" The Camp "
I
An old man speaks
Let them feel the pang of hunger.
Lead them here
those who now sleep in the softness
of pillows and mistresses,
those who day by day, wear
comfortable clothes,
and shiny shoes,
those with Rolexes, and cars
and mansions.
Let them take the path the children walked
just this morning, bellies full
of ceaseless hunger.
Let them feel the grass blade cutting
the skin from their legs as they run
in rice paddies, forest, city streets,
let them scream
under a hail of bullets.
II
in Manila, a child asks
Grandpa, what are those?
"Ah fireworks, child,
Just fireworks
over at Mindanao."
They are pretty,
look, is that a house burning?
"Not a house child, just straw
made into a hut fit for burning,
see, it burns bright
and crackles!"
Aren't those children grandpa,
there by the fringes?
"yes child, and their parents too,
watchers, admirers of the view."
But they have tears grandpa
"child, It's the smoke"
They look sad grandpa, are they sad?
"Can one be sad at fireworks my child?
Its best that you sleep now,
the show will be over soon."
The senator yawns,
scrathes his ass,
and turns off the TV.
III
Malaria Quarantine, Refugee Camp
Leaning towards the earth
a child settles down to rest
under a vast sky
of red dreams
waiting for the flight of wings.
© 2003 Marty Abuloc
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