Poor Juan the Weak One Presidents that came to past all declared to eradicate poverty and provide a better future for Filipinos. But all of those are rigmaroles due to the fact that our aggregate foreign and local loans ballooned to a gargantuan 128 Billion (Php5.76 Trillion) – applying the Financial Oligarchs’ “Rule of 72” or double up loans in 7 years and 2 months, so that our outstanding loans in the year 2021 will be Php11.52 Trillion, of which even in a thousand years we cannot pay. Unnecessary spending and corruption are reasons of budget deficits that were loaned. We withstood our rapacious colonial masters and we survived; yet frankly, as if we are so helpless to ward off the bestiality of our own fellow Filipinos who continue to ingrain themselves into the morass of thievery and corruption, leading us into the abyss of penury. Sad to say, our fellow Filipinos who are in power are superlatively worsts than our colonizers and foreign interlopers. Juan, the Weak One He has a wife to embrace all his life, Five offspring who must eat daily, An old shanty made out of scraps, A square lot in smoky dumping land. His taunt and callus hands, Searches the filty, stinky mountain for riches, Always ready to sweat, Hoping his dream of ham, hotdog and bacon fulfilled. Juan, the selfless adventurer in smoky mountain land! But malaria and typhoid always visit them, Even after a million prayers, They can call a healer, armed with leaves, oil, and whip, Cure with chants and magic words. At the flat-form, the leaders speak in full baritone, Of elections and the people’s rights and freedom, Of a thousand-folds prosperity, In a sovereign country controlled by oligarchs. The golden bridge, the hereafter, In victory brilliant glow, Politicians advance in cars, With boosted breasts. Banquets and festivities everywhere, Delicious roasts from confidants and friends, That awaits favors, Concessions, and positions in government. The delicious wine in the silver casks, Is the blood of thousands of citizen, The savoury roasted pig in the inlaid tables, Is the flesh of the myriad poor. While the band is playing, The Negrenses are crying, While the candle wax is dripping, The people’s tears are dropping. While the firecrackers are exploding, Bullets in the countryside are zooming, Through the loudest singing, The pauper’s curses are echoing. Juan still waits with his fingers crossed, Where are the leaders going in their limousines? Dr. Delmar T. Taclibon, PhD. Manila September 5, 1985
Posted on: Tue, 14 Oct 2014 10:31:32 +0000