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Vengeance is Not Ours, its God’s

(Another winning declamation piece. It's good to memorize and good to recite. You will really cry when you will
deliver this piece in front of the audience. Find out why.)

Alms, alms, alms. Spare me a piece of bread. Spare me your


mercy. I am a child so young, so thin, and so ragged. Why are
you staring at me? With my eyes I cannot see but I know that
you are all staring at me. Why are you whispering to one
another? Why? Do you know my mother? Do you know my
father? Did you know me five years ago?
Yes, five years of bitterness have passed. I can still remember
the vast happiness mother and I shared with each other. We were
very happy indeed.
Suddenly, five loud knocks were heard on the door and a deep
silence ensued. Did the cruel Nippon’s discover our peaceful
home? Mother ran to Father’s side pleading. “Please, Luis, hide
in the cellar, there in the cellar where they cannot find you,” I
pulled my father’s arm but he did not move. It seemed as though
his feet were glued to the floor.
The door went “bang” and before us five ugly beasts came
barging in. “Are you Captain Luis Santos?” roared the ugliest of
them all. “Yes,” said my father. “You are under arrest,” said one
of the beasts. They pulled father roughly away from us. Father
was not given a chance to bid us goodbye.
We followed them mile after mile. We were hungry and thirsty.
We saw group of Japanese eating. Oh, how our mouths watered
seeing the delicious fruits they were eating,
Then suddenly, we heard a voice call, “Consuelo. . . . Oscar. . . .
Consuelo. . . . Oscar. . . . Consuelo. . . . Oscar. . . .” we ran
towards the direction of the voice, but it was too late. We saw
father hanging on a tree. . . . dead. Oh, it was terrible. He had
been badly beaten before he died. . . . and I cried vengeance,
vengeance, vengeance! Everything went black. The next thing I
knew I was nursing my poor invalid mother.
One day, we heard the church bell ringing “ding-dong, ding-
dong!” It was a sign for us to find a shelter in our hide-out, but I
could not leave my invalid mother, I tried to show her the way to
the hide-out.
Suddenly, bombs started falling; airplanes were roaring
overhead, canyons were firing from everywhere. “Boom, boom,
boom, boom!” Mother was hit. Her legs were shattered into
pieces. I took her gently in my arms and cried, “I’ll have
vengeance, vengeance!” “No, Oscar. Vengeance, it’s God’s,”
said mother.
But I cried out vengeance. I was like a pent-up volcano.
“Vengeance is mine not the Lord’s”. “No, Oscar. Vengeance is
not ours, it’s God’s” these were the words from my mother
before she died.
Mother was dead and I was blind. Vengeance is not ours? To
forgive is divine but vengeance is sweeter. That was five years
ago, five years. . . .
Alms, alms, alms. Spare me a piece of bread. Spare me your
mercy. I am a child so young, so thin, and so ragged. Vengeance
is not ours, it’s God’s. . . . It’s. . . . God’s. . It’s…
Declamation Piece- “AM I TO BE BLAMED?

They’re chasing me, they’re chasing, no they must


not catch me, I have enough money now, yes
enough for my starving mother and brothers.
Please let me go, let me go home before you
imprisoned me.
Very well, officers? take me to your headquarters.
Good morning captain! no captain, you are
mistaken, I was once a good girl, just like the rest of
you here. Just like any of your daughters. But time
was, when I was reared in slums. But we lived
honestly, we lived honestly in life. My, father, mother,
brothers, sisters and I. But then, poverty enters the
portals of our home. My father became jobless, my
mother got ill. The small savings that my mother had
kept for our expenses were spent. All for our daily
needs and her needed medicine.
One night, my father went out, telling us that he
would come back in a few minutes with plenty of
foods and money, but that was the last time I saw
him. He went with another woman. If only I could lay
my hands on his neck I would wring it without pain
until he breaths no more. If you were in my place,
you’ll do it, won’t you Captain? What? You won’t still
believe in me?. Come and I’ll show you a
dilapidated shanty by a railroad.
Mother, mother I’m home, mother? mother?!. There
Captain, see my dead mother. Captain? there are
tears in your eyes? now pack this stolen money and
return it to the owner. What good would this do to my
mother now? she’s already gone! Do you hear me?
she’s already gone. Am I to be blamed for the things
I have done?
"AM I TO BE BLAMED?"
(The end justifies the means. Stealing was his way to buy medicine for his ill mother.)

They're chasing me, they're chasing, no they must not


catch me, I have enough money now, yes enough for my
starving mother and brothers.
Please let me go, let me go home before you imprisoned
me.
Very well, officers? take me to your headquarters. Good
morning captain! no captain, you are mistaken, I was once
a good girl, just like the rest of you here. Just like any of
your daughters. But time was, when I was reared in slums.
But we lived honestly, we lived honestly in life. My, father,
mother, brothers, sisters and I. But then, poverty enters
the portals of our home. My father became jobless, my
mother got ill. The small savings that my mother had kept
for our expenses were spent. All for our daily needs and
her needed medicine.
One night, my father went out, telling us that he would
come back in a few minutes with plenty of foods and
money, but that was the last time I saw him. He went with
another woman. If only I could lay my hands on his neck I
would wring it without pain until he breaths no more. If you
were in my place, you'll do it, won't you Captain? What?
you won't still believe in me?. Come and I'll show you a
dilapidated shanty by a railroad.
Mother, mother I'm home, mother? mother?!. There
Captain, see my dead mother. Captain? There are tears in
your eyes? Now pack this stolen money and return it to
the owner. What good would this do to my mother now?
She's already gone! Do you hear me? She's already gone.
Am I to be blamed for the things I have done?

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