Song Between Wars

In this poem, Nick Joaquin speaks of the costs of war; it is not just the generation that was during the war, but the generation that follows. Joaquin himself has witnessed all of the wars during the 20th century, up until the second Iraq War, and so he has seen the costs of war. The generation that comes after the war bears the burden of rebuilding what has been lost, because the generation that began and fought during the war is already too old to do so; hence, Joaquin compares that process to (in paraphrase) mining the next generation (“because they are molten money and their bones are cash”). He then compares the process of war itself to that of the Greek myth of the labyrinth of Minos; the generation that began and fought the war are the waters that wash the next generation onto the shores of Minos, and into the labyrinth; war is the Minotaur that will devour those brought by the waves (the older generation). In the end, he concludes by saying that the older generations create the maze (war), but it is the generations that follow that will have to go through it, but there is no salvation at the end of the maze; only the Beast (another name for the devil), a symbol of how the younger generations will suffer because of the mistakes of the past generations. 

Songs between Wars

Wombed in the wounds of war
grow golden boys and girls
whose green hearts are
peacocks perched upon apes
and pigs that feed on pearls
 or sour grapes.

But we are old-- we are only
a point, a pause
in the earth's decay-- we are
          lonely
but no day dies
in the eyes we dare not close
lest we flock with flies.

Bankrupt war,
let us mine the honey
that's ored in the udders that are
this lad, the lass
because they are molten money
and their bones are cash.

Imperial their coin still is
when other currencies are
imperlled; when peace
is for every man and woman
a labyrinth; and war
the bull that's human.

War is the Minotaur
and we are the waters
bearing for him to devour
the young, the beautiful--
our sons and daughters:
the tax we pay to the Bull.

The maze we made they shall
          travel,
its winding ways unwind
and the riddle unravel
till they come to the end of
           the thread:
the labyrinth behind
and the Beast ahead.

(1947)

sources: http://chrsdvdlao.weebly.com/1/post/2011/7/nick-joaquin.html

http://guialimbaga.weebly.com/nick-joaquin1.html