Sporadic visitors from land beyond
whom got lost in the terrorizing bodies of water,
then you add god hath guided, for my people
isn’t scared or tired,
...but still I inivite you not to prolonge, but back to your journey in the open sea..
foreigners with colorless skins
with breast made from steel,
sticks that spits out fire, that spoke only for infatuation of material desire...
but still men of honey brown complexion, I, offer you aid and navigation...
savagery, fearful, timid tribes when you arrived was your elusive expectancy
consider it also your ignorancy - that caused mothers and babies lives
...but still, as you glare at my queen endowed with exotic soft skin, as she serves you...
fruitful soil and bright rays of the sun coultivate these lands
soil-woman, sun-man inhabits these thousands of islands
blue water, white sands, and orange horizons
I, indegenous man, can go on and on
...but still I share with you grey man, to show myself - i’m true...
aroused by the resources that surrounds me, of porcelain, gold, vegitation
fresh like tropical rain,
with open arms I present to you my hospitality
patented palms offering foods to slow any hostility
...but still you stay quiet, your physical immobile but your mental is in a riot...
so then you asked me “small black man why do you hate? we’re here
to baptize you as christians, it’s your faith”
but christianity is the same reason that the man, the rebel, jesus was put upon two sticks for treason then you’ve got me praisin’ a crusifix that I see in graveyards, now generations of native are brainwashed.
...but still I indulged your beliefs, for I thought nutually you’ll agree,
to absorb my cultures from my kings and barangay chiefs...
at first these visions were weary, glassy or maybe even glossy
until the night my spirit died, my daughter, my wife enslaved before me...
tears dripped, and weary, glassy, even glossy
visions gets clear and radiant, but this time full of hatred
now I know my mind is not just being creative,
enough of your lies
history
not my story
I see through the eyes of a late muslim native.

"Who's Story"
kubing: sadu wendell pasqual
snare: tone caybut
anita's mama ocean: mark a. malabuyo
olivia's baby: anita miralle
Rec. 6/9/97 in candle lit garage in the new home of the malabuyo sibling's...2315.