Pink Flowers and Wingèd Victory: A Dream

By Marne Kilates

What a dream it was
Everyone had woken to the truth,
That we could not expel the Beast
Among us unless everyone was one.
And all the night wore pink,
In the morning the dawn was all
Shades of rose; our gardens bloomed:
All the zinnia, daisy, periwinkle,
Cosmos, frangipani exuding fragrances.
And the flower boxes and sidewalks,
The esplanades bloomed, all taking cue
From the pink ribbon pinned
To The Lady’s breast, who would
Lead us in her pure manner,
According to the processes of our
Democracy: That we will never again
Allow our leaders to betray us,
To deceive us and enslave us by selling us
Down the drain to foreigners; by keeping us
Ignorant. Thus we will no longer be
Taken for fools, nor fools lead us.
And the butterflies flew and flitted
Among the roses. And from the ancient
Sky came down Winged Victory,
Undecapitated, tenderhearted in her
Finery, to lend our Leader with the pink
Ribbon pinned to her breast the pink
Feathered vans to ride the air:
Let the people once again look up proudly,
Not in shame but in strength and dignity
Look up to the highest peaks: Apo,
Cuernos de Negros, Caraballo, Montalban,
Sinukuan, Makiling, Isarog, Mayon, Asog,
Sierra Madre. For with our heads held
High―that will be our victory. When
The dream ended the wakened people knew
They had a sanguine choice. We shall,
If needed, till our gardens and paddies
With our blood. Till Victory!