By Prof. Jose Ma. Sison | December 1979
I am forcibly shorn of my shirt
and it is wound around my face.
one more piece of cloth is tightened
across my covered eyes and nape.
my hands are cuffed behind my back
so tightly as to numb them.
I am fixed on a wooden chair
and made to wait for my fate
in utter blindness and helplessness
in the hands of some monster.
all of a sudden sharp fist blows
strike my floating ribs
chest and solar plexus.
then the demons make barrages
of questions, threats and taunts
with more barrages of blows.
my silence, answer or comment
always fetches harder blows,
the demons keep on threatening
to break my skull against the wall.
I hear water gushing against water,
the racket of plastic pails
and the screeches of frantic boots.
a small towel is put across my face
and mouth; and strong hands hold
my head and grasp my mouth.
cascades of water dig into my nostrils
and flood my mouth, throat and lungs.
the torrents of water come with torrents
of questions, threats and taunts.
the cuffs slash my wrist and ankles
as I strain for air again and again
against the stinging rush of water.
I suffer for so many persons, groups,
addresses, villages, mountains
that I do not know or do not want
to tell or confirm to the demons.
they are most vicious and persistent
in trying to extract hot leads,
more prey and more spoils
for more than a thousand times,
the strength of my heart is tested.
as I struggle and scream for air,
American rock music screens my screams
outside the torture chamber.
from time to time, a demon pokes
the barrel of a gun into my mouth;
another keeps on jobbing his fingers
into different parts of my body
to disrupt the rhythm of my resistance.
my struggle loosens the blindfold.
I can see a senior demon gloating,
then a stocky demon sits on my belly.
as my body weakens and I grow dizzy,
the chief interrogator vainly tries
to hypnotize me by repeating words,
suggesting that i am going, going
to sleep and rest my mind in his power.
i resist and keep my wits alive
by recalling the words of battlecry.
only bedbugs, mosquitos, ants,
cockroaches, lizards and spiders
are my cohabitants in this part of hell
I miss and yearn for my beloved
and think of her own faith.
I long for my growing children;
I long for the honest company
of workers, peasants and comrades.
I long for the people rising
and the wide open spaces of my country.
but still my pain and suffering is small
and i think of those who suffer more
the violence of daily exploitation
and the rampage of terror on the land.
I belittle my pain and suffering
as i think of people who fight
for their own redemption and freedom
and avenge the blood of martyrs.
I belittle my pain and suffering
as i hope to give more to the struggle.