(This poem was written in the morning of November 30, upon confirmation of the killing of Ericson Acosta, the author’s son-in-law, by the military force in Kabankalan City, Negros Occidental. In August last year, Tariman’s daughter and Ericson’s wife, Kerima, was also killed in an encounter between the New People’s Army and the military in Silay, Negros Occidental.
(Nov. 30 has been declared a holiday to mark the birth of Andres Bonifacio, dubbed as the father of the Philippine revolution.)
Scene from Kiri Dalena and Sari Dalena ‘s The Guerilla Is Poet.
Kerima Tariman and Ericson Acosta as film actors. Photo by Kiri Dalena.
One more time
You rewind another life
Gone at fifty
With just his poems
For his only son to peruse
As last mementoes.
No more time to grieve
The container of sadness is dry
From previous year’s constant grief
You have rehearsed this before
Going to a roomful of dead people
And identifying your loved one
And then you bring him
To nearest crematorium
To later settle in an urn
Of memories.
There is no time
For bitterness
Or rancor.
They have chosen
Another way to live
And reach their ideal
Fighting
For the hungry
And the oppressed
And constantly coping
With well-funded
Lackeys of war.
A day before his death
He was talking about
Seeing a doctor
For his recurring ailment.
Alas
He didn’t make it
To his doctor’s appointment.
From what I heard
And later riddled with bullets
Typical of dogs of war.
His son expected
To see his father
In detention
For a last hug and embrace.
But early morning
Of a fateful Thursday
He is gone.
His mother for the last time
Lifeless on a cold stretcher
In a morgue
In the shadow of Mt. Silay.
I can only rewind
Fifty years of his life
And forty two years
Am figuring out his grave:
Should I bury him
Beside my daughter’s crypt
Or beside his father’s tomb
In another town?
I am airport-bound
Once more
For last appointment
With the departed.
I have come to terms
With this life
As I have lived it.
Happy my loved ones
Have come to terms
With dying
The brave way
