Invigorating To Walk Barefooted
(Poem)
at the intersecting roads
of via pescara and via firenze
mansions like in forbes
and alabang-ayala
the rows of houses
akin to gigantic coffins
empty of cadavers
once the morning yawns
do they sojourn somewhere
or suck up by planets
and would be coughed up
when the sun died at dusk?
then glaring would be
the huge electric bulbs
and in a procession
the cadavers would return
to the waiting empty homes.
i could not grasp life
in that territory of el diablo
always dying is the struggling self
like scattered decomposing trash
though would be alive again soon
i could not smell and appreciate
the fragrance of pierre cardin
or hugo boss or issey miyake
my nose still longs for
the armpits’ peppery odor
of workers and peasants
of the land saturated
by the blood and tears
of so many decades
of continuous heroic struggle
my senses still desire
to feel the harsh realities
of the lives of the unfortunate
of a long-oppressed class
here, in a foreign land,
robots and plastics
pass by the curtain
of my tired eyes wherein
swimming are so many bitter memories
of my native wretched land.
now like a magnet
is the hurricane’s wind
dragging my roaming feet
to go back home
to my waiting la tierra pobreza
two feet tired of traversing
criss-crossing unending roads
like my useless stupid life
not knowing when to suddenly end
and vanish in thin air
two feet made humid
by a pair of worn-out rubber shoes
in ascending and descending
mounds of soils and steep hills.
invigorating to walk barefooted
once again roaming around
in my la tierra pobreza
the cradle of my nightly dreams
to step on the muddy soil
of plowed irrigated fields
watered by tears and grief
and the pouring crying rain
invigorating to shove barefooted
the dewy jumbled wild grass
and shrubs of sugarcane fields
or to step on the oil and grease
spattered by machines of greed.
yes, invigorating to walk barefooted
on the heaving streets of protests
against injustices and grief
when blistering are the sun’s rays
nice to walk barefooted
on forests and mountains
on fields and urban cities
on the land springing are the tears
of an exploited enslaved race
on the land being watered
by the blood of revolutionaries
for the freedom and glory
of the oppressed-downtrodden class
yes, always there would be
rebellious longing hearts
in the breast of tormented lives
yes, you would barefooted feel more
the etched testaments of truths
in the masses wretched lives!
(My English version of MASARAP IYAPAK ANG HUBAD NA PAA)
