AMAZON

1.
She was a communist
daughter of a Southern Luzon
spokesperson of CPP.
But the military would
rather call her an Amazon.
When she was arrested
& brought to Bagong Diwa
in Bicutan,
she was seven months pregnant.
She recently gave birth
to baby Diona,
who died two days later
of “persistent pulmonary
hypertension.”
Was her health medically
monitored
in this age of technology?
But she was an Amazon,
born to tortuous situation…
The judge had allowed her
to attend the wake for
three hours,
then quickly hustled back
to her jail cell.
She couldn’t even grieve
in private
as jail officials crowded
her cell which was a space
fit for animal squalor…
How her aunt wished
she could dig up
Ka Rosal from his grave in the mountain lair
& let him see how his daughter
had been made to suffer,
sleeping on the cold cement floor
in her delicate condition…
But she was an Amazon,
communist women who
seek the freedom of the masses
are known for…
They are
supposedly
immune from
post-partum
depression?
O What is going on
in this neck of the woods?
Where is human compassion,
according to priests & lawyers
on the court?
It pains observers to see
the scumbag Queen Napoles,
attended by her chosen physicians
& tenderly secured
from protestors that crowd the hospital.

2.
They paint the world
in monochromatic black & white –
& nothing in between.
A communist is an atheist?
She maybe an unholy child, therefore,
driven from Adamic garden…
Where are the barbarians
trooping at the gates,
poised to strike down the sacral savages?
She is hellishly evil?
She couldn’t swat a fly
in her grief & privation…
Is she her father’s child?
Why visit the “crime” of the father
on her children,
as if this were the edict
of the New Testament?
O If only God could speak,
who would really be punished?
Ebony & Ivory
isn’t a simple rock & roll
for the popular crowd
who would never cringe at
the savage truth of the song!
It’s all the heart could conjure
but no one, as if in catatonic swoon,
would listen
to the ultimate rupture
that should not be the Age’s
raison…

3.
He doesn’t brook any opposition.
He only hears his own voice
that screams everyone is his inferior.
The rest is the herd,
& Nietzsche is the standard
of his gradation:
what is, what should be evil & good.
He is a narcissist,
conscripting everyone to his cause.
In the time of Aryan,
could he be a Nazi general
who loved the music of Wagner’s
Gotterdammerung
who would send Jews
on trucks & trains
to the gas chambers
so the crippled minds
could kowtow to his genius?
Is he the god
that would finally reveal
the truth
& change the mordant world?
O the sage says,
he’s just a poor boy who could
not stand being alone,
rattled by his own incomprehensible voice.

4.
The raining season
is upon us, the bartender says.
The clouds are gathering in the horizon.
Summer is about to end.
Just as well, he quips,
the heat is unbearable,
the ladies in the pub
fan themselves
as if seized by an uncontrollable
passion that wets
their inside thighs.
It always happens in May,
he mumbles,
when the heart sizzles
with strange palaver.
The world, he says, turns on
constant rupture…
Shadows eventually envelop
his soul…
When rain falls on the rooftops,
so does his world –
As the sun dies at the edge of the ocean,
so is she, who is
finally gone
with the season…

5.
The jeepney driver
nodded
as he talked to a friend
who hitched a ride
to Project 6.
Yes, his cousin’s kids
have graduated from
college;
& they are doing well.
He sounded amazed
being an unlettered hick
himself.
O How they love to be
educated,
brimming with pride
as they gazed at their
framed diploma
on the sala wall.
The neighborhood is
awed at this newfound status.
What college did
they finish their courses?
He mentioned a cheap one
& that will be enough
to claim a place
in the sun!
He wanted to ask himself:
Is there something between
their ears?
Who cares if they didn’t
play billiards
while classes wear on
inside the campus?
O How they passed
muster
easy professors
who are trapped
in a time warp
with their yellow syllabi?
Did they ever learn
how to size up the
ideology of it all?
O But does it matter?
O They think they do.
Who would dare pass judgment?

6.
O She claims
she’s a pragmatist –
it’s all the nose for
the ways of the world that lead
to the hidden valley
of fortunes.
Que sera, sera!
Everything is a game of luck.
High grades do not
define success!
The permutations in the world
are infinite –
if you don’t look for it,
you’d find it!
Her ears are close
to the ground
& hear the temblor
of eternal secrets…
If she wages her body
like sin –
which doesn’t exempt
anyone…
What about it?
A Superior IQ
does not open
Ali Baba’s cave!
Didn’t she breeze through
her academics?
Her diploma is worth
all the carnal fantasy
of her lovers
who led her to
immeasurable ecstasy!
The formula of success
is charted by daily pragmatics –
O Hear the Queen of Scumbags,
Napoles,
who is out to seal a deal
while dangling over the precipice.

7.
He can hustle like her.
Even if he’s never been articulate.
His language is never immaculate,
but he knows how to ingratiate
himself to the Big Boss
who is worth the humbling risk.
Does he need to sucker up?
He could recommend some clinical cases
that approximate his –
Yup, he would never ruin
any moment that will advance
himself like a cleric
who quotes God
loves those who quietly work & submit.
What fancy thought should he
contemplate?
Of what use are Kant, Hegel,
Freud, Lacan, Nietzsche, & Marx?
The world is the handmaiden
of dastardly capitalists…
& he will never miss the immediate target.

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