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(October 31,1980 / Zamboanga Ctiy)

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Scarecrow

Innocent child,
wake up from your rainbow colored dreams,
listen to the red feathered rooster,
it crows the early dawn's burden,
hang on me,
dance along with the swaying golden weeds
among the fields of corn,
watch the trees of blue and gray,
follow me on the dikes of rice fields of amber green,
look at the scarecrow,
it looks like death,
open up your eyes to the sad realities,
the common farmer of tattered clothes,
his pockets filled with mud,
he is a prisoner of a violent semi-feudalism,
with hands wrapped in callous,
bleeding while tilling the bone-dry land,
he works like a slave for his landlord.

Little child,
even the plain smells with fog,
moistened leaves keep on falling over your head,
but never close your eyes,
do not be scared to see the toiling man's stomach,
it has been empty for ages,
he is nailed on the cross of ferocious poverty,
dying,
suffering,
yet our politicians live in luxury,
do nothing but to corrupt for eternal power,
they keep on pretending as common farmer's saviors,
but they are actually scarecrows,
the angels of death,
do not trust even you admire them with sugar-coated words,
sooner they will give you the worst blow.

sweet child,
open up your mind to the relentless cruelties of this world,
the common farmer's skin is burning,
still toiling under the hell of the sun,
sweating with blood,
and his eyes are flowing with tears of agony,
yet the government does nothing to give him a decent life,
he goes to church every sunday morning,
confessing everything about liberation,
asking for freedom from the madness of hunger,
but he realizes not,
people around him,
including laymen,
also are victims of brutal political corruption.

Submitted: Sunday, November 03, 2013
Edited: Monday, November 04, 2013


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