the dead are scattered
buried without the rituals
it's a pity, we are crying
about the victims of this calamity
nature claims
what rightfully belongs to its
hands
manila, you are warned
when will you start to mend your ways?
tomorrow will be too late
the trees once sobbed but manila
you never really cared
you dance your nights in sin and plunder
now the victims lay dead
many are homeless and hungry
with nowhere to go
you weep for they are your children
they are your fathers and mothers
your wives and husbands
now, you must hit your breasts
with your fists
now, you must reform your ways.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem