Andres Bonifacio's Cry Poem by Cheryl L. DaytecYañgot

The lights would not blink in the household of his class
Dreams were forbidden, slums plunged in deep shadow
The wide farmlands where staple corn and rice should grow
Were pools of blood from martyrs now and of time past
Choices confronted his soul: to live with ease as a lapdog
Or bear the torch where darkness had hidden the paths
But what is comfort when for a few? He scampered to the parks
He knocked on doors, and cast stark flames upon juvenile log


Relentless, as though trailing one true love, he cried
'Scathed by rape, she looks for us. Out from our safe den!
There is no love greater than love for one's Motherland,
More honorable than greatness, far more lofty than pride.'
The conscience of a nation was stirred and it arose
To break high prison gates bolted for three centuries
Undaunted by death, heroes gave up their last breaths
His blood spilled; beyond description, even by prose.


His agitated spirit upbraids us with a cry
'The walls are back and higher than what we tore down
The masters are much worse; they too were slaves at dawn
Is this the freedom for which comrades had to die?
The vanguards' empty spots await you or you fall
Rush! Take the places of brave forebears before
Bore into slavery, as in the days of yore
The times demand sacrifice; please, you heed the call.'

The voice is hoarse now; from our apathy we rise
Hunger's plea for salvation demands our urgent action
The people's purse was robbed again; we struggle on
Resist sharp thorns and swords; our freedom is the prize
For while we bite our tongues and cry our silent tears
We give the foes the whip they crack to make us slaves
Submission is the source of power tyranny craves
The streets beckon us! Now! Let us triumph over fears!