we’ll sharpen our bolos
when fear lurks in the heart
when the stars are bleak and sad
and the sun’s rays are cold and pale.
we’ll sharpen our bolos
when withering are the flowers
when the trash is not on fire
when the dews glitter not on the grass
and not a single firefly twinkles in the night.

yes, we’ll sharpen our bolos
when more fortunate are the rats
than the poor like us
we, “the wretched of the earth”
we, the workers and peasants
enslaved by the soil and machine
of the gluttonous ruling class
yet our belly groans most of the time
while they wallow in the blessings
coming out from our sweat and blood.

we’ll sharpen our bolos
especially when feverish are our tots
their stomachs aching through the night
and not a drop of milk comes out
from the sagging breasts of their moms
long tormented by poverty and despair
we’ll sharpen our bolos
when even the cold, cooked-rice in our pots
is devoured by our avaricious landlords
and our anemic coffee and arm’s sweat
are gulped by our predator ruling class.

we’ll sharpen our bolos
when your justice is elusive as the clouds
when slow-paced as the crawling snails
with no pangs for the rich and powerful
and plunderers of public funds
but repressive for the weak and poor
sharp spears they are piercing our hearts
bulldozers trampling upon our sacred rights
stunting our growth and dimming our hopes
for a better, peaceful, democratic life.

yes, we’ll sharpen our bolos
when our beloved la tierra pobreza
is rapaciously being raped
when foreign masters are mashing
her luscious, milky breasts
and her sacred sovereignty
is being disgraced and sold
by the lords of power and gold
yes, we’ll sharpen our bolos
till social justice reigns
till our beloved land
is set free from the clutches
of injustices and penury
till the rampaging waves of change
and the hurricane of discontent
demolish and pulverize her prison walls!