Monday, May 26, 2014
O Grandfather Mountain of the South,
how glad am I to sit again on your lap.
So many years have passed between us;
but you recognized me with a smile;
against the warm sun behind me.
The sweet smell of moist grass and earth
wafting thru my nose like a long-lost scent
of a forgotten love affair buried by time;
have made my meeting with you nostalgic
and condescendingly strong in spirit.
Standing above your crown, I am but a mite;
yet high enough to watch a Negros sunset.
Warm rays touched my face painting it red;
long shadows are cast creeping eastward.
It will be dark soon and I have to bivouac
on a piece of ground close to your heart.
I lay down and I hear you sigh and grumble.
What caused you grief, o dear Grandfather?
“Rubbish”, you say, “rubbish and broken glass";
"and people – indifferent and not of your kind”.
The Old Man softly whispered into my ears
the myriad stars strum their silence in the night
ensuring my wakefulness into a blissful rest
until dawn came along with the cold wind
startling me awake to a thick mist.
Time to walk again from you, o Grandfather;
I may have to go down Badian way
and send your wishes to Grandmother;
with whom I shall later meet in Matutinao.