“Ang Kulay ng Kasaysayan” & “Dear Mother,” by Justin Angeles
Ang Kulay ng Kasaysayan
O Pilipinas, Pilipinas na aking bayan,
Isa akong Pilipino; isang sinilang sa Perlas ng Silangan.
Bansang aking kinalakihan,
Bansang ubod ng yaman.
O Pilipinas, Pilipinas na aking bayan –
Makulay ang iyong kasaysayan
Bughaw, dilaw, itim, at pula –
Gamit ang mga kulay, karanasan mo’y maaring ipinta.
Bughaw, ang kulay ng kapayapaan.
Mga araw na ang ating bansa’y malaya’t-mapayapa.
Ang ating mga katutubo ay namumuhay ng maunlad at masagana.
Ang kanilang mga mukha’y kakikitaan ng saya.
Itim ay ang kulay ng karahasan.
Lahat ng kapangasahan at kalapastanganang,
Tiniis at dinanas ng ating mamamayan;
Ang kalungkutan at karimlang natunghayan ng Inang Bayan.
Pula, ang kulay ng dugo ng ating mga mandirigma.
Ang kulay ng bandila na kanilang dala.
Silang mga namulat at lumaban –
Pula ang kulay ng kanilang kagitingan.
Dilaw, ang kulay ng pagsibol ng araw.
Ang pagpawi sa kadilimang mapanglaw.
Ang kulay ng pagdating ng panibagong umaga –
Matapos ng lahat, tayo’y nanatiling nakatingala.
O Pilipinas, Pilipinas na aking bayan,
Iyong kasaysayan ay dapat pahalagahan;
Iyong kalayaan ay dapat ingatan –
Upang ang sakripsyo ng mga bayani’y ‘di masayang.
O Pilipinas, Pilipinas na aking bayan,
Tunay ngang parang bahag-hari ang iyong kasaysayan.
Halo-halong kulay ang pinagsama-sama,
Upang ang isang magandang larawan ay maipinta.
O Pilipinas, Pilipinas na aking bayan,
Nagpapatuloy ang iyong kuwento.
Isa akong Pilipino, isa mong mamamayan,
Masaya ako’t sa paggawa ng iyong kuwento’y kasama ako.
“Dear Mother,”
You got the forests filled with trees they use for their houses,
The seas that fill their net with both riches and fishes,
The mountains with its irreplaceable stones with rough edges,
The plains with its soil that bring about bountiful harvest.
The people love you; they get everything from you.
When you provide more than what they need; they worship you.
People call you Mother; because let’s be real, that’s all you do.
You foster, nurture, you let everyone grow, and that’s the truth.
You let a whole civilization grow on your back;
You were there grieving when they were attacked.
You wept as their blood served as your gag –
Blinded by their cannons as they blast your sons.
You cried up a storm, but they couldn’t see that;
In fact, the ones who preyed on your kids, thanked you on the dot.
Your kids enslaved, shackled and constrained;
Called us buffoons, as they don’t share the knowledge they contain.
Looked down on your children; seen as people with small brains.
But the thing is, it’s not just us Mother, it’s also you;
They raped and ransacked every inch of you!
Used your forests to build structures and galleons;
Just like lions, devouring their prey.
Mother, they thought us prayers, so we prayed night and day.
They say they gave us God, but we already had that;
Didn’t we, Mother? Tell us we aren’t wrong.
They tell us we’re stupid, but they didn’t even try;
Only the kids they implanted on my sisters’ womb,
Are the only ones they deemed as qualified.
Mother, I’m sick, but you? You’re dying.
Yet these snow-skins, when it comes to healing, they’re not even trying.
They reap, like they sowed; Milking you like some cow.
But I don’t understand, why the sweat is on my brow?
Mother look, kuya and ate are rising up.
They’re screaming and shouting; sticks and knives in their hands.
They showed up; defying all odds as they stand.
Look Mother, they’re fighting for our land.
Wait a minute, my siblings don’t stand a chance;
They’ve got cannons and guns, while your kids have fear on their minds.
‘Will we come out alive’, they all collectively thought.
But look Mother, they continue to fight, leaving doubt behind.
Mother we’ve won, but at what cost?
I’ve seen so many of my brethren fall to the ground.
What we lost in numbers, we also lack in pound;
Famished by war, with all land burnt down –
Mother, please, would you answer our call for alms.
Your children who survived, are all thin and grief-stricken.
Would you please drop some grain on our open palms?
It’ll be much better if you provide some beef or chicken,
But, it’s okay, we’ll just make do with what Big Bro has given.
Now, I see it’s just a cycle –
Big Bro says he’s here to help, but he holds a huge sickle;
Poised to harvest you Mother, even if you’re all skin and bones.
Still recuperating from the hurt done by the men brought by Magellan;
Your kids bring it to themselves to fight again.
Just after a few blinks, we see ourselves filled with dread and pain.
Our skin flayed and burned by the Rising Sun.
Yet we, your children, never backed down –
We kicked, punched, and screamed; biting more than what we can chew.
Still we never rested, till we are sure the sun has been drowned.
Now, Mother, bask in our glory!
Still injured and scarred, but no need to worry;
Never again shall we fall for their traps,
May it be through treasures or fake maps.
Don’t worry about outsiders and their manipulation;
Mother wake up! From your slumber, wake up!
The problem now lies within your own nation;
Blood of your blood glistening on your skin –
What’s alarming, is the fact that it’s shed by your own kin.
Mother, please wake up, I implore you!
Let them remember; show them your signature hue.
Mother, wake up! Embrace them all and fill their hearts with peace.
Remind them we’re all brother and sisters; put their minds to ease.
Wake up Mother, I beg of you!
You’re the only one who can ace this test even without review.
Shower us once again with your love, like you used to do.
And maybe, just maybe, we can all start a peaceful life anew.
Author bio for Justin Angeles: A 20-year old aspiring designer and writer, born and raised in the Philippines, who dreams of living off of his works' royalties. Currently expanding his portfolio by writing more poems, essays, and articles.