That empty space is fine with and in itself; it has no need for or of us.
Or, it has emptied itself of its abundance, upon seeing us close the distance
(threatened of rape, plunder, and the other imperatives of colonization).
It is best if we just walk on the path that cruelly cuts through them,
and just let the sliced and side spaces breathe, and air to pass through
or settle in their emptiness. Our burdens are our own, our own crosses.
Spare the rest of the world the heavy load, as we proceed to our private Golgotha.
Let the empty spaces do nothing more than bear witness to our procession.
Or, nothing more than being or not being, as we plod on to our crucifixion.
Still, our declaration of faith steadfastly remains, “We believe in Resurrection.”
And soon we, who have been running empty, shall perish and ash —
neither in victory nor defeat — into the quiet brotherhood of empty spaces.
Karlo Sevilla is a freelance writer who lives in Quezon City, Philippines. His poems have appeared in Philippines Graphic, Radius, I am not a silent poet, Anti-Heroin Chic, Eunoia, Rat’s Ass Review, Wraith Infirmity Muses, an Origami Poems Project microchap, and elsewhere. He also volunteers for the labor group Bukluran ng Manggagawang Pilipino (Solidarity of Filipino Workers).