I was 17 Forty Five Years Ago

Boredom, stupidity, vanity, even search for a meaning came with my youth. Too much time did not come with it, though. I had to work for my keep.
I was a student leader during the days of unrest. I threw bottles on buses during transport strikes, attended a few teach-ins, led a demonstration to skip class(and got severely punished for such), sympathized with the radicals and thought Mao’s little Red book and Amado Ma. Guerrero’s Philippine society and Revolution were cool and Amado K. Hernandez’s Isang Dipang Langit was my generation’s Huling Paalam.

It was in one of those teach-ins when doubts started unraveling the romanticism of a Communist revolution. I asked how all the rosy things that they promised could be achieved and how the proletariat could rule. How the dictum “from each according to his ability, to each according to his needs” would be a reality. All the answer I got was “makibaka, huwag matakot”.

Then Marcos declared Martial Law. There was media silence that day yet life at the “palengke” moved just like before. I called several former classmates in high school wondering if they knew anything. Nobody did. Strangely, I felt calm. I was never part of KM, SDK, NUSP and other radical student groups. I had nothing to worry about.

A few days later, the Metrocom descended in Galas and bulldozed the whole squatters area to the ground. The tattooed panty-wearing gang bangers of my neighborhood who used to binge drink alcohol right on the streets, harass passers by and stage mortal combat with knives, bolos and home made “panas” were gone. Suddenly, the “palengke” was peaceful, even quiet when curfew came. Perhaps, more than anything else, discipline was what the Filipinos needed.

School resumed soon after with visible order on the streets. People lined up at jeepney and bus stops, in banks, in restaurants. People waited for their turn. Civility and respect were imposed. If only the people inculcated such into their being.

Personal handicap and God’s gifts made me take the PMA entrance test on December of 1972. Passing that started the trek I would always be thankful for, one I would do all over again.

During the NP screening interview, Dr. Dayan asked why do I want to enter the Academy. Without batting an eyelash, I said, to serve my country, sir.

I was seventeen.

Published in: on September 20, 2017 at 3:28 PM  Leave a Comment  

Tindig mga Ungas

Kailan ba nangyari, Martial Law ni Mckoy?
Sigaw pa rin ng never again na parang tukmol
Rally dito, rally doon, kahol sige kahol
Di na nagsawa, mga asong ulol.

Martial Law ni Duterte kanilang lalabanan
Titindig silang kay tigas, ngunit viagra ay kulang
Papaano na yan, mga dilawang talunan
Bumaliktad sa puti, mga hari ng balimbingan.

Katawatawa o nakakaiyak
Tindig na baluktot ng mga ungas
Mapansin lang, di baleng magkalat
Mga pulitikong pulpol, kawawang Pilipinas.

Damhin ang hinagpis ng mamamayang Pilipino
Mga pangarap sa kawalan kailan magiging totoo?
Panay na lang dakdak, mga walang kuwentang pulitiko
Gutom si Neneng at Totoy, mga magulang nagshashabu.

Matinding pakiusap, tigilan na ninyo
Kaululang pagpukpok sa sariling ulo
Di na ba kayo naawa sa kapwa nyo tao?
Dahil sa inyong ambisyon, dadanak ang dugo!

Tindig mga ungas, ipaglaban ang mga patapon
Ibasura ang hinaharap, pati na ang mga sanggol
Sa pagsikat ng araw, mga bagong kawal ay sisibol
Pilipinong abang aba, kanilang ipagtatanggol!

Makinig, makinig sa dagundong ng kulog
Sa ngitngit at luha ng darating na unos
Pakyaw na pighati, galit na bubuhos
Tindig ng mga ungas, mamamayan ang tatapos!

Published in: on September 20, 2017 at 3:25 PM  Leave a Comment  


The white supremacists, the Nazis, the malevolent non-pigmented sorry excuses for human beings not only spew hate, they want to be hated. They know that their actions will warrant hate and that whatever they deal will be reciprocated in kind. That is the only way they can get attention. That is the only way they may get any significance. That is the only way they will matter.

Hate though is not their exclusive domain. Hate is such a universal feeling, it makes the world go round. There is hatred based on skin color, on language that one speaks, on accent of one’s tongue, on sexual orientation, on age, on religion, on denominations of the same faith, on social status, on how much or less money one has, on political affiliation, on whether one is a conservative or a liberal, on whether one is a believer or not, on whether one is a hater or not.

The irony is, hatred by each against those they do not agree with, is guaranteed by the same inherent rights as the Constitution declares. Free speech was what the “alt right” used in Charlottesville to justify their march of hate. The same right the counter protesters used to clash with that “hate”. And because of that, more than a woman’s tragic death, we the people are scraping open the wound that was supposed to have healed. Or are we just unearthing what was swept under the rug?

Politicians take on this HATE will always be suspect. Their pontificating and grandstanding make one wish they were in Charlottesville to experience the hate. That instead of talking, they will do something.

Fire is not conquered by fire but by water. Nazism, white supremacy will never rise again no matter what the ignorant and the pea-brained profess. America stands for opportunity, excellence and the equality to achieve based on hard work, talent and Divine Providence. Destiny, as this great country has proven, is molded by unyielding hands and committed and unselfish brains that considered the greater good above everything else.

I have experienced racism from whites, blacks, asians, middle easterns, hispanics and even from my own kind. It is a constant reminder of how little man thinks of himself and how truthful is that. Still, I thank God everyday for giving me the chance to live in a country that gives me all the opportunity to better myself and aspire. If only we can just put away the hate.

Published in: on August 18, 2017 at 5:58 PM  Leave a Comment  

Impatience for Change

It has been over a year since Duterte took office. To most critics and haters, he has done nothing. To the 82% who approve, change can not come any sooner.

There is the rejection of DWSD Secretary Taguiwalo by the Commission on Appointments even if she appeared to be most qualified for the job, the rejection of Gina Lopez as Secretary of Natural Resources before that, the bloody and unforgiving war against the menace of drugs, the seemingly unsolvable corruption at the Bureau of Contraband (officially referred to as Bureau of Customs), the scandal now rocking the COMELEC (not the marital dispute of the Bautistas), the continuing banditry of the NPAs and the Communists, the terrorism of the violent and hateful Allah-spewing band of non-believers, the unrelenting push of the political opposition to oust the sitting president, the failure of infrastructure and services and the continuing migration to better jobs and opportunities abroad while sons and daughters, husbands and wives suffer through the absence and the ultimate break up of family, the perplexing lack of cooperation from traditional politicians whose priority has always been I, Me and Myself, and the citizens’ lack of discipline, penchant for violating the law while complaining to high heavens about a government they chose and truly deserve.

Change can not come any sooner.

So now the clamor to give Duterte a clean slate of governance with a rewritten constitution and a brand new set of functionaries and governors is becoming louder. The people are willing to surrender their collective fate to a president they believe has the nation’s deliverance in his heart. This all encompassing trust seems foolhardy to those who have suffered through totalitarian regimes and to those whose doubts are based on their own human frailties and shortcomings: Like us, Duterte is only human, he is not a god.

The impatience for change is borne out of a supposedly democratic form of government that has been prostituted, perverted and taken advantage of by traditional politicians who ascended to the throne and never let go. Generations and generations of the same tainted political bloodline played tag using guns, gold and goons to secure what they profess to be theirs. All in the detriment and ultimate corruption of the electoral process as the people sink deeper and deeper into the quagmire of poverty and despair.

Will Duterte make a difference? Will he deliver?

Duterte can not do it alone. He must not be alone. The people must be with him. Those 82%, those who clamor for this revolutionary change must shoulder the burden and work and sacrifice and die if need be. Dead heroes can not do it. Only ordinary living committed citizens can.

Perhaps Duterte can provide the leadership and the impetus for real change. Perhaps he will be unrelenting, honest and brave. Perhaps by putting his life, his honor and the presidency itself on the line, he will prove his resolve and succeed. It is the people, though, who must see it through. There is no other way.

Published in: on August 18, 2017 at 5:56 PM  Leave a Comment  

Of Statues and Sensibilities

In Charlottesville, Virginia, a group wanted to remove Robert E.Lee’s monument, another wanted to preserve it. In a clash that did not free a slave nor feed a hungry man nor shelter the homeless nor stop human trafficking nor prevent sexual abuse, a woman died. And the nation gets divided even more. All because of a monument.

Statues of conquerors, statues of generals, statues of leaders and politicians, statues of martyrs, popes and saints and statues of heroes were built in the days when they were part of history and worthy of the public’s attention. Glorification, if you may, was the impetus to build their likeness. But the winds of change blow in directions nobody can foretell and the heroes and nobles of yore turn out to be the opposite of who they were supposed to be. Yet the concrete and iron or brass and steel remembrances still stand to bear witness to history’s folly if not stupidity.

History can not be rewritten. There is no glossing over the truth. What is done can not be undone. Statues and memorials, notwithstanding.

Which bring us to the desire of some quarters to obliterate all statues and monuments built to honor what was once the South, the Confederacy. Is this cleansing going to make up for America’s white guilt? Will the slaves’ descendants enjoy fully the true freedom their forefathers fought for and could only dream of? Are we going to be a better people once the monuments are gone? And will the nation be united at last?

History is not only of the victors. History is written so we may learn the lessons of the past, that we may not repeat the mistakes of those who came before. Ugly and disgusting they maybe, slavery and the civil war are part of America’s past. Getting rid of the monuments will not erase the brutality and the inhumanity. Let the lessons of the past be a uniting factor not a dividing one. Haven’t enough blood been shed during the civil war?


Published in: on August 18, 2017 at 5:00 PM  Leave a Comment  

Saturday Stories

(My OAO and I)

When I was young, time was measured in hours, even minutes. It just couldn’t be any faster. Then the measurement became days of working, sleeping and hope for a break. Now it is by weeks. Soon it will be by months. Then the seasons will mark what was and what will be. Can time be any slower?

Old age requires more imagination, more in depth searching of what is important and what should be. It is a time of dead ends, plateaus, watching the grass grow and patiently waiting to board the last train for the next chapter. It is juggling bitter sweet memories with the hope that smiles overpower the tears, that love conquers the hate.

Still there is no end to what can be done. Each man matters. Insignificance is a choice. Advocacy, convictions, the purity of the human heart make exciting endeavors. To live for one self to the hilt, one just need to live for others. Even for just a while.

Empty nest should not mean absence nor lost nor a longing that will never be fulfilled. Empty nest should be passion without guilt, watching movies until the wee hours while eating ice cream and reliving boyfriend-girlfriend sans chaperons.

Saturday breakfast of unhurried stories makes wonders of coffee, eggs, longganisa and grilled eggplant with tomatoes and onions. Maybe bad for the health but always good for the heart.

The wind blows a little stronger to rid the trees of dead leaves. Clouds move across the sky like sailboats while dragons chase the disappearing dreams. In another summer, time moves on not to cajole nor to spite, but to etch memories on our wrinkled minds. Worry not of how much light will there be before the darkness. Nor how long will the warmth be before the cold. Our only choice is to live. And to grow old as Fate dictates.

And still the grass grows.

Published in: on August 7, 2017 at 2:07 PM  Leave a Comment  

Duter-three (A Dimasalang Imagination Production)


“Is this an interview”, he asked. “No, sir”, I replied. “It is more of me trying to understand you and what you say”. “So, you are trying to be me”, he said with that knowing wink. “Fire away then”, he egged.

“Your rape joke with the troops was uncalled for, a disaster, a nightmare for your supporters and allies. It was a welcomed gift to your enemies, those who would like to bring you down. How do you explain such?”

“My supporters and allies need not be burdened by that joke and in retrospect, I admit it is a bad joke. I expect nobody to defend a joke about rapes. As a prosecutor, I ran after the rapists and sexual predators. So, what was I thinking when that joke came out my mouth? I was looking at the troops, their faces. They were there listening to me in all seriousness. I am sending them to battle and some will not be coming back. I want to boost their morale, to assure them that their President is behind them all the way. I want to lighten the atmosphere of a bleak undertaking. It was a joke meant between friends, close friends with no media and “you tube” listening. It’s like when you tell your best buddies all the sexual and racist jokes you can imagine without malice nor repercussions because your friends know that all of those foul things coming out of your mouth are for them only, not for anybody else.”

“But the media were there and they heard you and now the rest of the world know and are questioning your behaviour as president. Are you really that crass and uncouth?”

” You see, I am 72 years old. I am me a long long long time ago. Yes, there are times that my words take the better of me. I have no excuse for such. Because that means I will have to ask forgiveness for being born. I don’t worry what my supporters will do. They have come this far, they know who they are supporting. As for my countrymen, they care about their livelihood, their security, their children’s future. A good joke will not put food on their table neither will a bad joke take food away. As for my opponents, my detractors, those who will triumph in my downfall, nothing I will do or say will suffice.”

“But you’re giving them more ammunition and now you’re the butt of more vilification and trumped up hatred. Doesn’t this distract you from what you must do?”

“I know what I must do. All the ridicule and hatred directed towards me are nothing new. Such started the day I declared myself a Presidential candidate. They just keep piling on no matter what. They have gotten old and the most they do is provide soundbites that induce my shitting in the morning. I will die someday and that is not too far off. I can hear the footsteps not only in my sleep but in my waking hours. If I am going to be judged, let me be judged by what I did, not because of the bad jokes I made. And I trust, history’s wisdom will bear witness to who I really am.”

“I have no more to ask unless you have something more to say”.

” Want to hear that joke about the priest and rosary?”

I smiled.


II.     Lamentations

It was the ending of his day, around 2 in the morning. I barged into his consciousness without warning. Seeing the fatigue on his face, I was sorry to intrude. Still he motioned me to have a seat.

“Good evening, sir. Or should I say good morning?”

“Good evening, good morning, time is irrelevant so long as it is good. So what brings you here again? Is there another bad joke I said?”

“No, sir. I am here to hear your take on your first year as president. Your thoughts, your joys, your sadness, your frustrations, your misgivings. Anything you want to say.”

He sat down and placed his feet on his table showing his aversion to socks. He closed his eyes. The 72 years showed on his weathered face. He took a deep breath and silence bequeathed eloquence to the man. He started to talk.

“I did not ask to be president. Truth be told, I sought not the highest office of the land. It was when the people egged me to run, when I saw the desperation on their faces and heard the hopelessness on their voices, I had no choice. I was 71 years old. I should have retired. My beloved Davao is in good hands. Inday is a better mayor than me. But how can I turn my back to my people?

So I ran without much fanfare and money. My media machine was composed of bloggers who believed in me. Unknowns who influenced their friends, their families with what they posted in social media. OFWs, overseas Filipinos. They all helped out and made my victory possible against a well oiled and well funded opposition. My victory was the people’s victory.

I wish the opposition gave me a chance to prove what I could do. I wish they stopped politicking and let me proceed with the governance the people wanted and deserved. No, they wanted me out even before I took office. My victory was just a lull, a pause in their drive for power. They will not stop.

I wonder sometimes why there is so much hatred directed towards me. But then, I seek refuge in the people’s approval, in their continuing trust, in their prayers and the visible outpouring of support. It is them that makes me wake up in the morning and defy this 72 year old body. There are very few pleasures left in life for me. I am at the departure gate. But I will continue to work, to aspire, to fight because I love the Philippines. I love my people. And such I will do until I breathe my last.”

He slowly stood up and looked out the window facing the river. I had the urge to leave and let him rest. Still he spoke.

“There are failures, missteps and of course the foul mouth, the bad taste jokes and my being unpresidential. I did not realize the enormity of the drug problem and how rampant corruption was. Even among those I thought I could trust, the temptation of money was just too much to ignore. But there is no backing down in our quest. I have staked my honor, my life and the presidency itself so I can deliver to the people what they deserve. Nothing less.

I seldom look back to the failures of the past other than learning from them. The task at hand is now. Peace must be secured, the sufferings must end. The war on drugs will continue. With a renewed resolve, new tactics will be employed. Poverty can be and must be minimized if not totally eradicated. Corruption stopped.

It is said that success has many fathers, failure is an orphan. All these goals will not be accomplished because of one man. The nation will rise up because each citizen will contribute and do their part. I need every Filipino’s help. I beg for each citizen’s help. We have but one nation. Without our country, we are nothing.

As I embark on my second year, I wish the opposition will join me in building the nation and improving the lot of our people. Soon they will have their chance to lead. Political fortunes swing as every politicians know. If only we can put aside politics even for a day.”

He sat down, put his feet up and looked at the ceiling. He closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep, his bed still made up, basically unused. I tiptoed out.

Somehow a song’s line was heard: “How many roads must a man walk down
Before you call him a man?” At 72 years old, “the answer is still blowin’ in the wind”.


III.   Beyond the Anger
There was no more surprise when I ushered myself into his consciousness. It even seemed that he was waiting for me. Maybe it was the day’s import or the need to share thoughts before they were made obsolete by events. Perhaps it was the honesty of solitude. I asked the first question without any preamble.
“You were angry today. One year in office is taking its toll?”
“I was angry. I am still angry. What else do I have to do to show that all of these are for the people? That I ask for nothing else except that I leave the Philippines a better place. That in my demise, I bring nothing but will leave what I was born to do.”
“Your detractors, the criminals, the drug lords and pushers, the misguided rebels and the plain malevolent members of society will not be totally eliminated. You can not kill them all. Will there be an end to all these?”
“Killing them is but a metaphor. A threat if you will. Those physically killed are examples of what the government is capable of. Never in my dreams did I foresee a society devoid of evil because I have killed them all. I may live to be a hundred and be a president for life but there is no way I can eliminate those who will remain society’s burden. I don’t have such delusions.”
He paused and sought for the proper words to express his thoughts. There was pain written on his face as he rubbed his hands in a futile attempt to find comfort.
“I should not have been president. The power elite and the age-long control of the oligarchs can not be erased in one sweep. Neither will they ago away quietly. They have conspired and planned my downfall even before day one. They are failing. They will not succeed. The people are with me in this fight.”
He leafed through the pages of his life and dog-eared what were important. Slowly, in almost inaudible voice, the dying day recited the man’s uncompromising truth.
“It is my destiny to be president. I was the people’s choice. I ran for them. Destiny was not my doing and neither was my being born. Still, I will be damned to squander my life or throw away the presidency. I was given a chance to make a difference. I was trusted to help, to alleviate people’s lives. I can fail them. But I can not fail myself.
People didn’t expect much from me. Even my parents. But the Almighty has guided me all my life to the very height I find myself now. Took me 71 years and at the twilight of my existence to be president. And such is God’s genius. At this time of my life, there is nothing more I desire nor wish for. God has given me a chance for my swan song. With my limited days, who am I to thumb such down? This will never come again.
I pledged to my dead parents that I will do what is best and beseeched them for guidance. When I join them beyond this life, I must answer to them for what I did. For once, I don’t want their forgiveness. I want their approval.”
I looked at the man and considered the breaking dawn. I asked my final question.
“You quoted Ecclesiastes and time for everything. Which one is yours?”
“Planting. Nurturing the seedlings and making sure they survived the tempests and the vultures. That they take root to be strong, to grow upright and defiant. And long after I am gone, I hope the people will reap a country each will be proud of. One Republic. United. Prosperous. At peace.”
Anger has dissipated into the disappearing darkness. As the new day breaks, the tasks of the president begin again. Actually, they never end.


Published in: on July 26, 2017 at 9:40 AM  Leave a Comment  

In one rainy morning (summer’s kiss for Marilou)

In one rainy morning
as the fog drifts in solitude
and the melancholy mist paints the naked window pane
thoughts and remembrance
fill the silent field of birds without flight
that the eyes may see what is in yesterday.

In one rainy morning
songs echo in gentle refrains
while words and rhymes sweeten longings and goodbyes
holding hands with the ideal
and reciting poems of unspoken doubts
that the wounds may heal in rhetorical musings.

In one rainy morning
far deep into the mind’s darkest corners
sins unforgiven are buried that hope may survive
and life may have a chance,
and happiness can bloom.

In one rainy morning
the summer’s heat dreams of the fervent sun
in endless frolic of innocence lost
of undressed virgins sans guilt nor shame.

In one rainy morning
there is only you to provide warmth
even in your absence
and the pesky musts of day to day living
yet the night waits in delicious anticipation
and a smile breaks with untamed desire.

In one rainy morning
the grasses bathe with the flowers and the trees
in a symphony of growth and decay
highlighting God’s creation as only nature can
that man may pay reverence, even believe.

In one rainy morning
sleepy eyes will forget
then wake to the the day breaking
Thankful for what was
what is
and what will be.

In one rainy morning.

Published in: on June 24, 2017 at 11:33 AM  Leave a Comment  

I am sorry, Rizal

I am sorry, Rizal

Your birthday came and went
and nobody noticed.
So much for being the national hero when the nation does not even care.
I wonder if the youth even know you and what you said about
them being the hope of the motherland.
Are you still significant?
Do your thoughts still matter?
Are your books still a “must read”?
Is your martyrdom still to be emulated?
The country you died for is even more than divided
where leaders place their self-interests before the people’s
and getting rich and holding on to power until kingdom come
remain to be the top priority.

I am sorry, Rizal.

Dead heroes like you just belong to graveyards
where flowers can not even grow,
where birds can not sing,
and the sun never shine.

I am sorry, Rizal

Rest in peace in silence.
Memories are only for dinosaurs
and they like you are long gone.
The conquistadors have left
and what remained
are their native proteges
who not only surpassed their mentors
but held on tighter in a more rapacious reign.

I am sorry, Rizal.

You have done your part
even in a vain effort
for the country you loved
for the people you adored.
Let new heroes do their part
and offer their bests and their lives
like you did.
And if one day they invoke your name again
let such be for glory and gratitude.
One you truly deserve.

For now,
I am sorry, Rizal.

Published in: on June 21, 2017 at 4:38 PM  Comments (1)  

Lumuluhang Bangkay: Ikalawang Aklat

Taong 2009

Sinong papalit sa bansot na nilalait?
FPJ na sikat, namatay na kay pait
humilera na ang mga trapo, ipinakita ang mga puwit
sa tronong luklukan, tunay na ipipilit.

Ano ang halalan kung walang dugo
sa bayang sawi, lahat gustong maging pinuno
Sa malayong Maguindanao, pinatay mahigit limampo
Pati ang buntis, binaril ng walang awa, walang puso.

Sa kandungan ng LP ay nagladlad ang mga pulpol
Si Roxas ang nangunguna, lahat ay humahabol
Ngunit dagok ng kapalaran, namatay si Corazon,
humirit ang walang muwang, kumandidato si Ngoy-ngoy!

Tulad ng inang sa halalan ay “nanalo”
Dahil sa pighati at luha ng balo
Anak na pakaang-kaang kung hindi tuliro
Aba sus ginoo, siya ang magiging Pangulo.

Nasaan ka Huwan, gumising ka naman
Iparating sa madla kabalbalang katotohanan
Tamad na may topak, pakiusap huwag naman
Huwang kawawa, nasagasaan sa tuwid na daan.

Taong 2010

I. Naluklok sa Malakanyang P-Noy na Aquino
Anak ng mga “bayani”, tuwid na tuwid kuno
patatalsiking lahat magnanakaw sa gobyerno
walang mahirap kung walang korap ang kanyang pangako.

Nakalimutan yata ang mga Kabarkada
Kaibigan. Kaklase, Kamag-anak at iba pa
Kabarilan, Kainuman, mga Kalarong masasaya
Inilagay sa posisyon upang magpasasa?

Tuwid na daang walang siga, walang wang-wang
Unang inupakan, Bangit na Heneral
Amuyong daw ni Arroyo na dapat matanggal
Isinunod si Coronang naalis nang bilisan.

Arroyong dating pangulo sinampahan ng kaso
Galing sa Malakanyang, bagsak ay kalaboso
Biglang nagkasakit, humingi ng TRO
Sagot ni P-Noy, ano ka sinuswerte, neknek mo.

Nasaan ka Huwan sa bagong kaharian
Ikaw ba’y Kabarkada o tunay na Kalaban
Sa hustisyang minadali, mga hukom ay binayaran
Tama o mali, ikaw ba’y may pakialam?

II. Doon sa Luneta na kanlungan ni Rizal
Pulis na may hinaing nang hostage ng dayuhan
payak na negosasyon nabako ng tuluyan
pumutok ang mga baril, kay dami ng patay.

Sino ang may sala, sino ang dapat sisihin
Si Puno ba, si Robredo o si Lim?
Imbestigasyong pulpol nabalot sa dilim
Dami ng bulilyaso, wala namang umamin.

Lumabas na katawatawa pamahalaang Pilipinas
P-Noy na bagito, kinantiyawan ng marahas
daming pumula, daming humalakhak
Wala siyang pake, sa video game nagpalipas.

Huwang lumuluha bakit napaka-tahimik
Pag-asa ba’y naglaho na sa madilim na langit
ano ang kinabukasan ng mga Pilipinong paslit
gutom at dalita, apdong kay pait?

Taong 2011

Kay sagwa ng mga tanong sa dating Heneral
tutuo bang may pabaong milyong karumaldumal?
sa tindi ng kastigong hindi na nakayanan
sa puntod ng ina, pinili’y kamatayan.

Sandatahang lakas na binigkis ng dugo
wala ng maipagmalaki, mga ulo’y nakatungo
mga buhay na ibinuwis, mga pighating binuno
kabayanihang walang katulad sa luha naglaho.

Nagpiyesta ang mga buwaya sa kampon ng senado
Pagnanakaw ay natakpan ng mga piping sundalo
Mga heneral ang korap, mga ganid na berdugo
Sa walang tinag na pagkakatayo, mura at lait tinanggap ng totoo.

Sa malayong kabundukan, sa pag-asa ng bukas
Kabataang matitino, inalipusta, binalasubas
Pamantasan ng mga Milyonaryo, ng mga mandurugas
Sigaw na nakabibingi, dagok na walang puknat.

Tinimpi ang galit, sinunod ang pamantayan
Katapangan, Katapatan, Kabuoan sa bayan ay alay
Tugon sa suklam ay pangako hanggang kamatayan
Buhay na aba, para sa Pilipinas lamang.

Ano naman ang sabi ng mga mamamayan
Sa moro-morong imbestigasyon na wala namang saysay
Sige tawa na lang, ngitngit at batikos walang patutunguhan
isang kahig, isang tuka, pulpol na kapalaran.

Nakikita mo ba Huwan ang burak sa kanilang mukha
sa salaming basag, naglaho ang mga muta
kasakima’y walang hanggan, mga halang ang kaluluwa
Ihasa mo ang iyong gulok, Huwan, ‘yan ang tanging pag-asa.
Taong 2013

I. Tuwid na daan daw ang pamahalaan ni Aquino
Paniwala ang madla, oo lang ng oo,
Ngunit sumambulat “pork” ng Ina Mo,
Sampung bilyong kinurakot ng mga ganid na manloloko.

Sa pamamaraan ni Napoles magaling ang pagnanakaw
pampataba ng lupa tunay na kayamanan
mga mambabatas na korap, nagpasasa ng tuluyan
mga salaping kinamkam lagpas pa sa kamatayan.

Mahigit sa isang daan, mga mandurugas na idinawit
mambabatas daw, at kagalanggalang, ‘yon pala’y mga buwisit
ngunit sa idinamidami, tatlo lang ang napiit
sa mga alipores ni Aquino, ni isa hindi sumabit.

Ngumawngaw ang mga tao sa maladambuhalang nakawan
sa Luneta’y nagsisisigaw, pagngangalit na walang param
ngunit ang pamahalaan, bingi at walang pakiramdam
galit na hanggang langit, nauwi sa kawalan.

Nandoon ka ba Huwan sa dating Bagumbayan
kung saan si Rizal namatay ng walang saysay
narinig mo ba ang hinaing ng sawing mamamayan
may pag-asa pa kaya ang perlas ng silanganan?

II. Ngitngit ng langit, unos na kay lakas
Hanging walang patawad, along napakadahas
Bagyong Yolanda sinalanta buong Visayas
kay dami ng namatay sa araw na walang bukas.

Sa tindi ng paghihirap at walang kahulilip na dalamhati
saklolo ng gobyerno kakapiranggot, kakaunti
sagot sa mga luhaan, pangako at panay sisi
mga bangkay na nagkalat, nanga-agnas sa pighati.

Buong mundo tumulong, sangkatauhan ay nakiramay
Bigas, tubig, damit at salapi ipinadala ng walang param
Ngunit ngitngit ng kulog, sa bulilyaso ni Soliman
Mga pagkain ay nabulok, mga tulong ay nasayang.

“Bahala na kayo sa buhay nyo” sabi ni Roxas na magaling
“E buhay ka pa naman” sang-ayon ni Abnoy na inutil
Sa duguang labing kinagat sa ubod ng pagngangalit
Buhay na hampas lupa, humalo sa uhog at luha na kay pait.

Wala na ang unos, dagat na ay payapa
Ngunit ang lupa ay humahagulgol sa kawalan ng pag-asa
Mga patay ay inilibing ng walang kabaong, walang awa
Pamahalaang inutil, panay satsat, wala namang ginawa.
Bangon na Huwan, bagyo na ay humupa
Langit na busilak puno ng panata
Bingi ka ba Huwan, bakit ang mga mata moy’ walang luha?
Piping mga labi, buhay ay wala na nga.

Taong 2014

Nobel Peace Prize ang tanging ambisyon
Ni Abnoy na huwad, pangulong pulpol
Sa MILF, MNLF, BIFF kasunduang panay suhol
Sa Malaysia nagpahalay na parang asong ulol.

Di bale nang mamatay mga sundalong sawi
Makapagyabang lang, tumaas lang ang ihi
Sa bangag na adhikain kapalit ay pighati
Nawalan na ng isip, Abnoy na panay sisi.

Samantala naman sa banda ng PDAF
Walang nangyari, mga tulisa’y nakatakas
mga alipores ni Abnoy at barkada ni Abad
Tuloy ang ligaya sa daang matuwad.

Tumingin kayo sa bundok ng Payatas
Doon ay samyuin ang baho ng pagka-korap
Pulubing patay gutom, pagkain ay “pagpag”
Masisikmura nyo kaya, Pilipinong sakdal hirap?

Sige kain pa, sige biyahe pa, sige mga halimaw
magpasasa sa yaman na inyong ninakaw
Huwag lang matulog, lahat at guwardyahan
Si Huwang may gulok, wala ng takot mamatay!
Taong 2015
Gaano kalalim ang bukal ng iyong luha?
Nagimbal ka ba sa apatnaputapat na kawawa?
pinatay, pinagbabaril, saka pinagtataga
Habang ang pamahalaan, ginawa ay wala!

Dumating ang mga kabaong ng mga bayaning patay
Sa katahimikan ng Diyos, sila ay hihimlay
Ngunit, ngitngit ni Barabas, ano itong kahayupan
Abnoy na Pangulo, nasa isang handaan.

Putang inang ‘yan at putang ina pa
Nasaan ang puso, ang pakikiramay sa aba?
Mas mahalaga ba ang sa Hapon ay makipagkita
Mga patay na bayani, wala talagang kuwenta?

Sa kanyang ngising aso, at tuluyang walang pake
Ipinakita sa mundo, katauhang parang tae
Ngunit lumusot din, wala ring nangyari
Pangulong karumaldumal, walang galang sa mga bayani.

Nagmumura ka ba Huwan, dibdib mo ba’y sasabog
Siya ba ay pangulo o isang Hudas na bugok
Kalmahin ang bulkan, ang pagngangalit ng loob
Panatiliing bagong hasa, ang kakambal na gulok!

Taong 2016
Botohan na naman sa bayan mo Huwan
Mga palalo at kurap sa puwesto’y nag-unahan
Walang pasubali, walang kahihiyan
Mga tunay na mandurugas, mga hari ng kabuktutan.

Isa sa kanila, Roxas daw na matino
Itutuloy daw niya, daang walang liko
Mataas na pinag-aralan labas naman ay bano
Sa puwit ni Abnoy, nakasiksik, nakatago.

Si Poe na Amerkano, anak ni Da King
popular na popular, mabigat ang dating
Niligawan ng husto ni Abnoy na matsing
Bise ni Roxas? ano ako, duling?

Nandoon din si Binay, Obama daw ng Pilipinas
Ngunit ang maitim ay budhi, hindi ang labas
Makating iniwan, ninakawan, binalasubas
Baboy na naka-aircondition ang siyang katulad.

Sa malayong Davao, si mayor ay sumugod
Pilipinas na kawawa, sa droga’y nakalugmok
Korapsyon hanggang langit pipiliting matapos
Patay kung patay, bahala na ang Diyos.

Nag-isip si Huwan ng malalim na malalim
buhay na dalita, punong-puno ng lagim
hirap at pasakit, walang tantan, walang pigil
sino sa kanila ang tunay na magiting?

Duterte ang sigaw ng masang naghihirap
ng mga mga matatandang naglaho ang pangarap
ng mga kabataang madilim ang hinaharap
ng milyong Pilipinong nawalan na ng bukas.

O, hindi, sigaw ng mga trapo at oligarkiya
Bastos na Duterte nanalo na nga
Kailangang ipursigi, operasyong pagsipa
Gamitin ang lahat upang si Mayor ay masira.

Tumingin si Huwan sa araw na bagong sikat
Sa kalawakan ng langit , sa pag-asang kumakalat
may badya ang unos ayon sa alamat
sa liwanag ng umaga at mapait na ngiti, hinasa ang itak.

Ito ang huling baraha ng buhay na sawi
Papatay o mamatay, di na mamimili
Pilipinas na mahal, kayumangging lahi
Tayo na’t lipulin ang  mga mang-aapi!

18 Mayo, 2017

Published in: on May 18, 2017 at 6:04 PM  Comments (2)