BLOOD TAINTED MONDAY
Semi - collage dreams suddenly collapsed,
While the chill of September's dawn crept into my veins,
And the scent of the wind outside smelled with horror,
Gunshots from ak-47 disturbed the airs' silence instead
Of the sweet melodies from cock's crows,
Blood tainted streets of bombs and tanks turned the beauty
Of misty sunshine into a perpetual nightmare,
This blood soaked Monday witnessed the gruesome strangulation
Of PEACE in the land of Zamboanga Hermosa.
From the small opening of our rusty gate,
Astonished eyes stared helplessly,
Streams of naked children running away,
But deep into the wilderness where they do not know
What lies ahead of their horizons,
And they were just floating adrift on another river of bloodshed.
All around me were so many faces,
Too many unfamiliar faces,
Paled by the brutal yet senseless intrusion
Of the MNLF bandits,
Hundreds of thoughts blown away,
While the roaming savages seized women as hostages,
And prized items for ransom,
hands tied men beheaded in cold blood,
Bodies hacked into pieces by the moros' kris of greed,
Raped young girls' dignities hidden under the shadow
Of the looters' flag of death,
And the petals of the blue roses along the street of Sta. Catalina withered
Beneath the drops of blood from the innocent victims.
Crying mothers rushing everywhere,
Clueless kids over their left shoulders,
While packed clothes hanging under their right arms,
An exhausted woman with eyes filled with bitter tears,
A child on her lap asked intelligently,
Is this the war for liberation?
This war is all about a struggle for self glorification,
A conflict armed with deceptions,
An ideologically bankcrupt upheaval,
Most certainly is a self interested business.
When darkness fell,
With the full moon,
Heavy exchanges of gunfires murdered the deafening silence,
Trembling explosions tore every fiber of social justice on this broken land,
Fires everywhere razed thousand of homes into ashes,
Just like death that could steal everything from you, even your soul,
And the night sky turned into hell,
Illuminating the ugliest picture of war.
Underneath the hell of blood,
A father's eyes kept on shedding tears,
Kneeling before his burning house,
While in his arms is the dead body of his son caught in a crossfire,
Too helpless and numb,
But to curse this moronic war.
Between the burning houses across the street,
A child came out with her little teddy bear doll,
Her face lined with anxieties,
Constanly looking for her dead mother and father,
She looked inside the burning window,
Screaming the name of her sister burned alive,
But a brave army soldier took her away from the war zone,
While in his arms,
Would this war be over tomorrow?
He answered not a single word but tears,
Because he certainly knows,
As long as human greed exist,
Then war would always be the chronic disease of mankind.