The fickle-minded spirits and fairies
Have fled the old trees and groves,
Dark caves and mounds in the shadows,
Mossy rocks and whispering streams.
The gnarled balete and the blackbird
Have lost their intriguing power.
The uncertainties of the past ages
No longer lurk to exact awe and fear.
In the forest throbs discreetly
A certainty above the certainties
Of chopping wood, hunting boar and deer,
Gathering fruits, honey and even orchids.
But the forest is still enchanted.
There is a new hymn in the wind;
There is a new magic in the dark green,
So the peasant folks say to friends.
A single fighting spirit has taken over
To lure in and astonish the intruders.
Jose Maria Sison
June 1981
