Posted in Marxist Aesthetics, people's war, poem, protest poetry, social realism

Narrative of the wind blowing on top of Sierra Madre

Photo courtesy of lawstude.net

The wind whispers
The name of those she has caressed
In the bosom of Sierra Madre:
They are true sons and daughters
Of this nation by the seas, she said.

They are neither angels nor Messiahs
But they bring hope to the poor,
The forgotten and the oppressed
They neither have gold nor silver
But in them are the visions of the free tomorrow.

They are often called the planter of terror
For they hold guns and bombs and mortars
But once you have known them
You will see their guns, bombs, and mortars
As garlands of sweet flowers, offered in the altars of change.

Be not afraid of them,
Whispers the wind from the mountains
Aside from Sierra Madre –
Befriend them, learn with them
Know their principles of true service and brotherhood.

You will not understand them at first
Not until you will be in retrospect
About the truths that this society holds:
The one who toils, never get wealthy;
And the one who plants, never get full.

Listen to them, as they march
Says the wind from Sierra Madre
Watch them as they conquer the sides
Going to the center, with vigor and might –
Sing with them, and rejoice with them
For they are the true sons and daughters of your nation at sea!

Antipolo City, February 18, 2010; near Sierra Madre

Author:

Isa lamang ordinaryong miron at mapangarapin si Noel Sales Barcelona na nagnanais magsulat ng hinggil sa kaniyang nadarama.

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