It’s hard to put to words how I feel after marching with the masses.
These past few years I take a day to listen to them and their calls.
I feel the heat, bear the fumes and feel a bit of hunger, under the open sky
I stand beside them, or sit amongst them, and with them shout, laugh and cry.
Today, my life went on as if yesterday did not even happen.
I went on with my life: ate, drank, laughed, shared stories and had a quiet time.
But the poor remain where I left them, struggling to make a life under the scorching sun.
Trying to holding on to dignity and sanity, while hoping to find food for a daughter or a son.
Could I wish the farmer or the laborer can dress up and ride a car to Batasan?
Should I wish the old grandmother and the widower can speak eloquently and there be heard?
But only the few rich of this land, can buy their way to these halls of power.
And they will keep out others because authority and power cannot be shared.
The rich and powerful stand apart and they never walk in our midst.
They do not hunger and feel the heat, they can only feed their greed
We do not see or hear them, but we feel their might and strength.
We may run and flee for a moment, but in courage we will rise up again.
Be careful what you say about those who march and rally in the streets.
Many of them have lost loved ones, and many of them live lives you cannot bear.
But they rise up and take the moment, to come together and to be heard.
They rise up for each child, woman and man, for this nation and a better world.