Lackluster daw ang performance
niya, de-numero sa mga dapat gawin . . .
Humiliated perpetually, powerless, property-less,
yet another discomfiture tonight, one on top of another
on this other, the crux and root of his unhappiness, having
no birthright right to protest against becoming the spittoon,
deserving it like vanished sherbet. The Queen, checking him
out in his dungeon situation, forever Right in her philosophy
and royalty-to-nobility speeches with spit, coddled by these—
villagers and Catholics and elderly judges, labellers carrying
aplomb, the mummified eternity of having an undying upper
hand with a sceptre of privilege, final knowledge, fortunate
power to blame and shame vainly—look out, out arriving
on her pathway: the unwrongable righteousness. Sighing
in the night, complaining about her reign and trampling
the leaves with the vision of closed eyes, telling all the
labelled curb snakes how comfortable they already
are in the labelled city grasses. Disgraced not!
Oi, lackluster daw performance niyo—
de-numero sa mga dapat gawin.
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