Retribution Poem by Cheryl L. DaytecYañgot

I was a caller when your forebears
celebrated the matrimony of two people
I joined their steadfast adjuration for a
blissful and abundant life for the couple.
I listened to their profound colloquy
on the perpetuation of the human race
through some bustle in the dark of night.
I was the blithe breeze that fanned their
exultation radiating across the tribe,
enthusiastic to receive the promise
of the preservation of their bloodline.

I was a caller when your forebears
welcomed the advent of a newborn.
I swayed as they pirouetted for elation
A child presaged vast hope for the tribe.
I smiled as they importuned the Unseen
for a life full of justice for the neonate.
I joined their jubilation and heard them
as they marveled at the miracle of life -
that it could begin with an infant so tiny.
I was the cool rain that watered the land.
I provided life to the grains that nourished
the child to manhood, future of his people.

I was a caller when your forebears
bemoaned the passing away of one of them.
I felt their hearts shatter into tiny fragments
not quite comprehending that someone so
good would have a brief sojourn on earth.
I wailed as they wailed and begged the
heavens to accept the soul of the deceased.
I cupped my hands and gathered their tears;
I drank the saline water to fathom Sorrow.
I was the ground they consigned the body
to till it compounded with the parched earth
and endowed life to the green gone brown.

I was there from the beginning with them
I am not One of You; you do not know me.
The colonizers and their conspirators among
you have gouged your eyes: you are blind to
my body’s lacerations, source of abysmal pain.
They have broken your ears: you do not hear
my cries coming from the bowels of my being.
You embraced Deception and banished Truth.
I am now what you have made me become.

I am the River powerless to appease thirst,
become a black swimming pool for debris,
deathbed of fishes and mollusks, your food.
I am the dreary Air that smothers Breath.
I blend with contagion from your factories
and cars, strewing Death into your bodies.
I am the greasy Sea impotent to harbor Life,
a pit for your plastic bags and metal junk.
I am the Mountain unable to produce aliment.
You made me bald and frail: I erode at times
burying thousands as they plead for their lives.

I am Forgotten: you have made me your foe.