Wreaths or coronets, which [poem]

Media

Part of The Manila Guardian

Title
Wreaths or coronets, which [poem]
Creator
Agcaoili, T. D.
Language
English
Year
1950
Subject
Poetry.
Rights
In Copyright - Educational Use Permitted
Fulltext
Page 12 TIIE MANILA GUARDIAN November, 1950 Wreaths or Coronets, Which~ By IT'. D. Agcaoili We shall not say so ma:ily words We shall just sit quetly in the dark touching lips to lips fingertips to fingertips. No moments to waste: the field guns rumble death's undeniable call. Flowers bloom in the air then di~aPpear: wreaths or coronets, whiCh? For the moment, we sit quietly in the night silent ·and trembling like the stars. The dawn shall come unbidden and we shall say, Goodbye Goodbye. This is the Unknown Soldier: Joe's limbs, Marcos' tQes, Carlos' arm, Ben's slim. fingers; Mike's head, the brains spilled and unretrieved in the foxhole where he fell; Steve's guts, Mary's biggest 19ss; · • Fidel's torso; lonely and proud. and this wet heap, It still wanders the hills which is Antero's innards But His heart, His heart? III We who went marching rapid fires of decay. held to· the skies threw before us bright banners of courage We who went fighting Where we stood death. also sto~d. Abov,e us eagles screamed. Beneath us the earth shook. Inside us life knew that death was whispering close by. We who went fighting were loverless except for death aiid her quick embraces. IV The smell of death is laurel leaf: decayed. The Smell of death is million roses; decayed. We who were brave ·surrendered to our beds of laurel leaf (Continued on page 14) Compliments· of • Elizalde &. Co., Inc. I JUAN~E Ill V~GILIO. LOBREGAT Lapt .. M. PASTOR greetings from Ex~Political Prisoners MANOLO ELIZALDE , · PEDRO E. TEODORO FLORO POLICARPIO. Wreaths or Coronets, Which? • (Continued from page 12) V· We flew to the sun, brl'ght red in the dawnlight. We dropped blossoms ·f(,f roses, violets and marigold and black flowers beneath us. We flew to the sun spilling the fresh roses of our blood upon the fields of cloud. We crashed into the sun, the winds howling through the battered ~uselage of our bodies. VI This is the dream's ending: wreaths, not coronets, laid on the newly turned scorched earth. (We who went marching stayed up in the night, too tired to sleep, too tired to sleep.)