Portrait Of A Country As A Tropical Flower

Portrait Of A Country As A Tropical Flower
(Spattered With The Blood Of Its Own People)


by A J Kennedy

A lonely road, late at night,
Two tired men in a car.

The car pulls up –
A swinging light –
‘We know who you are…’

The scents are high, the night is rank,
Under the Manila moon.
The orchid bleeds its sweetest sap,
Its fragrant night perfume.

The richest petals fall away,
Lie sticky on the ground.
The brilliant blossom of the day
Is broken all around.

Their bodies were found
In a shallow grave,
Mutilated beyond recall.
Ears and eyes and genitals,
Those murderers cut them all.

So remember Rolando Olalia
Dead in his Philippine grave,
And his driver and mate Leonor Alay-ay,
And the greater love they gave.

And remember the first of May movement
And the orchid that always bleeds,
And the brighter precincts of a better day
That will flower with these seeds.