at the coming enemy,
with bloodshot eyes he fixed,
his brain now dulled by drink
but the blade he held firmly in his fist.
Bacunawa slightly swaying on his feet.
Luy-a lunged swiftly like a coiled snake
straight at its prey for the kill,
and in a smooth motion he strikes
the tabas cutting the air in a short arc.
The old fighter instinctively step aside
the sharp tabas just inches from his head
and his right hand plunged with blinding speed
and the knife buried deep into the guts.
“I am sorry my son.”, Bacunawa said,
as he withdraws his knife now dripping with blood.
In the sunset the dusk slowly turns red,
and as if from a distance he saws himself,
his eyes slowly now brimming with tears,
For Luy-a his son, lays dying at his feet.