(Poem)
how many packs of cigarettes, lolo hugo,
do you have to sell through the day
to buy pancit guisado
in be ho’s restaurant
at the corner of elizondo
for your waiting grandchild
inside a kneeling praying shanty
on the shoulder of the murky estero?
could you not just take home
plenty of holy bread
from the altar of father san pedro
and soak in holy water your cold rice?
the food might taste like stewed lamb
in the mouth of your crying haggard wife.
do you have to sell through the day
to buy pancit guisado
in be ho’s restaurant
at the corner of elizondo
for your waiting grandchild
inside a kneeling praying shanty
on the shoulder of the murky estero?
could you not just take home
plenty of holy bread
from the altar of father san pedro
and soak in holy water your cold rice?
the food might taste like stewed lamb
in the mouth of your crying haggard wife.
still sleeping is the black nazarene
inside the glossy glass coffin.
inside the glossy glass coffin.
even you walk on oftentimes, lolo hugo,
from the spouting mouth
of the streets of r. hidalgo
down to the pulsating breast
of bilibid viejo
your feet could not kick a peso
nor a bread from heaven falls
nor your hands
be wet with porridge
cigarettes of those addicted like you
yes, cigarettes, and cigarettes
would make your eyes glare, lolo hugo.
from the spouting mouth
of the streets of r. hidalgo
down to the pulsating breast
of bilibid viejo
your feet could not kick a peso
nor a bread from heaven falls
nor your hands
be wet with porridge
cigarettes of those addicted like you
yes, cigarettes, and cigarettes
would make your eyes glare, lolo hugo.
still sleeping is the black nazarene
inside the glossy glass coffin.
inside the glossy glass coffin.
how many decades had past, lolo hugo,
yet you’re still retailing cigarettes?
we’ve met so many times
at the bosom of plaza miranda
during the many seething bloody protests
against the grim unjust dictatorship
we’re both young and strong then
and could still run and board a jeepney
but now we’re both jerking grandpas
struggling so hard to survive
hoping against hope for a better life.
yet you’re still retailing cigarettes?
we’ve met so many times
at the bosom of plaza miranda
during the many seething bloody protests
against the grim unjust dictatorship
we’re both young and strong then
and could still run and board a jeepney
but now we’re both jerking grandpas
struggling so hard to survive
hoping against hope for a better life.
still sleeping is the black nazarene
inside the glossy glass coffin.
inside the glossy glass coffin.
how many bell’s tolls, lolo hugo,
reverberated in your ears?
how many hymns and psalms
made you dream forevermore?
cigarettes! cigarettes!
though forbidden to be smoked everywhere
but poisonous is not the carbon dioxide
from the vehicles exhaust pipes
for us scavengers of whatever graces
from the pockets of our merciful god
how would you feed then
your dear waiting grandchild?
reverberated in your ears?
how many hymns and psalms
made you dream forevermore?
cigarettes! cigarettes!
though forbidden to be smoked everywhere
but poisonous is not the carbon dioxide
from the vehicles exhaust pipes
for us scavengers of whatever graces
from the pockets of our merciful god
how would you feed then
your dear waiting grandchild?
still sleeping is the black nazarene
inside the glossy glass coffin.
inside the glossy glass coffin.
but we couldn’t tell, lolo hugo,
soon the black nazarene might wake up
through the kisses and embraces
of his millions of devotees
he might stand up and move
through the masses and prayers
of blessed father san pedro
then the nazarene would brandish
his big wooden cross
and behead the greedy mammals
in the palace of injustices
and slash open
the bellies of bureaucratic crooks
so they couldn’t grab and monopolize
the blessings we so rightly deserve.
soon the black nazarene might wake up
through the kisses and embraces
of his millions of devotees
he might stand up and move
through the masses and prayers
of blessed father san pedro
then the nazarene would brandish
his big wooden cross
and behead the greedy mammals
in the palace of injustices
and slash open
the bellies of bureaucratic crooks
so they couldn’t grab and monopolize
the blessings we so rightly deserve.
still sleeping is the black nazarene
inside the glossy glass coffin.
inside the glossy glass coffin.
yes, we couldn’t tell, lolo hugo,
once the black nazarene wakes up
we’ll raise the chalice of blood
we’ll make the enslaving haciendas
and factories of greed and penury
and the moss-covered bastions
of the rapacious ruling class
hear the chorus of gunfires and bombs
and the rampaging procession of the masses
would surge on to liberate
the oppressed-downtrodden class
from the manacles of injustices and greed
so, you, lolo hugo,
could take home pork lechon and adobo
for your waiting dear grandchild.
once the black nazarene wakes up
we’ll raise the chalice of blood
we’ll make the enslaving haciendas
and factories of greed and penury
and the moss-covered bastions
of the rapacious ruling class
hear the chorus of gunfires and bombs
and the rampaging procession of the masses
would surge on to liberate
the oppressed-downtrodden class
from the manacles of injustices and greed
so, you, lolo hugo,
could take home pork lechon and adobo
for your waiting dear grandchild.
yet, now, lolo hugo,
still sleeping is the black nazarene
inside the glossy glass coffin!
still sleeping is the black nazarene
inside the glossy glass coffin!
(My English version of NATUTULOG PA RIN NAZARENONG ITIM. Lolo is the common term in Filipino for grandfather; estero is a murky stinking canal usually within the city; pancit guisado is sauted noodles.)
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