“But never, Comrade, never will we revert to buying real estate and becoming landlords. We continue to  fell the insidious sparrows. There, my friend, there is yet another peak to be forged. Behind it, the sun rises: Hala Bira! The light burns. We never shade our eyes.” (A Poem is a Comrade, Eileen Tabios, Beyond Life Sentences)


The altitude of the sun is a replacement for our selfless, towering ambitions: in all sacrificial nobility, in all pursuit of a kindred cause:

            A beggar slumps on the streets and rains do not displace him and we dream for him clothes and shelter. An African boy visits us in the internet and its frail thinness taunt the praying mantis and all it entreats. For the boy, we dream of bananas and vegetable salads and getting into school; for the praying mantis, we dream only for it to be heard.

The clouds need not hear divine grace to shroud the skies once in a while; this is all the better if only to suppress our high hopes sometimes. The sky, however, need some refraction and universal mystiques to turn into red.

It is almost 6am and the east is red as the bloods in every soil where conquest and struggle once seethed. The bright sun accepts today’s emerging. At this early, light is proud.

            The dream lives on!

So we all salute the sun’s blotching of the sky and all brands of dreams it contains.

Sun light burning Our eyes seeking its center This is how visions can be impaired.