“If you want to know what we are WE ARE REVOLUTION!” – Carlos Bulosan
And we still are kasama…
If you want to know what we are,
We are People Power beyond yellow shirts and U.S. sponsored dictators
and popular presidents,
the energy of beautiful short victories and the persistence in the day-to-day.
If you want to know what we are,
know the crack of tinikiling sticks, the footed dialogue with the floor,
trembling the spirits to an intentional sound that exits stage left
and reaches a new language from a bullhorn,
We are
the dreamers, dancers, lovers, artists exhausting their individuality,
B-boys becoming men, the storm of ones and twos, melodies yearning to be reawakened.
If you want to know what we are,
We are the hurt demanding release,
we are chest heaving, identity crisis bearing, and tippy toed against a vertigo fall,
running through an educational system
teaching us little
at high cost.
We are still students, sardined in your classrooms,
We carry the hazy memory, the subtext of your American History books,
The subtext that yells and screams on the way to your standardized tests.
You know us, the walking-breathing-flesh-archives of an unwanted history that incriminates you
with more blood,
the spirit that haunts your water board torture.
We are the shaky science that is enraged and tired-eyed.
If you want to know what we are,
We are hands domesticated, but not still.
We are the workers praised as modern day heroes,
but in the same breath
are the murdered, the disappeared, the illegally arrested when we labor to serve the people.
Only heroes in your eyes when we pay for the debt-foolishness,
when our work sustains your cycle.
Remember, the sister, taken, and, tortured,
her spirit is not broken
is not silenced.
She remains that deathless counterpart
untamed
and determined.
We are the voice that never died,
that is not pacified by the distance of the pacific.
We are surviving, but surviving isn’t enough.
We are Revolution, abducted into a fantasy world and sometimes abducted.
our voice co-opted, words of Hope and Change contested on auction blocks, on the presidential line.
We are the invisible blood stain on your tax dollar
We, speak, a, missing, silence,
And if so we will connect these silences
arm in arm,
language over language,
So that this silence never seems still, So that this silence never seems quiet, but waiting,
Waiting and calculating the time.
We are
Revolution,
Surface you 21st century Gabriela Silangs
Surface you young Bonifacios
Unravel that which is contained in your risen fist,
Unravel that
which is contained
in your risen fist,
a testament
dissident
song incomplete,
a song
incomplete
whose next note
shall be played by the person next to you,
and the next, next, next, next…