FORT SANTIAGO
To José Rizal
I
visited your cold, stone prison.
Bereft
of spirit,
Empty
of words.
Your
cell rang like footsteps
Inside
a bell. I could not
Imagine
you alive.
Supine,
you lay
Motionless,
a pigeon
Strangled
by the hand
Of
forces greater than
Your
idealism, stronger than
Overpowering
sentiment—
Your
love of country exceeding
Your
love of life, a pearl.
Yes,
you penned poems, essays,
Two
novels. You wrought
Drawings,
paintings, sculptures—
One
famous piece:
The Triumph of Science over Death.
Buildings,
cities, towns, streets
Today
carry your name.
Yet
you are not deathless.
You
are dead,
Slain
by migrant necessity
Born
of want, poverty
Pulling
grubs from the soil,
Nailing
down rusty iron sheets
To
fashion flimsy shelters
Soon
blown apart like paper
By
tornadoes, locusts
On
annual rampage.
But
wait—now I see you rise,
Arms
bound, marching off.
As
if on a stage, players assemble.
Your
back is to the firing line.
At
that moment of volley
I
see you transformed:
You
turn—shot as a traitor,
Dying
as a martyr.
Despair
spinning into hope.
Originally
published in Philippines Free Press
(December 31, 2011)
Also
published in Eastlit (December 1,
2014)
 |
| Bust of Jose Rizal, Kepaniwai Park, Hawaii |
