“Food for the carrion crow”

 

Widely believed to be Van Gogh’s last painting: “Wheatfield with Crows” by Vincent Van Gogh, published by the Van Gogh Museum, Amsterdam, The Netherlands/ the Bridgeman Art Library, from http://www.bbc.co.uk

 

 

They were considered “students” of the Force Reconnaissance Company sent to Ungkaya, Pukan, Basilan, according to a senior Army officer (Inquirer Aug. 20): 15 killed in battle last Saturday, this was their test mission, like a “mid-term exam”, they’ve worked through most of the survival courses, the basic four-year course, hurdled most of the obstacles, passed all the training boot camps, even engaged in inter-operability exercises with the Americans; they were supposed to move with stealth, swiftness, wit, explore the lay of the land and then back with information; but the maps did not include smaller trails and silent nooks, slippery ridges, trees, rocks, boulders, sounds, twigs, whom to trust, wind, scent, hours, and the eye of the enemy.

 

 

From Unkaya Pukan Mayor Joel Maturan who witnessed and joined the operation with 40 militiamen: “ What happened was they followed an easier route on low ground. The Abu Sayyaf position was about 20 meters high from them… kaya parang ibon silang ginawang practice shooting ng mga bandido (so they were like sitting ducks that became shooting practice targets of the bandits)”. – Inquirer, Aug. 20.

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(from Sting):

When we set out on this journey
There were no doubts in our minds
We set our eyes to the distance
We would find what we would find

We took courage from our numbers
What we sought we did not fear
Sometimes we’d glimpse a shadow falling
The shadow would disappear

But our thoughts kept returning
To something the boy said
As we turned to go
He said you’ll never see our faces again
You’ll be food for a carrion crow

Every step we took today
Our thoughts would always stray
From the wind on the moor so wild
To the words of the captain’s child

Something the boy said

In the circles we made with our fires
We talked of the pale afternoon
The clouds were like dark riders
Flying on the face of the moon

We spoke our fears to the captain
And asked what his son could know
For we would never have marched so far
To be food for a crow

When I awoke this morning
The sun’s eye was red as blood
The stench of burning corpses
Faces in the mud
Am I dead or am I living?
I’m too afraid to care, I’m too afraid to know
I’m too afraid to look behind me
At the feast of the crow

We spoke our fears to the captain
And asked what his son could know
For we would never have marched so far
To be food for a crow.

-Sting, “Something the Boy Said”

from “Ten Summoner’s Tales”, 1993