Filipino Genocidio

an army of lesser mortals
descended upon the crimson arc
ready for battle
ready to die


am Private Liit
of the 1040th infantry
granted amnesty on this
year of our Lord
0001 AD.


stand firm with the militia
no more shall we take refuge
in your fantasies and lies,
we, of the shackled ones,
come armed,
come what


burned my hand
when I told him I wanted out
cigarettes smoked my hand
don’t burn my hand
don’t burn me


the patient was admitted
and he now admits that
he has nothing.
admittedly, there’s
we can


our men are being
calm down, calm down,
we have plenty to spare.
now sit back and relax
for we shall
win this


Joe, do you want to spin
my brain, my body, my soul
do you want me to swallow my pride
and let the world know that I’m your


in the name of the law
gaddemet stop,
but I did stop,
I told the reporters,
as I bled from my stomach.
tell my wife I’ll be late for dinner.


Filipino Genocidio is a poem I cannot remember writing, much less why I wrote it in the first place.

hey young writer

hey young writer.

i heard your heartbeat last night.

i heard you cry your eyes out –

for one reason or another.

i heard that family

is causing trouble

and things aren’t going as planned.


hey young writer.

i heard all those things last night.


i am a thousand miles away right now.

but don’t you worry.

because my ears and eyes are special,

they hear and see things

from beyond the horizon.


hey young writer.

i heard you’ve been trying hard.


i heard your hands silently tapping,

tapping, tapping.


tapping because your

soul needed release.


you saw the ink

taking shape on the

computer screen like

your life

as you took

control of it.


i heard your laughter in the dark,

your tears that

the morning sun took away.


i heard that you wanted to quit,

but writing won’t let you.


and so now we’re here.


hey young writer.

i heard you conquered your fears last night.





she sat there unperturbed as
hundreds of babies hurtled
through clear tubes from the
cosmos to the earth.

i asked her, dear lady,
what is the meaning of life?

she looked at me casually
and sipped her daiquiri –
the meaning, the meaning,

there’s one i’m sure.
there’s one meaning
for every piece of me
i send down there.


Siya’y napapagal na sa paghihintay.

Sa mahaba-habang paglalakbay
kung saan ang daa’y paahon,
paliko, matarik, baluktot,
katastropikong kanto por kanto,
gumigilid biglang nawawala at
lilitaw na lamang sa gitna ng
kagubatan ng kawalan.

Siya’y napapagod na sa pagninilay.

Kung kailan, paano, bakit,
Saan ba, doon ba o dito,
mga tanong na kailangang isigaw
ngunit hindi kailanma’y pinakinggan
tumatawag siya ng iyong pansin
sa gitna ng digmaan ng mga salita
kung saan ang pinakamalakas at
pinakamatigas ay di parating
pinakamalinaw o pinakamatino.

Siya’y parating naghihintay.

Hindi ko masasabi kung kanino,
sapagkat siya mismo’y hindi sigurado
kung siya nga ba o siya, tatayo na ba,
tayo na o tayo na? mga himutok ng
kabaguhan at kalumaan na patuloy
na humuhubog sa kaakuhan, kasinohan,
kaalaman at gloryang pilit pinipisil sa
bawat letrang hindi na malaman kung
saan nanggagaling.

Siya’y marunong din magutom.

Matagal niyang tiniis ang hapdi ng
di pagkakakilanlan sapagkat ito
ang kanyang nakasanayan.
Ngunit paano nga ba patuloy
na mabubuhay sa liwanag (daw)
ng kasalukuyan kung sa matagal na
panahon ay puro gutom ang naranasan?

Alam din niya kung paano masaktan.

Kung ang buhay ay isang kandila, labinlimang
kandila na ang kaniyang hinawakan, tangan
sapagkat walang ibang gustong humawak ng mga ito
para sa kanya. Isang kabalintuanan, isang
pagkakamali na isipin na siya’y diamante.
sapagkat ang diamante ay di nasasaktan.
doon ako sa mainit, buhay na gawa sa laman.

at ngayon – ngayon: sa pagmulat ng kanyang mata’y maiisip niya
na sa wakas, ito na ang simula ng aking buhay.

{Poetry} MRT (Monsters Ruin Lives)


Marius Carlos, Jr. {8/25/2016}


Monsters Ruin Lives

This was the heading

On a piece of paper

That blew past the poet

With steely gazes, he

Studied, those babbling

About him.


The biggest swindle

Is when monsters lick

The bare breasts of the law

And are nourished by its

Systemic infection no

Longer servings its

Purpose, must it now

Be destroyed?


The ink that writes is

What inks those rights is

What sinks those rights is

What speaks our plights is

What makes it right!


Chained brother, you

Do not weep, we do not

Sleep, but all we do is

Seek, for it is the points

That connect the words

That beasts take flight,

Talons out.


Game face



{On Aug. 24, 2016, poet Angelo V. Suarez was detained and accused of malicious mischief, due to a piece of graffiti that read #MRTBulok on an MRT train.}



{Poetry} Child of War

Child of War

Marius Carlos, Jr. 8/24/2016


My child, borne of pain

In your blood runs

The mighty river

Of Justice.


I hold your tiny hands

With tears streaming forth

My heart, my soul,

This world is not perfect

Never will, never will.


Look beyond the pale

Reflections of light and

See the world for what

It has truly



My beautiful Child,

Within you lies the Red Spark

That will lead us into

The dominion of life

And Death.


For in revolution,

We bravely charge forth

With a solemn kiss

On the lips of liberation.