    *Rita B. Gadi is a Palanca awardee, National Centennial Epic Poem Awardee, former Editor of ‘The Philippine Chronicle’ and ‘Good Morning, Philippines,’ former broadcast journalist; now weaving words, still.


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