Sililoquy of a Wounded Country

by: Rufo-Tigs Tidalgo

June 12, 2009

Today is my birthday.

In a glimmer, I still believe that someday I could have a custodian that responds faithfully to reason. It has been long coming for rain to quench my grieving thirst. If a grain of mercy is in heart, I implore in the name of goodness to cease from selfish madness and look upon to heal my wound.

I am strong and resolute well tested to endure. But the challenge before me now is as difficult to what was experienced by forebears. My people then were united brave and courageous. They fought with every means at hand and from toil to toil I gained liberty.

My fight for freedom from slavery was hard. My struggle to be free from corruption is not much different now. While they shared common sentiment and willingness, I have none of these today. I am soaked deeply in filth that to find good people is not easy.

I lost what was gained. My dignity which cost much to own is trampled to decline in shame. My respect is gone amongst my peers and my abundance is turned into a pit of barren hell. Children are hungry. Parents are angry. My future is no longer ascertained. My neighbours are disappointed for I was once strongly expected to lead in human rights and in prosperity. I failed them all.

It is on greed on those chosen to manage that forfeits my chance to flourish. They cheat to suit compulsive yearning. They care not for others nor give sympathy to anyone. It's a leadership where the wicked thrives, the honest fearful and I helplessly suffer.

My electoral process is corrupted where the poor are bribed to abide. It is inhibited suffrage rather than free choice. The method of selecting leaders is tainted that regards to elected officials is despicably reviled.

I curl in my corner and lick my wound. I am in agony. I can not fight with clubs, swords or guns. It's not in fashion anymore. Nor can I afford a drop of blood from the citizenry. My only chance is on Election Day just few months away. It is not much to hope, but it's the only one I have. My people power is dead. It was used and often abused.

Six more years of the same will plunge me to irreversible harm. In the shadow of my optimism, I see no silver lining. Dark cloud continuous to hover and hardship is lasting. No end to pain as evil goes unbound to consume my flesh for self gain. It is a sin and a crime, but neither faith nor law cares to put it down.

Sinners win and the righteous defeated. It's a reverse to usual ending of a story; an up side down submission to traditional value. It defies practice of rewarding the good and punishing the crooked.

I weep for the suffering of my people. Cry louder for the hard hearted to hear. For parents, shout your anger in bondage from need. Patriots in the upland, absorb in thoughts that regardless my welfare is still your command. To the government, listen to the inconsolable rancour of the citizenry. It's a measure of disgust towards the malevolent stewardship of the day.

I am wounded from misdeed and malice of the selfish. Hear me all my people! Bestow on me the kindness I crave for. I lament as I am in peril. I mourn for I am lost and angry for I am violated. Join me in tears for hurt is unending and the worst is yet to come. Help me pray for sanity and justice.

Where are the heroes? I beg you to open your eyes to the ugly picture of the time. Listen to ballads of the old. It still expresses my longing. My freedom is not a gift. It was won from lives of many. The fight is never over. I need you to shield me from hurt. I must not fail nor shall I die.

I can not provide the needs of my people. They robbed me helplessly that I have none left to give. I cry for the infant when mother's bosom is dry. My tears are for the children when there.s no food on the table. My abundance is gone. The plate is empty and the nation is hungry.

Today, I celebrate my liberty from foreign oppression. From heroes to heroes my long awaited freedom was won. My life is written in blood. It is indeed a tragedy that the glory from sacrifices of my braves is now squandered in vain. My freedom is lost again. It is not to invaders from which it was won, but to corruption of public servants guising as patriots. They plunge me into the dungeon of destitution. Yes, again, I am hurt. Again, I am in pain and again, I plea for justice. I find no freedom in poverty.

Happy independence!


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