City of the Infernal Sun

City of the Infernal Sun
by: j u l s i t o s

Manila,
city of the infernal sun,
whose gods have left you
to die in your dung.
How fortunate we are
that a morass like you
is dying each day,
your people like termites
festering in your crevices
with its footsteps
and tears.
They drink from your pustules,
wounds of the earth
nursed from decades past,
opened now for the soulless to drink
not knowing the difference
between the joy of death
and sleeping in perpetual hell.

Hasten your decay
so a new dawn will break upon us.
Your over-weightedness,
your avarice,
your ingratitude to History
your indifference to grace and virtue
your amorality
will be your end.
You slit your wrist
on the throne of the Devil
like Faustus
to satisfy your hunger
for quick dry orgasms.

What epiphany shall we see in you?
None! For death is sweet reckoning for you.
Never shall you stand again.
Your empty arrogance is your shackle
to which we hope shall never be loosen.
And praise the day when you shall see
your flesh has withered
and your bones scattered on the earth.
And when you decide that death is better,
only then, I shall help you
bury your grave.