The Beast is Empire, I suppose,
but not the way you would construe it.
But also, yes, that too included.
It is not only Empire, it is more than that.
It is both beyond you
and what you carry in your heart.
Imagine, then, the legend
of The Beauty and the Beast.
The author, who came from it (the Beast, I mean),
portrays him as a handsome prince.
So there you have it.
The prince you so ardently admire
is in reality a monstrous Beast.
It is, and yet it is not so.
The Beast is he, or they, or it,
who would engulf, and paw, and swallow
you, or me, or us
and take the place of
One we should bow down to
to worship and adore.
But the Beast's no idol, you must understand.
At least that's not what it makes itself appear.
You pay homage to it only
in pretending it does not exist.
And so it is able to live beyond its time.
Or so it thinks.
In truth, the One who made you
merely sits in wait
watching your spirit grow
enough to take root in
Him, so that you may free yourself
of the hold of the Beast.
And only then can the Beast end up in fire and brimstone
together with whoever it is
who has been trumpeting his cause.
© Mila D. Aguilar
The Beast | Ang Halimaw | Daisy Bomb
| about the poet | back to cover
CARL ANGEL and ANONYMOUS
4th February 1899 Collaborative Poetry and Art
MILA D. AGUILAR
Excerpt from Manileñas
DIEGO SILANG MARANAN
RENE J. NAVARRO
Cheng-du Dawn (1983)