Bitter sweet history

As a child I observed

endless scenes of hard labor,

low wages,

landless tillers and sugar cane-slashers

harsh as the exploitation of workers

poisoned land

killed in acidity and fire

I did not question
I did not know what to ask
I even wanted to forget

In memory of the childhood wakeful nights

with the trembling ground as train passes

I snore in the wind chill of forgotten crimes

when i burry my endless dreams in my pillow

so I no longer keep a helpless anticipation

of seeing myself

drenched in my fear

alone in my guilt

buried in shame.

for being poor

for not asking.

Bullets and guns are everyday meals

in times of military offensive

cannon balls roared and shook the mountains

I was too young to understand

the leftist spite of bureaucracy

The dictator dependent economy exploded like a bubble

and left the people with nothing but foreign debts

The land were used by the landlords

To produce crops for the giant corporations

The land is no longer for food but for money

Left the people hungry

I learned the word poor

I heard the word hunger

for landless people lost their jobs

including my father

The sugar cane fields have turned bitter

with tears of children

with no food to eat

I heard many people have gone missing

and saw thousands of people in television

took the streets in protest 

I felt my stomach turning

I heard the promise of a much better food production with green revolution

Imported seeds, pesticides, herbicides, fertilizers became a business

And for so many years, the farmers were buried under insurmountable debts

that they took to their graveyards 

But the story of poverty is a lesson forgotten

Many more followed with a bigger dream

Expanding endless fields of export crops

Converting forests and farms

With lines of sugarcanes, pineapples and bananas

Farmers forced to sell their lands became farm workers

There is something wrong

This time more sophisticated with economic invasion

The once prolific country is now at the mercy

Of imported patented rice

We are now slaves to Monsanto and Cargill hybrid rice and hybrid corn

This greed opened my eyes

My childhood has planted enough fears in my frail young body
that sprouted an incurable shyness until I learned to break out from a hula beat
Later my lungs gasp for more air
as I swirl to the various records imported from America

I learned the word imported
Then some French fries grew in the appetite of a city dweller 
willing to digest imported labels

Global economy gave birth to excessive consumerism

The Philippines made it even sophisticated with imitation

Imported products

which marked the death of local products

graveyards for the death of culture and tradition

stories of my people never told

I have many more stories to tell

So I dance them

I chant them

I participate in the storytelling

Is this art? I don’t know…

I want to find my voice…

I want to be heard

But I fear in my heart in some occasions

That my voice will be used against me

I made films, poems, songs

Intimidated audiences in performance art

Questioned the streets with theater and colors

Shouted no to nukes… no to US bases… no to aerial spray… no to GMO

Am I relevant?

Am I heard?

Am I true to myself?

What is change?

What is to live?

What is the answer?