Prints and Traces

I hear you cry, Marawi!
Across the mountainslopes, hills and plains,
The winds, heavy with the moist of tears,
On their wings the bundles of your grief,
Reached me at the threshold of my heart
And perturbed my conscious communion
With the hours of the Ramadan.

I hear you cry, Marawi!
My calm instantly torn by screaming rage
That resounds in the realm of my interiority:
What satanic power be this that dared
Defile in utter profanity these holy days!
What venomous decree dared violate
A people in their peaceful prayerfullness?

I hear you cry, Marawi!
And it tore into the core of my subjectivity,
This outburst of sympathy and indignation,
All the while like seawaves ramming the shores,
I hear incessant sound of dead bodies falling—
Men and women, young and old, and infants!—
Felled by embers of lead flying traitorous in air.

I hear you cry, Marawi!
Avalanche of noise from buildings shredded
To rubble by flaming stones dropped like eggs
By birds of steel hovering, roaring deafeningly
Like thunder and lightning in the city sky, as
Easily as tongues of fire and smoke made charcoal
Of every thing that stood—trees, houses or lampposts.

I hear you cry, Marawi!
In the agonizing wail of mothers torn apart
From the precious gems of their hearts –
Tender fruitlings of their dear dear love.
In the faint echoes of the final chirps of birds
And the parting lyrics of their wings’ flaps
That used to broadcast their songs of freedom. . .

Yes, I hear you cry, Marawi!
In the moans of pain and supplications that float
On the waters of rivers and streams — profuse
Overflow of blood and tears from the historic Lake—
Crying calls long dammed in the lips of history,
Narratives of undying struggles for sovereignty,
Freedom, equality, justice and peace.

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