At first, all we were

were thousands of gallant, self-sacrificing souls

armored with the conviction that man

shall not destroy nature

Like malls are not supposed to

stand on the birthplace of trees

Like cars should not occupy

the cradles of young seeds


Then we were all frenzied allies

Of passion and determination

“Don’t cut the trees!”

“Don’t cut the trees!”

A slogan that reached even Manila

(If only exclamation points can picture

Wide-eyed protesters, manic at saving

A part of where they were born, if only

exclamation marks also mark the point

when police and rallyists clash, when

pawns were wrongly attacked in lieu

of the masters.


Some time else, we were reduced to these:

Teenagers approaching adulthood,

Raging hormones pacified,

Rabidness gone like a whiff of smoke.

Precisely: the passing of things.


Once, there were 182 trees endangered

And thousands braved the streets.


Now, just like most of the other things,

That has become a point in history:

A future anecdote,

A preceding case to be invoked soon,

Al curtailed,

all passed by, all passed out.


Remember this, anyone?