Because you seize our land and call it hope, because you manufacture desolation and call it right-of-way. Because your cavalries cut our children open to expose their hearts of coal. Because you send a shining fleet of your youngest men, lust still forming in their bones. Because their bodies rape the bodies of our neighbours. Because you sleep soundly through it all. Because you divide us from our history and install a thousand checkpoints in between. Because you line the streets with bricks torn down from temples, because our sleepless gods wander among the missing. Because your prophets tell us there's a heaven but there's no more room. Because you feed your words into our language, and now we speak like strangers to one another. Because you make our women wear their nakedness like a gem. Because you scorch the jungles with the counterfeit daylight of cities. Because you intoxicate our rivers. Because you harpoon all our whales. Because you teach us how to torture one another with the simplest of elements, fire and water. Because you offer praise and weapons to our dictators. Because you build blockades around those who give us strength, brother, sister, lover, friend. Because you send your spies out to investigate our dreams. Because we dream the dangerous in which the world is fertile with remembering, subversive with desire. Because the old bury the young. Because we use our sorrow wisely, as armaments. Because you brand our tongues with silence. Because you watch us in fear, even while we sing.
– Eric Gamalinda, 2007