Like the Molave-Rafael M. Zulueta Da Costa
Like a Molave
I.
Not yet, Rizal, not yet. Sleep not in peace:
There are a thousand waters to be spanned;
there are a thousand mountains to be crossed;
there are a thousand crosses to be borne.
Our shoulders are not strong; our sinews are
grown flaccid with dependence, smug with ease
under another's wing. Rest not in peace;
Not yet, Rizal, not yet. The land has need
of young blood-and, what younger than your own,
Forever spilled in the great name of freedom,
Forever oblate on the altar of
the free? Not you alone, Rizal. O souls
And spirits of the martyred brave, arise!
Arise and scour the land! Shed once again
your willing blood! Infuse the vibrant red
into our thin anemic veins; until
we pick up your Promethean tools and, strong,
Out of the depthless matrix of your faith
in us, and on the silent cliffs of freedom,
we carve for all time your marmoreal dream!
Until our people, seeing, are become
like the Molave, firm, resilient, staunch,
rising on the hillside, unafraid,
Strong in its own fiber, yes, like the Molave!
Not yet,Rizal,not yet. The glory hour will come
Out of the silent dreaming from the seven thousand fold silence
We shall emerge, saying WE ARE FILIPINOS! and no longer be ashamed sleep not in peace the dream is not yet fully carved hard the wood but harder the woods yet the molave will stand yet the molave monument will rise and god's walk on brown legs
II.
The youth of the land is a proud and noble appellation,
The youth of the land is a panoramic poem,
The youth of the land is a book of paradoxes,
The youth of the land is a part on one’s back,
The youth of the land is a huge canvas of spectral colors,
The youth of the is an epic tragedy-comedy,
The youth of the land is a crashing symphony,
The youth of the land is a child grown old on tears,
The youth of the land is an oldman laughing through a perpetual in fancy;
A
I.
Not yet, Rizal, not yet. Sleep not in peace:
There are a thousand waters to be spanned;
there are a thousand mountains to be crossed;
there are a thousand crosses to be borne.
Our shoulders are not strong; our sinews are
grown flaccid with dependence, smug with ease
under another's wing. Rest not in peace;
Not yet, Rizal, not yet. The land has need
of young blood-and, what younger than your own,
Forever spilled in the great name of freedom,
Forever oblate on the altar of
the free? Not you alone, Rizal. O souls
And spirits of the martyred brave, arise!
Arise and scour the land! Shed once again
your willing blood! Infuse the vibrant red
into our thin anemic veins; until
we pick up your Promethean tools and, strong,
Out of the depthless matrix of your faith
in us, and on the silent cliffs of freedom,
we carve for all time your marmoreal dream!
Until our people, seeing, are become
like the Molave, firm, resilient, staunch,
rising on the hillside, unafraid,
Strong in its own fiber, yes, like the Molave!
Not yet,Rizal,not yet. The glory hour will come
Out of the silent dreaming from the seven thousand fold silence
We shall emerge, saying WE ARE FILIPINOS! and no longer be ashamed sleep not in peace the dream is not yet fully carved hard the wood but harder the woods yet the molave will stand yet the molave monument will rise and god's walk on brown legs
II.
The youth of the land is a proud and noble appellation,
The youth of the land is a panoramic poem,
The youth of the land is a book of paradoxes,
The youth of the land is a part on one’s back,
The youth of the land is a huge canvas of spectral colors,
The youth of the is an epic tragedy-comedy,
The youth of the land is a crashing symphony,
The youth of the land is a child grown old on tears,
The youth of the land is an oldman laughing through a perpetual in fancy;
A