Tried to write about Cory but was unable to,
Already on my seventh draft,
I was one of the first to be touched,
Even walked beside Ninoy’s bier from
Sto. Domingo church to Nichols,
Even left my private-sector job
to work in Malacañang press office,
Saw the beauty and the ugliness
of the Filipino soul
As I traveled from Aparri to Zamboanga,
That’s it!
That’s why I can’t write,
I got stuck on ugly,
The bickerings, the back-stabbing,
a snake pit I tell you,
But as the tv messages come,
I remember how much in love I was
With the widow in the yellow dress,
And so I focus on her expressive face,
Showing the side of the Filipino
that’s rarely seen these days,
When principles are dwarfed by greed,
I remember now, the beauty of her,
I remember my eagle-flights:
Ayala avenue engulfed in yellow blizzard,
Rhetoric and truth mingling
with the perfumed perspiration of the rich
and the sour sweat of the poor,
Producing a wine for Consecration,
Yes,
Finally I remember,
But I will not weep anymore,
Because the weeping’s done,
the weeping’s done,
And the warrior knows now who’s friend,
Who’s foe,
I remember now.

Note: Published in Philippine Star website, Tributes to Cory, August 5, 2009