in the few decades of our journey
in the forest of darkness and fear
we are shadows faceless and nameless
in the books of history
we are blood poured
on the yellowish blades of grass
we are skeletons embedded
on the wall of misery
we are notes and lyrics
of sonorous, rebellious hymns
in our crying, dolorous land.

but in every falling tears of grief
induced by iniquity and greed
of the exploitative class
our conjoined, protruding veins
will wriggle on the breast
of every unfortunate
while violently gyrating
blazing petals of fire
within our seething mind
raging always are the pupils
of our eyes which have seen
the stigma of sorrow and misery
of the oppressed class.

still continuously dropping
are our race’s tears of grief
hot as smoldering iron
on the anvil of sacred dreams
the crawling tears meandering
on the peasant’s haggard face
on the worker’s scrawny breast
on the demolished shanty
beside the pungent canal
on a prostrate lean body
in the sidewalk of despair.

yes, still springing
the tears of grief of our race
from every pulsating
bleeding heart
pierced by the debasing sword
of enslaving lords
of cruelty and injustices
when will the flaming fire’s tongue
lick and dry
the emanating tears of grief
from the abysmal eyes
of our beloved land?

(My English version of my ‘Luha Ng Dalamhati Ng Lahi’)