MARCH OF THE VOLUNTEERS (Poetry)
For my beloved Philippines and for my fellow countrymen
“Never underestimate anyone.”
Were the words of my old grandpa
As the news about an indifferent China
Flashed in the screens
of a late night news headline.
After a few gestures of disgust
Accompanied by some inaudible moans,
He turned and called me across the sala.
“Hijo!2 Ali sa god!”
He said with urgency
And in an instant I felt
Like his old Private he once commanded
Readying to be tossed to the open fiery pit,
Men killing men whom they don't even know.
“Kana gong mga Intsik
really don't understand
what a powerful a country we are.
Those warships and planes
tanks and millions of footmen
are just worth tons of pagpatimbang
you can exchange pesos
diha sa mga6 Junkshops of Santiago.
How many Bilat siyang Nanay
will we let our diplomats bring
For them to understand
That fighting to the Pearl of the Orient
Is a lost cause and might just end them
being subak9 at Chowking's Chao Fan.
Diba, Hijo?”
I just stared him in the eye
With my face absent
Of any spark, of any hope.
Yet he continued.
“They can't stand our
Towering Kapres and fierce Tikbalangs
Who will sweep and toss them
And drag and squash them
Leaving no breathing yellow squinted eyed creature
Who looks more odd than them.
Not to mention Kaptan and his gang
That will swoop from the sky
Backed-up by the Diwatas and Sigbins
Who, just in a blink of a second,
makes them wave their mass produced Good Morning towels.
But the Ace of the country
Is the elite action force
Trained and molded in Siquior:
The infamous Mambabarang
and the Quack Doctor-Medics.
Their yamyam and daot is one of a kind
Where a few litanya of Latin verses
Makes every Chinese fighters
Throw-up fresh Durians
and shit heavy-duty chainsaws.
Heard me Hijo?
The Chinese are messing
With the wrong people.
And not to mention our agimats
Flowing in our blue-veins
Capable harnessing the lives of a cat,
the swiftness of an eagle,
And the senses of a wolf.”
I salute my grandpas patriotism
But now is different from then.
I just looked at him
as he blurted out some more words.
Words that I often ask to myself
Whether or not he still understands
The very weight of it.
The every meaning they carry.
It’s weight, the burden of the past.
But suddenly, tears flowed in his eyes
Still revolting, he just clenched his fist in silence
as he coninues to watch his years old news recording:
Mga kababayan ang Pambansang awit ng China:
“Qǐlái! Búyuàn zuò núlì de rénmen!
(Arise, ye who refuse to be slaves)
Bǎ wǒ men de xuèròu,
zhùchéng wǒmen xīn de chángchéng!
(With our very flesh and blood
Let us build our new Great Wall!)
Zhong hua Min zu dao liao zui wei xian de shi hou
(The Chinese nation faces its greatest danger)
Mei ge ren bei po zhe fa chu zui hou de hou sheng
(For each one the urgent call of action comes forth)
Qǐlái! Qǐlái! Qǐlái….!
(Arise! Arise! Arise!)”
First published at Bukambibig PH,Volume 1 Issue 2: Resistance: https://issuu.com/bukambibigph/docs/bukambibig_0102
PHOTO SOURCE: Rappler.com
![](https://steemitimages.com/DQmdrH1uGZgPR2vJCiMgRUv66wPdnKfBf1M26r5hZ14op4z/image.png)
About the Poet
@gilnambatac
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Yawaa ani Sir uie hastang kurata
power bay. socially aware.
Yay. Salamat.