Fort Santiago

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—

At least 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.

Jose Rizal (2012) by Amen Zamora