Criticism: Ang Sayaw ng Dalawang Kaliwang Paa

  The movie Ang Sayaw ng Dalawang Paa is an example of feminist theory. The character of Jean Garcia controlled or affected the other roles in a way that it also affects the whole story. The role of women, as well as the perception of men towards women were manifested in the movie. The implication of the role of women, and also the confusion towards gender preference were elements that are also visible in the plot. From the title itself, And Sayaw ng Dalawang Kaliwang Paa has symbolism. The right is associated with action and the male, solar aspects of existence.  The left is traditionally associated with weakness, passivity and the lunar, female principle. This means that the title suggest feminism presenting the main character who is a woman being the center of the story. Motif such as dance gives emphasis to the way the characters control their inner states and how they express it. It adds artistic element to the movie and helps build intrigue and tense within the audience. 

Criticism on story The Last Judgment by Karel Capek

The Last Judgment

                 This story is an example of modernism theory. The author Karel Capek is a pragmatist and the one who is a devotee of modern life and technology, he sneered at everything that seemed old-fashioned and conservative The author contradicts the belief of people on God as the judge of heaven and that He will be the one to judge if we deserve heaven or hell. From this, we can see how Fedinand Kugler, a notorious killer, was judged after death and recall his deeds in earth through God’s eyes. In this story, it is very definite how the author tries to promote a fiction story in a complex yet interesting way. He used dramatic presentation as a narrative device. The theme of the story reveals heavenly justice and the consequences of man's actions. The conflict unlike other stories was external, Kugler struggles for his life, escaping the law of man, his struggles from the justice of heaven. From the theory, we will notice that the author emphasized the role of God, he made an effort on portraying God differently and that made an affect on the whole story. The message or the theme of the story contest or somehow contradicts our beliefs and from that the author was successful in achieving his purpose and conveying his idea. 

Criticism on story The Use of Force by William Carlos Williams

         This story is an example of modernism. The short story The Use of Force answers the question “What are the outcomes of overpowering others?” In the story, the narrator who was the doctor has a battle within himself. The two conflicts of the story is man to man which is an external and man versus himself which is internal. The external conflict which is the doctor’s battle with the child is less significant than the internal conflict because as being emphasized by this fiction, the doctor’s battle within himself, his urge to hurt the child and the drives to do his duty as a doctor resulted to something that that is positive and human values are implied. The narration was not the same with other short stories, dramatic presentation was not used. Though the actions and lines of the other characters were present, still it was from the perception of the narrator or the doctor. The narrative device that the author used in the short story was the stream of consciousness wherein the narrator has an interior monologue, which means a direct introduction of the reader into the interior life of the character. In the story we can see how the doctor narrates and puts the situation on his own perception and thoughts relating only to other characters. The artistry and style of the short story was promoted through the way the author presented the story, he just simply let it flow without any interventions and dialogues from the character. He just based it on the perception of the doctor and in that case, the conflict of the story, the actions of the characters, and the use of language were developed and contributed to the concept of the story. The story started with the description of the doctor to the setting, the characters, and the situation. The struggles and the frustrations of the doctor were defined from what the child, the parents, and the situation provoked. From the conflict to the climax we can see how the doctor fought his urges in alignment with the ethics of his profession and his concern with the child. 

Criticism on the poem United Fruit Company by Pablo Nerudo

The poem The United Fruit Company by Pablo Nerudo is an example of post colonialism as a literary theory. The historical background of the poem reveals how The United Fruit Company, an American Corporation that traded tropical fruit specifically bananas and pineapples, used their power to dictate, manipulate, and exploit citizens trough working in their corporation. Workers rights are not followed and instead of the promise of good fortune, they were maltreated and abused by the corporation. In the first part of the poem, it describes how these big companies emerged and also, it mentioned ‘The united Fruit Company reserved for its self the most juicy piece’ which is Central America. In the succeeding lines, the narrator introduced how this company overpowered the people and finds its way in capturing them through false promises, fooloing those people. In the third stanza;

attracted the dictatorship of the flies,
Trujillo flies, Tacho flies
Carias flies, Martinez flies
Ubico flies, damp flies
of modest blood and marmalade,
drunken flies who zoom
over the ordianry graves,
circus flies, wise flies
well trained in tyranny. 

Neruda references Trujillo, Tacho, Carias, Martinez, and Ubico, who were all Central and South American dictators, in lines 21-23 in his poem because this company enforced American imperialistic politics in the region during the red scare. The word ‘flies’ as symbolism was disgust or annoyance, such symbolism develops the tone which is ironic and is a dominant element of the poem. The author also used metaphors and similes to convey ideas in a figurative and artistic way. In the last lines, ‘Corpse rolls, a thing without name, a discarded number, a bunch of rotten fruit thrown on the garbage heap’ metaphor was used to describe or narrate the how the natives worked hard for the corporation until they suffer and eventually die. The words that suggests the innocence of the natives like ‘modest’, ‘delicate’  resulting to the abuse of their rights serves as motifs in the poem that helps develop the concept and the tone.

Criticism on the Poem Richard Cory of Edwin Arlington Robinson

  The poem Richard Cory by Edwin Arlington Robinson is a poem about a man who is everything, and possesses everything. An educated, wealthy, and graceful man but beyond the glittering shadow, conceive emptiness that leads to his suicide. The rhyme scheme is set up in a basic abab cdcd efef ghgh pattern, with the lines divided up into four stanzas, quatrains to be exact. The feet and meter of the lines are classic. The entire poem is written in iambic pentameter Themes of self-deception and spiritual emptiness enveloped the poem, the irony made the theme more complex yet it leaves a lasting impact to the reader. In the first stanza, the author established a figure of an admirable man, he introduced Richard Cory in a way that the reader will easily notice the contrast of the characters since the author or the narrator isolated the character of Richard Cory and included himself to the ‘we’ which are the townsman who admires and looks up to him. In the second stanza, the author builds up or adds up detail to Richard Cory’s description, in this way, a solid picture of a man who is successful, powerful, and admirable. We can see how Richard Cory’s character is highlighted in the second stanza as it only focused on him, “and he was always quietly arrayed/and he was always human when he talk”. We can see from this lines that ‘he’ was being emphasized, thus, supporting and strengthening the details from the first stanza on the purpose of building a vision of a character that is different from those who sees him in the text. This thematic element develops the paradox and the contrast between the two separate entities; Richard Cory who symbolizes wealth and the townsman that symbolizes inferiority or poverty. In the third stanza down to the thirteenth and fourteenth lines, the contrasts not only between the characters are developed but also their social class. From the lines “and he was rich, yes, richer than a king/In fine we thought that he was everything/to make us wish that we were in his place” emphasized the big gap between the social classes. The establishment of envy from the townsmen towards Richard Cory contributes to the theme since the author wanted to emphasize the significance of the revelation on the last two lines. The phrases ‘without the meat and cursed the bread’ were used to redefine the position of the townsmen and how they feel being on that life. The fourteen lines of the poem serve as the preparation, the introduction, and the supporting part that solidifies the vision or perception of the reader so that when the last two lines are revealed, it will have a lasting and deep effect on the reader. The tone is the most dominant element of the poem Richard Cory because its tone adds up to the concept that the author which he used to build up the incidents within the poem and capture the interest of the reader. Being an open-ended poem, it also adds to the artistry and the mystery of the poem. The surprise, the irony, and the conclusion will leave the readers thinking, concluding, and intrigued. 

The United Fruit Co. by Pablo Neruda

Cuando sonó la trompeta, estuvo
todo preparado en la tierra,
y Jehova repartió el mundo
a Coca-Cola Inc., Anaconda,
Ford Motors, y otras entidades:
la Compañía Frutera Inc.
se reservó lo más jugoso,
la costa central de mi tierra,
la dulce cintura de América.

Bautizó de nuevo sus tierras
como "Repúblicas Bananas,"
y sobre los muertos dormidos,
sobre los héroes inquietos
que conquistaron la grandeza,
la libertad y las banderas,
estableció la ópera bufa:
enajenó los albedríos
regaló coronas de César,
desenvainó la envidia, atrajo
la dictadora de las moscas,
moscas Trujillos, moscas Tachos,
moscas Carías, moscas Martínez,
moscas Ubico, moscas húmedas
de sangre humilde y mermelada,
moscas borrachas que zumban
sobre las tumbas populares,
moscas de circo, sabias moscas
entendidas en tiranía.

Entre las moscas sanguinarias
la Frutera desembarca,
arrasando el café y las frutas,
en sus barcos que deslizaron como bandejas el tesoro
de nuestras tierras sumergidas.

Mientras tanto, por los abismos
azucarados de los puertos,
caían indios sepultados
en el vapor de la mañana:
un cuerpo rueda, una cosa
sin nombre, un número caído,
un racimo de fruta muerta
derramada en el pudridero.

When the trumpet sounded,

it was  all prepared on the earth, 

the Jehovah parcelled out the earth 

to Coca Cola, Inc., Anaconda, 

Ford Motors, and other entities: 

The Fruit Company, Inc. 

reserved for itself the most succulent, 

the central coast of my own land, 

the delicate waist of America. 

It rechristened its territories 

as the ’Banana Republics’ 

and over the sleeping dead, 

over the restless heroes 

who brought about the greatness,

the liberty and the flags, 

it established the comic opera: 

abolished the independencies, 

presented crowns of Caesar, 

unsheathed envy, attracted 

the dictatorship of the flies, 

Trujillo flies, Tacho flies, 

Carias flies, Martines flies, 

Ubico flies, damp flies 

of modest blood and marmalade, 

drunken flies who zoom 

over the ordinary graves, 

circus flies, wise flies 

well trained in tyranny.

Among the blood-thirsty flies 

the Fruit Company lands its ships, 

taking off the coffee and the fruit; 

the treasure of our submerged 

territories flow as though 

on plates into the ships.

Meanwhile Indians are falling 

into the sugared chasms 

of the harbours, wrapped 

for burials in the mist of the dawn: 

a body rolls, a thing 

that has no name, a fallen cipher, 

a cluster of the dead fruit 

thrown down on the dump.

The Last Judgment by Karel Čapek

The notorious multiple-killer Kugler, pursued by several warrants and a whole army of policemen and detectives, swore that he’d never be taken. He wasn’t either – at least not alive. The last of his nine murderous deeds was shooting a policeman who tried to arrest him. The policeman indeed died, but not before putting a total of seven bullets into Kugler. Of these seven, three were fatal. Kugler’s death came so quickly that he felt no pain. And so it seemed Kugler had escaped earthly justice.

When his soul left his body, it should have been surprised at the sight of the next world – a world beyond space, grey, and infinitely desolate – but it wasn’t. A man who has been jailed on two continents looks upon the next life merely as new surroundings. Kugler expected to struggle through, equipped only with a bit of courage, as he had in the last world.

At length the inevitable Last Judgment got around to Kugler. The judges were old and worthy councilors with austere, bored faces. Kugler complied with the usual tedious formalities: Ferdinand Kugler, unemployed, born on such and such a date, died… at this point it was shown Kugler didn’t know the date of his own death. Immediately he realized this was a damaging omission in the eyes of the judges; his spirit of helpfulness faded.

“Do you plead guilty or not guilty?” asked the presiding judge.

“Not guilty,” said Kugler obdurately.

“Bring in the first witness,” the judge sighed.

Opposite Kugler appeared an extraordinary gentleman, stately, bearded, and clothed in a blue robe strewn with golden stars.

At his entrance, the judges arose. Even Kugler stood up, reluctant but fascinated. Only when the old gentleman took a seat did the judges again sit down.

“Witness,” began the presiding judge, “omniscient God, this court has summoned you in order to hear your testimony in the case against Kugler, Ferdinand. As you are the supreme truth, you need not take the oath. In the interest of the proceedings, however, we ask you to keep to the subject at hand rather than branch out into particulars – unless they have a bearing on this case.”

“And you, Kugler, don’t interrupt the witness. He knows everything, so there’s no use denying anything.”

“And now, witness, if you would please begin.”

God, the witness, coughed lightly and began:

“Yes. Kugler, Ferdinand. Ferdinand Kugler, son of a factory worker, was a bad, unmanageable child from his earliest days. He loved his mother dearly, but was unable to show it, this made him unruly and defiant. Young man, you irked everyone! Do you remember how you bit your father on the thumb when he tried to spank you? You had stolen a rose from the notary’s garden.”

“The rose was for Irma, the tax collector’s daughter,” Kugler said.

“I know,” said God. “Irma was seven years old at that time. Did you ever hear what happened to her?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“She married Oscar, the son of the factory owner. But she contracted a venereal disease from him and died of a miscarriage. You remember Rudy Zaruba?”

“What happened to him?”

“Why, he joined the navy and died accidentally in Bombay. You two were the worst boys in the whole town. Kugler, Ferdinand, was a thief before his tenth year and an inveterate liar. He kept bad company, too: old Gribble, for instance, a drunkard and an idler, living on handouts. Nevertheless, Kugler shared many of his own meals with Gribble.”

The presiding judge motioned with his hand, as if much of this was perhaps unnecessary, but Kugler himself asked hesitantly, “And… what happened to his daughter?” “What’s she doing right now?”

“This very minute she’s buying thread at Wolfe’s. Do you remember that shop? Once, when you were six years old, you bought a colored glass marble there. On that very same day you lost it and never, never found it. Do you remember how you cried with rage?”

“Whatever happened to it?” Kugler asked eagerly.

“Well, it rolled into the drain and under the gutterspout. Right now it’s still there, after thirty years. Right now it’s raining on earth and your marble is shivering in the gush of cold water.”

Kugler bent his head, overcome by this revelation. But the presiding judge fitted his spectacles back on his nose, and said mildly, “Witness, we are obliged to get on with the case. Has the accused committed murder?”

“He murdered nine people. The first one he killed in a brawl, and it was during his prison term for his crime that he became completely corrupted. The second victim was his unfaithful sweetheart. For that he was sentenced to death, but he escaped. The third was an old man whom he robbed. The fourth was a night watchman.”

“Then he died?” Kugler asked.

“He died after three days in terrible pain,” God said. “And he left six children behind him. The fifth and sixth victims were an old married couple. He killed them with an axe and found only sixteen dollars, although they had twenty thousand hidden away.”

Kugler jumped up. “Where?”

“In the straw mattress,” God said. “In a linen sack inside the mattress. That’s where they hid all the money they acquired from greed and penny-pinching. The seventh man he killed in America, a countryman of his, a bewildered, friendless immigrant.”

“So it was in the mattress,” whispered Kugler in amazement.

“Yes,” continued God. “The eighth man was merely a passerby who happened to be in Kugler’s way when Kugler was trying to outrun the police. At that time Kugler had periostitis and was delirious from the pain. Young man, you were suffering terribly. The ninth and last was the policeman who killed Kugler exactly when Kugler shot him.”

“And why did the accused commit murder?” asked the presiding judge.

“For the same reasons others have,” answered God. “Out of anger or desire for money, both deliberately and accidentally-some with pleasure, others from necessity. However, he was generous and often helpful. He was kind to women, gentle with animals, and kept his word. Am I to mention his good deeds?”

“For the same reasons others have,” answered God. “Out of anger or desire for money, both deliberately and accidentally – some with pleasure, others from necessity. However, he was generous and often helpful. He was kind to women, gentle with animals, and kept his word. Am I to mention his good deeds?”

“Thank you,” said the presiding judge, “but it isn’t necessary. Does the accused have anything to say in his own defense?”

“No,” Kugler replied with honest indifference.

“The judges of this court will now take this matter under advisement,” declared the presiding judge, and the three of them withdrew.

Only God and Kugler remained in the courtroom.

“Who are they?” asked Kugler, indicating with his head the men who just left.

“People like you,” answered God. “They were judges on earth, so they’re judges here as well.”

Kugler nibbled his fingertips. “I expected… I mean, I never really thought about it. But I figured you would judge since…”

“Since I’m God,” finished the stately gentleman. “But that’s just it, don’t you see? Because I know everything, I can’t possibly judge. That wouldn’t do at all. By the way, do you know who turned you in this time?”

“No, I don’t,” said Kugler, surprised.

“Lucky, the waitress. She did it out of jealousy.”

“Excuse me,” Kugler ventured, “but you forgot about that good-for-nothing Teddy I shot in Chicago.”

“Not at all,” God said. “He recovered and is alive this very minute. I know he’s an informer, but otherwise he’s a very good man and terribly fond of children. You shouldn’t think of any person as being completely worthless.”

“But I still don’t understand why you aren’t the judge,” Kugler said thoughtfully.
“But why are they judging… the same people who were judges on earth?”

“Because man belongs to man. As you see, I’m only the witness. But the verdict is determined by man, even in heaven. Believe me, Kugler, this is the way it should be. Man isn’t worthy of divine judgment. He deserves to be judged only by other men.”

At that moment, the three returned from their deliberation. In heavy tones the presiding judge announced, “For repeated crimes of first – degree murder, manslaughter, robbery, disrespect for the law, illegally carrying weapons, and for the theft of a rose; Kugler, Ferdinand, is sentenced to lifelong punishment in hell.

“Next case please: Torrance, Frank.”

“Is the accused present in court?”

Richard Cory by Edwin Arlington Robinson

Whenever Richard Cory went down town,

We people on the pavement looked at him:

He was a gentleman from sole to crown,

Clean favored and imperially slim.

And he was always quietly arrayed,

And he was always human when he talked,

But still he fluttered pulses when he said,

"Good-morning," and he glittered when he walked.

And he was rich--yes, richer than a king--

And admirably schooled in every grace:

In fine, we thought that he was everything

To make us wish that we were in his place.

So on we worked, and waited for the light,

And went without the meat and cursed the bread;

And Richard Cory, one calm summer night,

Went home and put a bullet through his head.

The Use of Force by William Carlos Williams

They were new patients to me, all I had was the name, Olson. Please come down as soon as you can, my daughter is very sick.

When I arrived I was met by the mother, a big startled looking woman, very clean and apologetic who merely said, Is this the doctor? and let me in. In the back, she added. You must excuse us, doctor, we have her in the kitchen where it is warm. It is very damp here sometimes.

The child was fully dressed and sitting on her father's lap near the kitchen table. He tried to get up, but I motioned for him not to bother, took off my overcoat and started to look things over. I could see that they were all very nervous, eyeing me up and down distrustfully. As often, in such cases, they weren't telling me more than they had to, it was up to me to tell them; that's why they were spending three dollars on me.

The child was fairly eating me up with her cold, steady eyes, and no expression to her face whatever. She did not move and seemed, inwardly, quiet; an unusually attractive little thing, and as strong as a heifer in appearance. But her face was flushed, she was breathing rapidly, and I realized that she had a high fever. She had magnificent blonde hair, in profusion. One of those picture children often reproduced in advertising leaflets and the photogravure sections of the Sunday papers.

She's had a fever for three days, began the father and we don't know what it comes from. My wife has given her things, you know, like people do, but it don't do no good. And there's been a lot of sickness around. So we tho't you'd better look her over and tell us what is the matter.

As doctors often do I took a trial shot at it as a point of departure. Has she had a sore throat?

Both parents answered me together, No . . . No, she says her throat don't hurt her.

Does your throat hurt you? added the mother to the child. But the little girl's expression didn't change nor did she move her eyes from my face.

Have you looked?

I tried to, said the mother, but I couldn't see.

As it happens we had been having a number of cases of diphtheria in the school to which this child went during that month and we were all, quite apparently, thinking of that, though no one had as yet spoken of the thing.

Well, I said, suppose we take a look at the throat first. I smiled in my best professional manner and asking for the child's first name I said, come on, Mathilda, open your mouth and let's take a look at your throat.

Nothing doing.

Aw, come on, I coaxed, just open your mouth wide and let me take a look. Look, I said opening both hands wide, I haven't anything in my hands. Just open up and let me see.

Such a nice man, put in the mother. Look how kind he is to you. Come on, do what he tells you to. He won't hurt you.

At that I ground my teeth in disgust. If only they wouldn't use the word "hurt" I might be able to get somewhere. But I did not allow myself to be hurried or disturbed but speaking quietly and slowly I approached the child again.

As I moved my chair a little nearer suddenly with one catlike movement both her hands clawed instinctively for my eyes and she almost reached them too. In fact she knocked my glasses flying and they fell, though unbroken, several feet away from me on the kitchen floor.

Both the mother and father almost turned themselves inside out in embarrassment and apology. You bad girl, said the mother, taking her and shaking her by one arm. Look what you've done. The nice man . . .

For heaven's sake, I broke in. Don't call me a nice man to her. I'm here to look at her throat on the chance that she might have diphtheria and possibly die of it. But that's nothing to her. Look here, I said to the child, we're going to look at your throat. You're old enough to understand what I'm saying. Will you open it now by yourself or shall we have to open it for you)

Not a move. Even her expression hadn't changed. Her breaths however were coming faster and faster. Then the battle began. I had to do it. I had to have a throat culture for her own protection. But first I told the parents that it was entirely up to them. I explained the danger but said that I would not insist on a throat examination so long as they would take the responsibility.

If you don't do what the doctor says you'll have to go to the hospital, the mother admonished her severely.

Oh yeah? I had to smile to myself. After all, I had already fallen in love with the savage brat, the parents were contemptible to me. In the ensuing struggle they grew more and more abject, crushed, exhausted while she surely rose to magnificent heights of insane fury of effort bred of her terror of me.

The father tried his best, and he was a big man but the fact that she was his daughter, his shame at her behavior and his dread of hurting her made him release her just at the critical times when I had almost achieved success, till I wanted to kill him. But his dread also that she might have diphtheria made him tell me to go on, go on though he himself was almost fainting, while the mother moved back and forth behind us raising and lowering her hands in an agony of apprehension.

Put her in front of you on your lap, I ordered, and hold both her wrists.

But as soon as he did the child let out a scream. Don't, you're hurting me. Let go of my hands. Let them go I tell you. Then she shrieked terrifyingly, hysterically. Stop it! Stop it! You're killing me!

Do you think she can stand it, doctor! said the mother.

You get out, said the husband to his wife. Do you want her to die of diphtheria?

Come on now, hold her, I said.

Then I grasped the child's head with my left hand and tried to get the wooden tongue depressor between her teeth. She fought, with clenched teeth, desperately! But now I also had grown furious--at a child. I tried to hold myself down but I couldn't. I know how to expose a throat for inspection. And I did my best. When finally I got the wooden spatula behind the last teeth and just the point of it into the mouth cavity, she opened up for an instant but before I could see anything she came down again and gripping the wooden blade between her molars she reduced it to splinters before I could get it out again.

Aren't you ashamed, the mother yelled at her. Aren't you ashamed to act like that in front of the doctor?

Get me a smooth-handled spoon of some sort, I told the mother. We're going through with this. The child's mouth was already bleeding. Her tongue was cut and she was screaming in wild hysterical shrieks. Perhaps I should have desisted and come back in an hour or more. No doubt it would have been better. But I have seen at least two children lying dead in bed of neglect in such cases, and feeling that I must get a diagnosis now or never I went at it again. But the worst of it was that I too had got beyond reason. I could have torn the child apart in my own fury and enjoyed it. It was a pleasure to attack her. My face was burning with it.

The damned little brat must be protected against her own idiocy, one says to one's self at such times. Others must be protected against her. It is a social necessity. And all these things are true. But a blind fury, a feeling of adult shame, bred of a longing for muscular release are the operatives. One goes on to the end.

In a final unreasoning assault I overpowered the child's neck and jaws. I forced the heavy silver spoon back of her teeth and down her throat till she gagged. And there it was--both tonsils covered with membrane. She had fought valiantly to keep me from knowing her secret. She had been hiding that sore throat for three days at least and lying to her parents in order to escape just such an outcome as this.

Now truly she was furious. She had been on the defensive before but now she attacked. Tried to get off her father's lap and fly at me while tears of defeat blinded her eyes. 

ISANG DIPANG LANGIT ni Amado V. Hernandez

Ako'y pniit ng linsil na langit
hangad palibhasang diwa koy pilitin,
katawang marupo, aniya’y pagsuko,
damdami’y supil na;t maithiin ay supil


Ikinulong ako sa kutang malupit;
bato bakal punlo, balasik ng bantay:
lubos na tiwalag sa buong daigdig
at inaring kahit buhay man ay patay


Sa munting dungawan, tanging abot-malas
ay sandipang langit na puno ng luha ,
maramot na birang ng pusong may sugat
watawat ng aking pagkapariwara.


Sintalim ng kidlat ang mata ng tanod,
sa pintong may susi’y walang makalapit
sigaw ng bilanggo sa katabing muog,
anaki’y atungal ng hayop sa yungib.


Ang maghapo’y tila isang tanikala
na kalakaladkad ng paanang madugo,
ang buong magdamag ay kulambong luksa
ng kabaong waring lungga ng bilanggo.


Kung minsa’y magdaan ang payak na yabag,
kawil ng kadena ang kumakalanding;
sa maputlang araw saglit ibibilad,
sanlibong aninong inilwa ng dilim.


Kung minsan, ang gabi’y biglang magulantang
sa hudyat--may takas!--at asod ng punlo;
kung minsa’y tumangis ang limang batingaw,
sa bitayang muog, may naghihingalo


At ito ang tanging daigdig ko ngayon--
bilangguang mandi’y libingan ng buhay;
sampu, dalawampu, at lahat ng taon
ng buong buhay ko’y dito mapipigtal.


Nguni’t yaring diwa’y walang takot-hirap
at batitis pa rin itong aking puso:
piita’y bahagi ng pakikilamas,
mapiit ay tanda ng hindi pagsuko.


Ang tao’t Bathala ay di natutulog
at di habang araw ang api ay api,
tanang paniniil ay may pagtutuos,
habang may Bastilya’y may bayang gaganti.


At bukas, diyan din, aking matatanaw
sa sandipang langit na wala nang luha,
sisikat ang gintong araw ng tagumpay . 




In this work of Amado V. Hernadez entitled Isang Dipang Langit,  prisoned life was being emphasize. Knowing Amado V. Hernadez, his works; Mga Ibong Mandaranggit at Luha ng Buhaya which is shaped from his experiences as a guerilla, labor leader, and a political detainee are the same with this poem; conceptualized from the injustice and cruelty of the society if not the government. Theme on social level and nationalism is distinct on his work. Injustice, anxiety, and tragedy are reflected from this poem. This poem can also be classified as post-colonial because it reflects the ideas of the author after going through transitions of government. on the lines; "Ang tao’t Bathala ay di natutulog/at di habang araw ang api ay api,/tanang paniniil ay may pagtutuos,/habang may Bastilya’y may bayang gaganti.we can notice that the author speaks of revenge not only to a prison guard, nor police nor to a jugde. he speaks of revenge to those country that colonizes us. observing the last line, it said there that may bayang gaganti, It pertains to our nation and that we will take revenge on due time. Neverthelees, it is a well written poem, it fully conveys what the writer wanted to tell us on a less darker concept and it attacks deeply to the mind and heart of the reader.