The Song of Rio Hondo

Beneath the fuschia painted sky of the setting sun, war torn houses still burning, razed into rubbles along the river banks of rio hondo, with walls devastated by bombs' explosions, and one by one the ceilings began to fly. The river's shallow but crystal clear water, with green sea weeds,mussels and oysters, once our childhoods' undisturbed playground, instantly became the unholy graveyard of the slain MNLF fighters, decaying cadavers scattered everywhere like worthless pieces of garbages, worst than dead animals, arms detached and eaten by the dogs displaced by the war they had created, brains splattered by bullets on mangrooves' roots, and face swollen with worms appeared beyond recognition. While the river that once flowed with the rhythm of neo-gothicism, singing with the sweet harmonies from the birds under the falling rain, but the chords suddenly went out of tune, disturbed by the torrential beat of a violent human upheaval, the orchestra of war bombs,cannons, and guns raised the flags of war concerts, and the water ran wild with the musical note of destruction, hysterically dancing along the melodies of blood, a tragic symphony of death.