Mindanao

mindanao 1. the wind yearns for the wings of colorful kites, for the laughter that used to roll over the clouds and hills. no, not even the crows dare disturb this hallowed playground of helicopters and bombs. 2. a kite lay tattered on the broken rib of a hill, waiting for the touch of those children whose fingers now embrace the triggers that skew their smiles and numb their minds. 3. in this land of plenty the grass don’t grow green no more: a mass of spreading gray, heavy with the sulphuric dust of hell – the grass. on their leaves cling no beads of dew only blots of blood crying ‘we are your brothers.’