MARY, there is blood upon the hills.
Your sons have etched upon their guns---their kills.
There's an evil wind that's blowing badness
Among the winds of change. And sowing sadness
In the hamlets of your land of peace.
Ah, when will this wind of madness cease?
For fleeting moments till these rites are done
Bicolanos once again are one
Gathered at the crossroad of Bicolandia
On this, your annual feast of Peñafrancia.
Yes, this is what we always remember
This turbulent, passionate pilgrimage of September.
But Mary, many are our crying ills
Today, there is blood upon the hills.
Many of our brothers have their tables bare
There's so much greed; deceit is everywhere.
Justice is a phantom in the night
Banished by goons and gold and armalite.
Our leader has reneged upon his word
No voice but that of his mighty can be heard.
No wonder there's that nagging thought that fills
A growing many---blood upon the hills.
O Mary dearest, of Peñafrancia Shrine
Beloved and heeded by your Son divine,
Cleanse our hearts, our minds, and help us heed
His will above our agony and need.
If this chalice would not pass away
His will be done! tomorrow or today.
Though we shudder at the thought that chills
Us---Christian blood upon our hills!
*Naga Times
Sept. 17, 1977
License: (license)
Comments