Memory Of The Sirens Poem by Gianni Pansensoy

9 days before the flood torn October,
weeks after the bloody raid by hostile moros,
numbers of sickening sights of raped and murdered women
are fast subsiding,
ambulances' sirens and media exaggeration among
the fields of resistance are in total silence,
black crows and mice feast on the flesh of
the bloated cadavers along Sta. Barbara,
while the tidal water washes away the bones and sinews,
and the monsoon wind cleanses the fouled odor air
infested with rotten MNLF's propaganda,
such tragic scenes written with the ink of blood on the
pages of everyone's memory.

At last!
Everybody is free from the pandemonium of death,
gunpowder and violence,
this merciless war is nearly over,
but the wound it inflicted seems incurable,
its pain radiates worst than tooth ache,
the pus from it decapitates vision for unity,
like a cancer infected by a perpetual hatred.

Even then the corpse of the MNLF murderers
buried in a mass grave,
with them is a relentless aspiration worthless of dying for,
beliefs corrupted by distorted historical lies,
and they are just sodomized by one man's
political ambition,
yet the leaves of dead trees keep on falling,
slashed by the bullets of machine guns,
trauma still terrifies the spirits of individuals,
the city is besieged by terror,
and confusion reaches the point of dementia.

The ghost of war is deadlier than bullets,
memories disturbed by screams of little girls
killed beneath the fury of fire,
minds haunted perpetually by the helpless faces
of children dying in hunger,
and souls always trailed by the shadows of dead
mothers who left thousand of orphans.