Treasure Island

Cheryl L. DaytecYañgot

(Baguio City, Philippines)


I can smell the raw tangy scent
of will drying in my hand
I see the shape of dreams
Escaping the bowels of the fields
Like a thick swirl of smoke from a
Tire factory’s chimney
What is life but a flash of light
A bomb can easily put out
Until no one hears a town’s last cry?
No one listens to the orphans’ prayers
Having seen too much, too early
even infants know the meaning of mortality
For life is but a slave
To a conscience run amok
For the price of every dropp
of blood of the innocent
is a heavy pocket from firearms
and napalm bombs
“No war, no weapons business!
No mutilation, no murder!
No murder, no war! ”
Grand dreams weaved in the brains
Of small bodies
Barely out of the womb
Become evanescent shades of themselves.

Submitted: Monday, November 03, 2008
Edited: Wednesday, December 03, 2008

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