KEMBAR78
The Children of Toil Must Now Be Heard | PDF | Nature
Scribd
Upload
1K views2 pages

The Children of Toil Must Now Be Heard

1) The poem calls for the voices of the downtrodden "Children of Toil" to be heard, describing their difficult lives defined by poverty, oppression, and back-breaking labor. 2) It lists the various groups that make up the Children of Toil from peasants and workers to the urban poor living in squalor and breathing polluted air. 3) The poem asserts that it is time for the Children of Toil to break their shackles of oppression and unite to overthrow their exploiters through rage and striking fists to build a new resplendent world from the ashes of the past.

Uploaded by

santa gabriel
Copyright
© © All Rights Reserved
We take content rights seriously. If you suspect this is your content, claim it here.
Available Formats
Download as DOCX, PDF, TXT or read online on Scribd
1K views2 pages

The Children of Toil Must Now Be Heard

1) The poem calls for the voices of the downtrodden "Children of Toil" to be heard, describing their difficult lives defined by poverty, oppression, and back-breaking labor. 2) It lists the various groups that make up the Children of Toil from peasants and workers to the urban poor living in squalor and breathing polluted air. 3) The poem asserts that it is time for the Children of Toil to break their shackles of oppression and unite to overthrow their exploiters through rage and striking fists to build a new resplendent world from the ashes of the past.

Uploaded by

santa gabriel
Copyright
© © All Rights Reserved
We take content rights seriously. If you suspect this is your content, claim it here.
Available Formats
Download as DOCX, PDF, TXT or read online on Scribd
You are on page 1/ 2

THE CHILDREN OF TOIL MUST NOW BE HEARD

Kailangan nang Marinig ang Tinig ng Anakpawis


(An excerpt from Una't Huling Pasyon ni Rio Alma)
Virgilio Almario

The Children of Toil must now be heard.

From the cradle of Lullabys and boats-songs,


Battle-songs and love-songs of the south and north;
From the soft wingbeat of ricebird and egret,
In the dream of west wind and halting breath;
From the chiaroscuro of dawnlight and approaching rain,
And the soiled bones of cogon and turned earth.

The Children of Toil must now be heard.

From dimming dreams that doom the cry of the newborn


And the hope in the tears of the lovelorn;
From the bowed souls of the brown race,
Weighed down by time and fate;
From the brown lips parched for love,
For the blessings of the sun and the universe.

The Children of Toil must now be heard.

From the ancient peasant calling to the breezes


While winnowing grains of famine:
From the bent shadows soaking in the drizzle,
In the furrowed paddies at planting time: at harvest time
Reaping chaff, and at threshing cut by haystalk and anguish;
From the memory that sprouts together with the May rain,
Urged by the slingshot and cavorting of children,
Prodded by levee, lovegrass and blade of cogon,
Enticed by the west wind bringing smells of rice cakes,
Only to die with the summer, to be interred
Among the cracks, the dry tracks and firewood.

The Children of Toil must now be heard.


From the huddled shanties and squalid thatch-huts:
From the gutters and canals, alleys and barrios and fields;
From sweaty, tuberculous breasts;
From the toothless grins around the peasant table
Laid with a bottle of gin, jug of cane wine and fried anchovies;
From hands used to foraging among fly-infested garbage- in the music
Of the urchin's dream to dig up
At least bones and other leavings.

The Children of Toil must now be heard.


From the breathing choked by the effluvia of street canal and factory;
From the thick brew
Of asphalt-sweat-body odor-carbons-grease-dust-blood-vomit,
Inside tunnels, trucks, trains, jeepney, buses, elevators, machine,
In stocks room, kitchens, sewers, toilets and streets;
From hands destitute and outstretched on the sidewalk
At the corner of Rizal Avenue, Sta. Cruz, Quiapo and Divisoria;

From the children of darkness who plunge into the blaze


Only to be consumed without ever glimpsing hope.

The Children of Toil must now be heard.

From those who carry on their shoulders the Pentagon


And Wall Street, San Lorenzo and Forbes Park; from the hope withered
In the splendor of Escolta, Makati and glittering mansions,
By the tourists and peacocks of Ermita, Bayside, Alba and Hilton;
From the victims of armalite, stingray whip, truncheon, goon
Of cacique, landlord, politico, usurer and powerbroker;
From the desperados of skid row, channy ward, islet and outback;
From the victims of drunks private armies and extortionists,
The Black shirts, Barracudas, Saka-saka, Ilaga, Suzuki Boys.

The Children of Toil must now be heard.

It is time the raging voice of the slave and weak be heard.


It is time to break the age-old shackles of mind and heart.
Lumberjack, butcher stevedore, peasant, worker,
And all the Children of Toil,
Together now must lash out and strike with raging fists.
And on the ashes of the greedy, the frauds and oppressors,
On the ashes of the vilest, sordid Past, build
The resplendent New World.

You might also like