Amador T. Daguio

The city newspapers carried a front page story three days afterwards and the lead read as follows: "In a shooting affray between MPs and lawless elements in a barrio in Nueva Ecija, two men, a woman and a child were killed." No simple lead could have been more truthful than this: "Bernardo Carpio died in the middle of a song. The bullet opened a hole in his throat, but to those who love him, hi. death is an indictment

against democracy."

And the phrase "those who love him" would have meant the farmers, the workers, the peasants of the world who are now singing their song for redemption.

Who will cock the loaded gun, aim at their throats, and squeeze the trigger to silence the song before its completion?

PRELUDE

by AMADOR T. DAGUIO

. , This is the beat of my heart Seeking you: drumming its ca./l In pulses no measures can part For you alone. All The years I spent in the sun Of my childhood, and my manhood's rise Troop now in glorious longing, run To the call of your eyes.

No tears shall sorrow my love, No pain shaill be palmed by me As fate's gift-having you. Prove If you will, even as you now see.

For I offer you the fragrance bloomed From all the flowers my thinking distilled: And what bitterness I found is doomed , Only sweetness is left-the rest I killed.

Listen, therefore, to the 'music of my breast, Lean upon me, I look up to the light. I love yoUr-I love you tende1'ly-rest Your loveliness in me, for it is night.