THE CHARGE OF THE HORSEMEN
AT THE BATTLE OF AGDANGAN
P.B.Robosa


Ahead! Down the hill the horses led
to rise again on another hillock
lit by the morning light the sun bled
and revealed to the enemy our attack.

Ahead! The blue shirts advanced
and came the sound of rifles readied
disturbing the silence of the ground
drowning the charge of our steeds.

Charge! And we headed to the center
and fifty muzzles pointed to the riders
and the horsemen rode as if unaware
the guns loaded, fingers at the triggers.

Crack! And a screen of smoke erupts
and our chests heaved with scarlet
we steadied, legs steeled to the stirrup
and then rolled down, giving in, death.

Like leaves we fall on desolate ground
plucked from flowers to be transplanted
no glory, no monuments to be found
amidst faith and longings unrewarded.

I was born into the love of a happy home
and heart gladdened by the wakening land,
rearing to be free to trace its destiny alone,
to draw paradise on earth with my hand.

To ends that God, History point the way,
the way of peace, and pride, and purpose,
ends songs are wrought and heroes made,
ends where lives are gave and joys repose.

I, to boundless hope these ends followed
bearing honor, life, and my soul unafraid
bearing it for all the countless tomorrows,
for my end, my home and sweet tender grave.