Apr 302013


Roland G. Simbulan

Mountain ranges stretch out
their open arms
Labrynths, waterfalls, bastions
Built in the hearts of the people.

The virgin forests and
communal waterways
Live with the lives
Of the people.

The lure of the cloud
Brings a thick breeze
And depth to rugged valleys
Home of the tierred forests.

Seeds stir beneath
Bursts of bloom aboveground
And songs of wild birds
Share the solitude of the night.

Depths of strength
Are the ravines
Forged in protracted struggle
In deaths that live on.

The forests are not thickets
In the mountainsides
But are hearts and minds
With tender love for the people.

The children and nature
Sing poetry in this forest
Where streams
Salute with their hearty laughter.

The trees and rivers flood us
With its profundity
There is purity
Hidden in the people’s songs.

The forest’s history
Is written
With the blood of the people
Who toil from dawn to sunset.

The color of sunset
Scars the earth
As mercenaries intrude into
The forest with their orders.

The color of fire inflames
The forest erupting with tears
Splendor of blood spilt on earth
Another OPLAN is set back.

The wind blows the thickets
And the wild butterflies
Flutter to the sound
Of victory and liberation.

Forests are the masses
Offering sanctuary and foliage
To the army of the people
Its martyrs’ blood water the soil.

Embraced by the masses
Warriors in nature’s bowers
The guerrilla army of the poor
Ready to reap more victories.

April 8, 2013


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