am hearing your lamentations
la tierra pobreza
land of poverty and sorrow
land saturated by the blood
of the oppressed class
disgraced by injustices
enslaved by exploitation
your cries reverberating
on the wings of the easterly wind
yes, am hearing your lamentations
even on the chirping of the sparrows
piercing and slashing my soul
on nights the pallid moon prays
on mornings like tears
the dewdrops descend
on the yellowish grass
on middays the asphalted streets
groan under the burning sun
on dusks the angry waves
bash the lonely shore.

yes, am hearing your cries
la tierra pobreza
in the thunder’s rumbling
in the ashen sky
in the lightning’s hissing
in the darkness of night
in the flowing of water
down the mountain’s heart
yes, am hearing your sorrows
la tierra pobreza
in the mumblings of wives
who lost their husbands
shrouded in hidden graves
am hearing it
in the orisons and novenas
of so many sisa*
crispin* could be found no more
buried somewhere
by the forces of darkness
or left to rot
in a stinking jail
or abandon to decompose
in the sea’s bottom
not a mere shadow
of his skeleton
looms no more.

yes, am hearing your lamentations
la tierra pobreza
in the flowing sweats
of emaciated workers and farmers
in the growling of empty stomachs
in the clanking of tin cans
in some garbage dumps
in the creaking
of torn galvanized sheets
on roofs of demolished shanties
beside the murky canal
from tripa de gallina
to canal de la reina
am hearing your grief
la tierra pobreza
in houses bulldozed
in some public lands
now your wretched offsprings
are mere stray dogs and cats
roaming around the black night.

yes, lurking in my ears
your lamentations
la tierra pobreza
anywhere in this planet
your unfortunate people are
strewn by the wind of poverty
scattered like debris
in cruel foreign lands
as hope is now skeletal
and joy is shattered to pieces
in your land made barren
by the exploitative class
yes, la tierra pobreza
“not all are sleeping
“in the darkness of night”
they also are hearing
your calls
their eyes burning with desire
to pulverize, at last
your prison walls!

(my modified English version of my NARIRINIG KO ANG IYONG PANAMBITAN. *Sisa is a poor mother — a character in Jose Rizal’s novel Noli Me Tangere or Touch Me Not — who lost her son *Crispin after being beaten to death by a sacristan of a Spanish friar)