A poem (taken from Budyong Han Samar) dedicated by a daughter to her parents who lost their lives in an ambush in Villa.
Does a bullet want to know
for whom it will serve
its sole purpose for being?
Does a hi-powered gun ever paint the face
of the one whom its cold nozzle
would defiantly ruin?
Does man ever hope to know
the name of each bullet
that would carve its heart
and end its reason for being?
Does the aggressor
finally connect the points
when mind yields control
over sense and reason?
Would Jose Ma. Sison, in the Netherlands, care
that rebels in the outskirts
of an island called Samar,
unilaterally wage war
caught in the crossroads…
of political strife?
Would Ma. Corazon C. Aquino deplore
such failure of democracy –
when the right of ordinary man to live
is denied beyond repair,
along a lonely and obscure road;
no celebrations or monuments-
their anguish forever etched,
in the highest ethers?
Does Fidel V. Ramos understand
that even a strong armed forces,
and sharp military strategy,
cannot defend the ordinary Filipino,
from a heinous crime of wanton bloodbath
waged upon the armless masses?
These thoughts too sublime for me:
for I am but a simple bullet,
along with hundreds of other bullet-friends,
fortuitously meeting our noblest clients;
Do I know their names?
Who? Nenita? Jose?
Jose, an ordinary municipal budget officer,
helping found the municipal high school;
passionately building in a local water utility service;
competently teaching all math subjects in high school;
early on, simply serving as councilor;
Yet, consistently indifferent
to flaunting name or service
even in founding documents;
He would simply say,
“The Lord gives one a privilege to share.”
Ma. Nenita, a Cum Laude;
of St. Paul’s College, Tacloban.
Would Imelda Romualdez (later Marcos)
ever remember Nenita?
a college-mate, then working with Imelda
on some college projects?
Three long decades as fifth grade teacher,
of sublime Villareal Elementary School, in Samar;
Indifferent to the limelight of career:
School Principal or Supervisor?
No. She would simply say,
“I would like to help the poorest
and the slowest ones:
they who are in the last section
of the fifth grade classes;
so that they will soon move on,
to sixth grade and then graduate.”
I am a simple and ordinary bullet,
yet my masters are invincible with me.
Am I at war in land or sea?
But I see no bullets from the enemy line before me!
There is only one white vehicle
Slowly inching its way
along this valley of darkness,
like a deer trapped for the skilled hunter’s slay.
Why are we here? What are we fighting for?
I am a silver bullet,
and on this day May 13, 1993,
I reach out to behold Nenita’s heart;
my bullet-friends find Jose’s head and neck,
and more of them bedeck
Nenita’s body so frail and weak;
There is an instant party!
Music at its melodious peak;
I am drenched in red wine…
Red wine carelessly pouring out
from broken glasses…
into many icy cups of tears…
No, I can’t stop them! Not a bit!
I see Jose sheltering Nenita painstakingly,
but there are hundreds more of us –
bullets flying from all comers
of the lone white carriage!
I hear Nenita and Jose
As they step into the doorstill beyond,
softly uttering no better words,
“Lord… Lord… Lord…”
Does the Intemational Red Cross
come to bring in more bottles of red wine?
Does Jose Ma. Sison wish to know
the name of each bullet and burning nozzle?
on such daunting day?
Does Corazon C. Aquino behold
the white dove in the white carriage,
its wings now drenched in red wine?
Does Fidel V. Ramos light a cigar
for a war waged, but with no enemy line?
Does Imelda Romualdez-Marcos remember…?
The local radio stations
Suddenly becoming busy,
airing the newsflash for the week;
Townfolks fearfully hushed,
Cloistered around the barber shop,
lounging in front of the sari-sari stores;
And those in Villareal
with faces like walking graves,
closing the windows of their homes…
then in silence each one weeps…
“The leader is executed!”
“It is a mistaken ambush!”
Oh, that has become my master’s fate!
While Nenita & Jose, and more-
they have become
the unsuspecting objects
of a fatal mistake?
I am an ordinary silver bullet,
But isn’t it my noble fate
to be with Nenita & Jose
along a lonely obscure road,
in a dark valley of Villareal,
on May 13, 1993-
Oh, such a fateful date?
For Mother and Father, who lived such selfless lives.
2001 -2010 (kamo pag-estorya)
2011 – 2020 (Kamo pag-estorya)
2021 – 2030