Dead Grass


The grass I cut a week ago are lying dead and dry on the ground, but I leave them be.  Agitated birds perched  atop nearby trees are singing merry tunes this cool and still Saturday afternoon, and just might find them later when it’s time to build nests. Everything seems fine with my feathered and winged friends this part of the universe.  I wonder if they know how fragile their world has become and how precariously it is seated at the precipice– staring down the  void of destruction waiting below.


To aN eNcHaNted tRee…

you've been there since longer 
than before I was four,
would whisper when i pass by,
secrets-- some wicked, some I'm too shy
to versify.

you've been an object of many speculations:
enchanted, haunted, and other such notions
like fairies, elves and witches;
so we pay you due respect and say
"tabi apo" when on our way.

i walked past you to my abode,
on many youthful summers down a dusty road,
on winters we shook together in the cold;
and you knew when i did something unusually bold,
or when there were angry tears i try to withhold.

Decades rolled,the neighborhood got old [and new],
Whilst you grew thicker, sturdier and i suppose, older too;
Halogen lamps have drowned moonlit and starlit nights 
When your mystique shone bright and inspired fright,
And children playing tag screamed in delight.

Seemingly indifferent, you stand alone and proud today
But you have lost your magic and your mystery,your history
forgotten even by once little girls like me
No birds nest nor rest on your brawny branches, 
nor dogs howl even in dark midnights that need torches.

But i'm happy they have left you be,
i fear they might fell you, you see;
i want my grandchildren to know
how special you are to me, 
you enchanted, mystic tree.

In Memory of My Beloved Lucy

She lived unknown, and few could know
When Lucy ceased to be;
But she is in her grave, and oh,
The difference to me!
starMore than a week ago, my mom left us.  Death, like the proverbial thief in the night, took her away in her sleep.  Of course I was expecting this. She was, after all, 78 years old and for the past year or so, had been confined to her bed, painstakingly and patiently cared for by my youngest brother, Carlo. That day however, was our wedding anniversary; husband and I were planning to buy cake and ice cream to celebrate with her.  So waking up to learn she’s gone, and not having been able to bid her farewell was short of earth-shattering. 
So, here I am, left with nothing but memories of her. I gather each in my mind, those childhood ones most prominent and haunting.  I guess when one thinks of mothers, the immediate association is one of childhood: times when I was scared and her presence would comfort me, or when she would lull me to sleep with soft, rhythmic pats on my bottom. To any child, a mother is a source of emotional security and mine wasn’t an exception. I traverse those years of my life, the good and bad stuff I went through, with her presence figuring prominently in them, as if I never left her side to build a family of my own, because always, in everything that I did, she was like a shadow guiding me and then anchoring me when i stumble or cushioning me when I fall. I feel disoriented because her passing is slowly but insistently sinking in, compelling me to face the reality that from now on, I will have to make it on my own, with only the impressions of her voice encouraging me on.