Mornings do not rise

Above this leafy prison.

Time hangs midnoon

Over sharp sugarcane leaves,

Striking against the downpour

Of cruel sunrays.

All the sounds enclosing

Are the rustle of the peering enemy

And the striking of our espading

Against the earth’s unflinching deadness,

Whose parchedness is under our tongue

And whose flame is under our breath.

There was nothing else

But the smell of baked soil

And blood, blood, blood!

Maria Cristina I. Canson-Badajos

Maria Cristina I. Canson-Badajos lives in Kabankalan City, Negros Occidental. She is a technical writer by practice, a creative writer by heart. She was fellow for creative non-fiction in the 16th San Agustin Writers Workshop, and for Hiligaynon poetry in the 19th IYAS National Writers’ Workshop.