OF FERNAN ANGELES IN THE HOSPITAL
By Mauro Gia Samonte
The Pigeon
by
Arturo Garcia on Saturday, March 24, 2012 at
9:13pm ·
Poem
March 24, 2012
The Pigeon
On the way to
Waterloo,
In a train
station…
I saw a one-legged pigeon
Trying hard to balance itself,
Limping but still able to fly.
I remembered the peace talks
Exemplified by it
Trying to soar and can’t get off,
The movement
Trying to move forward
After so many setbacks,
Then I remembered myself,
A broken-spirited soul,
Gutted by memories,
Trying to fly.
I remember the pigeon
As it flies away,
The brave birdwolf,
As it flies north,
Spirit still intact
As I should be.
On my way to Waterloo,
Where Napoleon met
His fate, I remembered.
Alpie Garcia
I found this post on Diego Yuri’s
Wall on Facebook and instantly I swarmed all over with a feeling of a need to
respond. I commented: “It prompts me into thoughts I cannot as yet word.”
Late
that evening I got a text message from Gemma, Fernan Angeles’ wife, saying
Fernan was brought to the operating room at 11:45 near midnight for an
emergency surgery – one more added to the many he already underwent for
injuries suffered from the savage mauling and shooting he was dealt with that
evening of March 11: his writing arm crushed, rendering it permanently robotic;
bullets ripped through his intestines, which had to be treated with a lot of stitches;
a slug stayed lodged in his spinal column, causing his current feeling of
paralysis on his limbs; and one bullet grazed his lungs for which he needed the
emergency surgical treatment.
I
must find out his real condition, and so I saw him the following morning at the
Pasig City General Hospital. Was I glad he was up and about. Pinned to the bed,
yes, but quite conscious, and – unlike in the morning after the attack when I
came to visit him and in the succeeding time I had hoped to speak to him but
failed – Fernan was in his characteristic fighting mood, cussing the bad eggs
in the police organization, particularly in Pasig City, and to my questions as
to how information on charges against him could have been filed in court en
route to the issuance of an arrest warrant for him by that court, when there
had been no PI (preliminary investigation) conducted by the fiscal in the first place.
Fernan cussed.
“Putang
Ina! That’s PI to them.”
And
I remembered Arturo Garcia’s poem, and then posted these words on the same
Diego Yuri’s wall on Facebook:
and
now...
words suddenly keep flooding
like a thousand itches needing
to be scratched
as must
the pigeon
legless that it was
soar up, up and away
to rendezvous
not with the hyperbole
of waterloo
but with the rule
that birds don’t fly on crushed limbs
words suddenly keep flooding
like a thousand itches needing
to be scratched
as must
the pigeon
legless that it was
soar up, up and away
to rendezvous
not with the hyperbole
of waterloo
but with the rule
that birds don’t fly on crushed limbs
and
bullets-shattered intestines
nor do they on spines rendered numb
by one stubborn slug that refused to get through
the bone –
pigeons, mockingbirds, fernan angeles –
all birds need are wings
to fly across rivers of defeat
wings as are fernan’s defiance of his destined fate:
“Seven bullets ain't enough to end me. now its my turn but i only have a slingshot for u EPD cops.!”
nor do they on spines rendered numb
by one stubborn slug that refused to get through
the bone –
pigeons, mockingbirds, fernan angeles –
all birds need are wings
to fly across rivers of defeat
wings as are fernan’s defiance of his destined fate:
“Seven bullets ain't enough to end me. now its my turn but i only have a slingshot for u EPD cops.!”
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