From the Fire of Prometheus


Hold fast to the gift of fire!
I am rage! I am wrath! I am ire!
The vulture sits on my rock,
Licks at the chains that mock
Emancipation’s breath,
Reeks of death, death, death
– Prometheus Unbound, Ruben Cuevas

Drenched in the blood of her sons,
Under the moon’s lone light.
To every tear she weeps,
Enrage, is the heaven’s incite.
Resting in her arms,
Tis a heart that shall never fight.
Engulfed with death, shall she pass?

Tongues are slayed,
Along with freedoms shown.
Kneeling shall make you saved —
Solely for yourself alone.
Infidels they are, to human creed,
Leeches to our land of home.

Dying of the light,
Under the shadow of the might.
Wailing and grinding of teeth,
Across the mortal world of our feet.
Gift of fire is blazing weak.

Treacherous deeds shall we defy.
Until our last breath shall we sigh.
To lands of high and waters deep,
Against the fist, love must we keep. (

William Saunders, Jr. is the pseudonym of a poet and campus journalist from Pampanga.

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