deepundergroundpoetry.com
Reddening Cornfield
A police operation took place on Sunday, January 25, 2015, in Maguindanao by the Special Action Force of the Philippine National Police. Originally a mission to serve arrest warrants for high-ranking terrorists, it led to the deaths of 44 members of the crack police force, at least 23 Muslim freedom fighters, and several civilians.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I press my ear to the ground, cheek
against the sun-baked clay, I came to see
what you saw last, hear what you said last,
the ground still beats, between the cornstalks,
a misplaced body part or two, a muddy boot
a few inches away from my face.
Empty shells, still smoking, lie in the marsh,
I feel the broken stalks, prickly under me,
from the swathe you made when you fell.
In the reddening cornfield, as you lay
under a noisy night, did you get to ask,
‘where is the way to home and child and wife?’
Gunshots, sparks at the cornfield’s edge,
stars on the ground that have lost their way,
loud in the dawn that did not bring hope.
The men turning you over, taking
your guns and life and soul have decided
you have loved enough children into the world.
I came to know what you saw last, said last.
Did you ask, ‘can you show me the way home?’
Can you point me in the right direction?’
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I press my ear to the ground, cheek
against the sun-baked clay, I came to see
what you saw last, hear what you said last,
the ground still beats, between the cornstalks,
a misplaced body part or two, a muddy boot
a few inches away from my face.
Empty shells, still smoking, lie in the marsh,
I feel the broken stalks, prickly under me,
from the swathe you made when you fell.
In the reddening cornfield, as you lay
under a noisy night, did you get to ask,
‘where is the way to home and child and wife?’
Gunshots, sparks at the cornfield’s edge,
stars on the ground that have lost their way,
loud in the dawn that did not bring hope.
The men turning you over, taking
your guns and life and soul have decided
you have loved enough children into the world.
I came to know what you saw last, said last.
Did you ask, ‘can you show me the way home?’
Can you point me in the right direction?’
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 2
reading list entries 1
comments 2
reads 483
Commenting Preference:
The author is looking for friendly feedback.