Rogelio L. Ordoñez's Blog, page 7

I Don’t Ever Wanna See The Motherfuckers!

(Poem)

i hope our paths never cross again

be it in the sidewalk of raon and avenida

much more in the street of protest

and plaza of progressive ideas

i hope we never share again

the table of ideology

and speak of national salvation

or the dignity of the oppressed people

i don’t ever wanna see the motherfuckers!

i never wanna see them again

those audacious warriors

during the dictatorial regime

those brandishing then their concern

for the victims of injustices

those desiring radical national change

those who struggled then

but after snuffing now

the alluring odor of money

to hell with their principles and dignity

to the point of even defending

injustices and exploitations

in the loony society

and rotten bureaucracy

so arrogant they are now

as if they own the world

though the earth will gobble them soon

or be pulverized in a crematorium.

i don’t ever wanna see the motherfuckers!

what right would they have

but only to deceive the people

by pretending they are principled mammals

and their honor is not for sale?

the motherfuckers!

they are now notorious thieves

and purveyors of deceits

in our society’s putrid market

for them to hoodwink the oppressed masses

they are even pawning the national welfare

in the corridors of power

to amass hidden wealth

and detestable privileges

though they live in shame.

i don’t ever wanna see the motherfuckers!

my tongue will be a sharp cutlass

to slash their chest and belly

and gouge their eyes

and sever their limbs

and butcher their corpses

to fertilize the ricefields

and the earth made barren

by the exploitative class.

i don’t ever wanna see them, never!

my brain will be aflame

my blood will simmer in my veins

my stomach will vomit everything

due to their stench

i can’t bear to gaze at them

or even take a glance

those fake nationalists

those disciples of greed

those swindlers of pride

oh, god damn it

to hell with decency and dignity

as long as the price is always right.

i don’t ever wanna see the motherfuckers!

the earth will gobble them soon

or the crematorium will pulverize them

the aspirations of the masses

will still transfigure

through unceasing struggle

until society is radically changed

to finally prevail

genuine justice and democracy

and the exploitative ruling class

are turned to ashes in our land

the motherfuckers!

(modified from the original English version by TILDE ACUNA of my AYOKO NANG MAKITA ANG MGA PUTANG’NA)

Glorify

(Poem)

glorify

those who were shot in the mouth

those whose tongues were cut

because they revealed

the secrets and hocus pocus

in the palace of the crooks.

glorify

those whose hands were smashed

those whose fingers were cut

because they wrote

scathing truths

against the worm-ridden society.

glorify

those whose eyes were gouged out

those whose ears were slashed

because they saw the face of injustice

and clearly heard the voice

of greediness and exploitation.

glorify

those whose knees were sawed-off

their bones crushed

because they refused to kneel

at the alluring altar

of corrupt false gods.

glorify

those whose balls were electrocuted

those whose nipples were bitten-off

those forced to drink urine

and heads shoved into the toilet bowl

because they refused to kowtow.

glorify

those who were beheaded

whose severed heads kicked and rolled

down the mountain’s slopes

because their brains were seething

against the rapacious exploiters.

glorify

those who were cemented in drums

fed to the ocean’s navel

because they would not stop fighting

for a peaceful, progressive

sweet-scented democratic society.

yes, glorify them all

those who sacrificed blood and life

in the time of their journey

those who felled in the pitch-dark night

while the fireflies kept vigil

and lamenting was the plated moon.

glorify, yes, glorify

those whose aims were honorable

those whose dreams were sacred

those who desired to eradicate

the scourge of misery and sorrow

and the onslaught of darkness and fear.

glorify them all

blazing petals of fire

are their memories

that will illuminate

our hearts and minds

they are like diamonds

glittering forevermore

or brilliantly shining billion stars

enkindling our paths

until the enveloping darkness dies

and from the slit-open belly

of the exploitative class

social justice, progress

and genuine democracy

soon will be brought forth

to prevail in our beloved land!

(modified English version by KARLA LENINA COMANDA of my GUNITAIN)

Maita (Ka Dolor) Gomez

(Poem)

when the blood

of the oppressed class

boiled in your veins

and the woes of the poor

roared in your heart

you repudiated, maita,

the stage of hypocrisy

you renounced, maita,

the white curtain

of deluding lights

your face then washed

in the spring of truth

to see clearly society’s

abominable contradictions.

you exposed and dissected, maita,

rampant injustices and exploitations

by the insatiable lords of mammonism

you espoused not only women’s welfare

but embraced the sacred cause

of the impoverished masses

you marched with the cadence

of thousands of feet

your voice reverberated

in the streets of protest

and thunderously shouted:

ma-ki-ba-ka! hu-wag ma-ta-kot!

ma-ki-ba-ka! hu-wag ma-ta-kot!

you cuddled, ka dolor,

the mountain’s breast

you danced with the trees

of the loving forest

you considered as pearls

the dewdrops on the grass

you bathed in the watered riceland

and consecrated your flaming heart

with sacrosanct love

for the land

where flowing till now

the tears of grief

of an enslaved race.

yes, ka dolor,

once an armed warrior you were

against the horror-filled

and oppressive regime

still haunting our land

roaming still are the greedy lords

society’s pests in our midst

though you were incarcerated, ka dolor,

disgraced by dictatorship

your dreams did not vanish in thin air

like an uncut diamond

or glittering emerald

to push forth the sacred cause

to let shine on the face

of our forsaken land

the brilliance of billion stars.

though you bade goodbye, maita,

to our beloved la tierra pobreza

though the whispering praying wind

and your last dying gasps of love

sent you off with the shadow of the night

still you are a blazing torch

in every unfortunate’s heart

still you are a marble marker

that could not be detached

from the land

of unwavering struggle

of the oppressed class

splurging will be

your hot creative blood

in the veins of the poor and unfortunate

times could not erase

your heroic memories

the rampaging hurricane or deluge

in cities and towns will not decimate

your memorial in the heart of radical change.

as long as injustices reign

the crooks and demigods prevail

and true democracy is suppressed

as long as workers are slaves

of grease and machine in factories of greed

as long as peasants are entombed

in vast haciendas not theirs

wherever you are

you be maita or ka dolor

the hissing lightning

the rumbling thunder

will bring forth your rebellious voice:

ma-ki-ba-ka! hu-wag ma-ta-kot!

ma-ki-ba-ka! hu-wag ma-ta-kot!

(my modified English version of MAITA (KA DOLOR) GOMEZ. makibaka, huwag matakot means struggle, fear not)

A Night of Eternity

(Poem)

lorena barros

crucified in the crevice of your brain

the worm-infested cadaver of paganism

while afire in your eyes

the candle of the revolution

with you was the torch of a scented dawn

when you arrived in a desert cave

as tremulous shadows strode to death.

in a night of eternity

kiss, lorena, kiss

the bellies with flirting flies

hear, lorena, hear

the tolling of clangorous bells

while metamorphosing on my feet

a morsel of rice and bread crumbs

revolution, lorena, revolution

is the sharp cutlass

that will slash the dumb minds.

in my desert cave

alone i arrived

and alone also

will i leave

the shore of my soul

in a night of eternity.

(my modified English version of ISANG MAGDAMAG NG KAWALANGHANGGAN)

Tears of Grief of Our Race

(Poem)

in the few decades

of our journey

in the forest

of darkness and fear

we are shadows

faceless and nameless

in the books of history

we are blood poured

on the yellowish

blades of grass

we are skeletons

embedded on the wall of misery

we are notes and lyrics

of sonorous rebellious hymns

in our crying dolorous land.

but in every falling

tears of grief induced by

iniquity and greed

of the exploitative class

our conjoined protruding veins

will wriggle on the breast

of every unfortunate

while violently gyrating

blazing petals of fire

within our seething mind

raging always are the pupils

of our eyes which have seen

the stigma of sorrow and misery

of the oppressed class.

still continuously dropping

our race’s tears of grief

hot as smoldering iron

on the anvil of sacred dreams

the crawling tears meandering

on the peasant’s haggard face

on the worker’s scrawny breast

on the demolished shanty

beside the pungent canal

on a prostrate lean body

in the sidewalk of despair.

yes, still springing

the tears of grief of our race

from every pulsating

bleeding heart

pierced by the debasing sword

of enslaving lords

of cruelty and injustices

when will

the flaming fire’s tongue

lick and dry

the emanating tears of grief

from the abysmal eyes

of our beloved land?

(my modified English version of LUHA NG DALAMHATI NG LAHI)

A Loaf Of Bread For Magdalena

(Poem)

i saw

one greyish morning

my daughter magdalena

sitting

on the mango tree’s

bulging root

holding a hardened

loaf of bread

unlike a sandwich

with spam or ham

or even sugar granules.

she was savoring

every bite

while some red ants

were patiently waiting

beside her feet

and suddenly

our eyes met

she smiled

i was teary-eyed

and i kicked madly

the solid earth.

(my modified English version of PANDESAL KAY MAGDALENA)

Desaparecidos You’re Not

(Poem)

desaparecidos you’re not

you did not vanish in thin air

you gobbled by the earth

you whose body butchered

the flesh sliced

to fertilize the wild grass

you are not lost

you cemented in a drum

masticated by the sea

or let to decompose

in some stinking obscure jail

you whose severed head

kicked like a ball

and rolled on the forest’s breast

you whose skeleton disjointed

and the dislocated finger bones

dangling in the mouth of a stray dog

scavenging in a shrubby hill.

desaparecidos you’re not

you did not vanish in thin air

your disgraced earthen body

just metamorphosed

in the grayish mornings

or heat-throbbing noontime

in the dying sun at sunset

or nights of the pallid moon

there you are…

there you are

in the dewdrops

in every blade of grass

there you are

in the bloody baby’s cries

coming out from the mother’s womb

there you are

in the springing sweat

on the face and forehead

of a toiling-enslaved worker

in the fungi-infested

feet and legs

of a tired emaciated farmer

in the lamentations of the poor

in the fortress of misery

in the hissing of breath

of everyone bravely fighting

for the honor and freedom

for the glory and joy

of our beloved homeland.

desaparecidos you’re not

you did not vanish in thin air

you’re just water gulped

by the thirsty heat’s mouth

you’ll soon be dark clouds

in the horizon of discontent

then you’ll be arrows

of incessant rain

piercing the land made barren

by darkness and fear

you are seeds of undying hope

will sprout again and again

you are yellowish plants

mowed by cruelty and force

soon will be verdant

under the glaring light

yes, you are not lost

desaparecidos you’re not

your veins and ours

are still conjoined

your blood flowing

in the sinews of our flesh and heart

your dreams are one

with our unceasing desire.

yes, desaparecidos you’re not

you did not vanish in thin air

your earthen body just metamorphosed

you will live forevermore

in our flaming heart and mind

in the ardent kiss and tight embrace

of your persistent memories

the prayer-lamentation

of your teary-eyed love ones

will not go to waste

though enemies you were

in the eyes of the forces of evil

brilliant stars you are

in our rebellious mind

blazing fire you are

lighting our chosen path

for us to violently unshackle

the manacles of oppression and servitude!

(my modified English version of DI KAYO DESAPARECIDOS)

Where Is Svetlana Taraskova?

(Poem)

gone is the russian tea house

beside the glendale galleria

gone is the aroma

of the hot tea-vanilla

no more is the small table

i used to write the lines

of loneliness and struggle

no more is the ashtray

of my dying cigarette butts

gone is the huge frame

of painted scenes

of the russian bolshevik revolution

no more is the clinking of vodka goblets

where is svetlana taraskova?

where are her deep eyes

swimming in there are poetic images

of the cotton-like sea of snow

in the streets of moscow

beheaded there was her grandfather

by the barbaric romanov’s soldiers

then his severed head kicked

like a ball rolling

during that blazing fire of freedom

in a stormy lightning-flashing

dark regime of czar nicholas

and czarina alexandra?

gone is the russian tea house

beside the glendale galleria

but still there

the boutique of wedding gowns

did svetlana taraskova already wear

one of those majestic dresses?

or she already returned to russia

and repulsed the pangs of america?

unlike the many juans and juanas

wholeheartedly embracing

uncle sam’s vices and culture

and could no more recall

the mountainous poetic cordillera

the inviting ricefields

of bulacan and nueva ecija

the mesmerizing sea of batanes and sulu

and much more foreign to their recollection

the likes of andres bonifacio

lorena barros and tanya domingo

or others who sacrificed their lives

for the nation to metamorphose

and reign forevermore

genuine social justice

and national democracy.

gone is the russian tea house

beside the glendale galleria

where is svetlana taraskova?

on many mornings savoring

the aroma of tea-vanilla

often i heard from her

the ardent love and longing

for her beloved homeland

her cradle of lovely memories

swimming also in my tea

for so many chilly mornings

the brave heroic face

of vladimir ilyich ulyanov

or the great lenin forevermore

and other heroes and martyrs

of the bolshevik revolution

she narrated to me the lives

and works of great writers

of her dear country

tolstoi, gorky and dostoevsky

chekov, pasternak and turgenev

unlike the juans and juanas

in the so-called

land of milk and honey

who are familiar only

with the chattering cristeta

and other movie lascivious idols

and those often involved

in orgasmic sexual behavior.

where is now svetlana taraskova?

is she with pancho villa and emiliano zapata?

or holding a vigil

with simon bolivar and che guevara?

or on a journey with jacinto and bonifacio?

or feasting with ho chi minh and mao?

gone is the russian tea house

beside the glendale galleria

but still there

the boutique of wedding gowns

lurking in my consciousness

the corrupt rulers of my country

and i vividly see now

the reddish face of svetlana taraskova

agonizing with unconquerable hatred

where really is she now?

(my modified English version of NASAAN NA SI SVETLANA TARASKOVA?)

From Tanya

(Poem)

thank you

for the odes and fragrant words

thank you

for the cluster of fresh flowers

for the compassions and condolences

of the fudge tajars

and kislap alitaptaps

of those unified

by grief and misery

of the tormented

long-suffering masses

yes, thank you

to all friends and comrades

in our decades of struggle.

thank you, my comrades

weep not our parting

be not saddened by my departure

am not lost

you can still feel my lips

when the wind smacks your face

you can still hear my voice

in the rumbling of protests

against the putrid system

along the city streets

near the palace of greed.

am not lost, my comrades

shed not a tear for our rupture

in the crystal-clear spring

of our liberating dreams

you can epitomize my face

you will feel my undying love

in every pulsating heart

of those enslaved

and deprived of human dignity

in every ricefield and factory

of injustice and rapacity

yes, you can feel me

in every worker’s blistered palms

you can smell me

in the peppery odor

of a peasant’s armpit’s sweat.

am always there, always…

am one with the dancing

blooming talahib of the hinterland

am one with the dewdrops

descending on every blade of grass

am one with every swaying stalk of palay

am one with the flying sparrows

am one with the united front

holding vigil in the moonless night

and fireflies are the lonely light.

we are still together, my comrades

bear in mind always

a life sacrificed for one’s country

and the oppressed masses

will never be like rotten debris

never let the hissing lightning

smolder our love for our country

our sole breast and belly

though the earth soonest gobbles

our flesh and bones

we are the steaming blood

flowing incessantly

in every rebellious vein

against injustice and penury

sacred dreams we are

always reaching for the sky

to see social justice reigns

always flapping the tireless wings

for the country’s metamorphosis.

thank you for the odes, my comrades

thank you for the fragrant condolences

thank you for the incense of concerns

our earthen bodies though separated

still conjoined are our veins

with the same type of revolting blood

consecrating in our consciousness

the righteousness of purpose…

to set ablaze the petals of freedom!

(my modified English version of MULA KAY TANYA)

Fernandina

(Poem)

ants crawled

on your pallid face

fernandina

while sprawled out

on the shrubby hill

your fallen body

with bullet holes

the spattering rain

did not wipe out

the blood that sprung

from your chest

belly and thighs

the crystal-like dewdrops

kissed the corners

of your eyes which had fathomed

the grief and misery

of the oppressed class.

not a single star twinkled

last violent night

even the moon’s face

hid beneath the black clouds

amidst the staccato of gunfires

but you did not retreat

fernandina

you stood firmly

you grasped tightly

the blazing gun of freedom

and let your collared comrades

breakout to safety

for your beloved land

only the whispering wind

of the chilly morning

sung you a familiar lullaby

fernandina.

monument you will remain

in our memories

even though the dried leaves

of togetherness will begin

to gently kiss the muddy soil

fernandina

the seed of undying love

for glory and freedom

of our disenchanted land

will always sprout and bloom

in the mountain’s belly

in the city’s breast

while the blood of those like you

fernandina

is being shed

on the land made barren

by exploitation and injustices.

fernandina

you will live forevermore

in the conjoining veins

of the enslaved victims

of the exploitative class

the stars will soon be brilliant

in the darkness of night

the moon will execrate

the demigods on earth

and the violent wind

will hum the cadences

of marching millions-feet

in the memorial of freedom…

long live, fernandina!

(my modified English version of FERNANDINA)