When the young Filipino poet took
the fever of the streets
into his body, he changed:

From his mouth, which had bloomed
a rose, came forth words, like glistening
tusks of wild boars caught in a trap.

He is with his brothers now in the rain
forest. At night, hunched over a growing
fire and holding a gun, not the pen,

He composes death, out of love.

© Luis Cabalquinto