A poem for the home that is and is not mine: The Philippines #TyphoonYolanda #TyphoonHaiyan

we can smell the dead

take silence like the clamped fists
that washed upon the shore: a million
fists sweating in the sun, abashed in waste

we can smell the dead crying, Lord
we can smell the dead scurrying for food
we can smell the dead lying, Lord

fists can only fight for so much
that resilience, isn’t it the wind calling?
take our hope, Lord, we will eat it

eat till our guts and loins are full
kumain tayo, kainin natin ito
tayo tayo tayo

we can smell the dead living, Lord
we can smell the dead alive
we can smell the dead eating, Lord

stand before our broken houses
raise your fists as the sun howls
wash our feet, abashed, wash the sounds

and hear us, now, as we pray.

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2 thoughts on “A poem for the home that is and is not mine: The Philippines #TyphoonYolanda #TyphoonHaiyan

  1. I love this. It’s inspiring and encouraging to see a young Filipino writer garnering well-deserved attention for her work. Represent.

    1. Thank you, Josef! Again, I apologize for a late reply. Thank you for liking this poem. I’ve reread it and despise it, but that’s what editing is for!

      I hope to read your work as well! ~m

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