Wednesday, May 19, 2010
dried by a fierce sun
grown fiery with age.
I lick my dried lips
longing for a cold, wet drink.
I think about this thirsty land
bathed with blood
of kin and countrymen
for centuries fighting enemies
that come relentlessly.
When will this bloodshed
Not when greed remains.
Not where there still sits a patch of land
worthy to plant rice, grow crops,
where carabaos can muddle in mud.
Not with gun-toting goons
warlords keep with their gold.
Not when all efforts exerted
to keep the ballot safe -
Not until all the pockets of mortals
have been drained in favor of the gods.
Not until all sweat and blood
has been poured so that a few can live
Not with every able bodied soul
will erringly choose the highest bidder.
Not with every vote cast is not counted
and those that was not cast, counted.
When will we ever be free?
When will we ever see the light
that shines on our neighbors?
Maybe not now but hopefully
it is not never.
I am a beginner in poetry.I think I have a lot to learn from poets like you.
Will be coming back to read more.