Manila

the dead are scattered
buried without the rituals

it's a pity, we are crying
about the victims of this calamity

nature claims
what rightfully belongs to its
hands

manila, you are warned
when will you start to mend your ways?

tomorrow will be too late
the trees once sobbed but manila

you never really cared
you dance your nights in sin and plunder

now the victims lay dead
many are homeless and hungry
with nowhere to go

you weep for they are your children
they are your fathers and mothers
your wives and husbands

now, you must hit your breasts
with your fists
now, you must reform your ways.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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