The March of Death By Bienvenido N. Santos
Were you one of them, my brother
Whom they marched under the April sun
And flogged to bleeding along the roads we knew and loved?
March, my brother, march!
The springs are clear beyond the road
There is rest at the foot of the hill.
We were young together,
So very young and unafraid;
Walked those roads, dusty in the summer sun,
Brown pools and mud in the December rains;
We ran barefoot along the beaten tracks in the canefields
Planted corn after the harvest months.
Here, too, we fought and loved
Shared our dreams of a better place
Beyond those winding trails.
March, my brother march!
The springs are clear beyond the road
There is rest at the foot of the hill.
We knew those roads by heart
Told places in the dark
By the fragrance of garden hedge
In front of uncle's house;
The clatter of wooden shoes on the bamboo bridge,
The peculiar rustling of bamboo groves
Beside the house where Celia lived.
Did you look through the blood in your eyes
For Celia sitting by the window,
As thousands upon thousands of you
Walked and died on the burning road?
If you died among the hundreds by the roadside
It should have been by the bamboo groves
With the peculiar rustling in the midnight.
No, you have not died; you cannot die;
I have felt your prayer touch my heart
As I walked along the crowded streets of America.
And we would walk those roads again one April morn,
Listen to the sound of working men
Dragging tree trunks from the forests,
Rebuilding homes- laughing again-
Sowing the field with grain, fearless of death
From cloudless skies.
You would be silent, remembering
The many young bodies that lay mangled by the roadside;
The agony and the moaning and the silent tears,
The grin of yellow men, their bloodstained blades opaque in the sun;
I would be silent, too, having nothing to say.
What matters if the winters were bitter cold
And loneliness stalked my footsteps on the snow?
March, my brother, march!
The springs are clear beyond the road
Rest, at the foot of the hill.
And we would walk those roads again on April morn
Hand in hand like pilgrims marching
Towards the church on the hillside,
Only a little nipa house beside the bamboo groves
With the peculiar rustling in the midnight
Or maybe I would walk them yet,
Remembering... remembering
It's about the Death March in Bataan, a torturous series of POW executions in the Philippines during WWII.
Several theories are:
Speaker is a Filipino who immigrated to the US before WWII.
Elizabeth I until her death in March 1603, then James I through to 1625.
No one know from where Alex came from, only where he was founded.he was found by the taxi driver.he was found on the arm of the statue near on the brown Thames.there was no wind that march Sunday morning.
March was the only Post Office employee whose body was found.At 48 he was also the oldest.His pocket watch stopped at 1:27 which proves that probabley most of the Postal worker's died in the sinking and not earlier as was once believed.His relatives in which i personally know have his watch as well as a ring in which his initial M was inscribed.
You mean the 'Ides of March'. In the Roman Calender it was a day in the middle of March, usually the 15th. The Latin term 'ides' describes that date. It was a festive day and many parades were held. Julius Caesar was assassinated on that day in 44BC despite being warned that his death would occur on that date
Her name is Calpurnia; the one that had a nap and had a dream about his death before Ides of March , where he was assasinated.
Lúcia Santos was born on March 22, 1907 and died on February 13, 2005. Lúcia Santos would have been 97 years old at the time of death or 108 years old today.
Its basically like the one out of star wars. You know.. The one the stormtroopers do.
Lúcia Santos was born on March 22, 1907.
Lúcia Santos was born on March 22, 1907.
March 18, 1954
Melissa Dos Santos was born on March 9, 1985.
Keven Santos was born on March 16, 1994, in Tracy, California, USA.
Jorge José Emiliano dos Santos was born on March 3, 1954 and died on February 21, 1995. Jorge José Emiliano dos Santos would have been 40 years old at the time of death or 61 years old today.
The March of Death By Bienvenido N. Santos Were you one of them, my brother Whom they marched under the April sun And flogged to bleeding along the roads we knew and loved? March, my brother, march! The springs are clear beyond the road There is rest at the foot of the hill. We were young together, So very young and unafraid; Walked those roads, dusty in the summer sun, Brown pools and mud in the December rains; We ran barefoot along the beaten tracks in the canefields Planted corn after the harvest months. Here, too, we fought and loved Shared our dreams of a better place Beyond those winding trails. March, my brother march! The springs are clear beyond the road There is rest at the foot of the hill. We knew those roads by heart Told places in the dark By the fragrance of garden hedge In front of uncle's house; The clatter of wooden shoes on the bamboo bridge, The peculiar rustling of bamboo groves Beside the house where Celia lived. Did you look through the blood in your eyes For Celia sitting by the window, As thousands upon thousands of you Walked and died on the burning road? If you died among the hundreds by the roadside It should have been by the bamboo groves With the peculiar rustling in the midnight. No, you have not died; you cannot die; I have felt your prayer touch my heart As I walked along the crowded streets of America. And we would walk those roads again one April morn, Listen to the sound of working men Dragging tree trunks from the forests, Rebuilding homes- laughing again- Sowing the field with grain, fearless of death From cloudless skies. You would be silent, remembering The many young bodies that lay mangled by the roadside; The agony and the moaning and the silent tears, The grin of yellow men, their bloodstained blades opaque in the sun; I would be silent, too, having nothing to say. What matters if the winters were bitter cold And loneliness stalked my footsteps on the snow? March, my brother, march! The springs are clear beyond the road Rest, at the foot of the hill. And we would walk those roads again on April morn Hand in hand like pilgrims marching Towards the church on the hillside, Only a little nipa house beside the bamboo groves With the peculiar rustling in the midnight Or maybe I would walk them yet, Remembering... remembering
march 11 1989
Jorge José Emiliano dos Santos was born on March 3, 1954.
Jorge José Emiliano dos Santos was born on March 3, 1954.