The Empty Stocking

There was a house

It stood majestically in the heart of the town

It stood proudly in front of the seat of religious fervor

It stood beside the political seat of power

It stared directly at the erect monument of the national hero

It presided over the festive atmosphere during celebrations

honoring the Lady of the Candle.

I do not know how the grand old patriarch had designed it

I do not know exactly when it came into being

I do not know how the great posts have been erected

I do not know from where the tiles and wood have come from

but I do know that the grand old man had created a vision

of symmetry and rhythm and beauty into every nook and cranny.

The house with its five spacious boudoirs and airy living area

surrounded by a balcony abloom with milflores during spring

to lend its harmony with the May Flores de Mayo

and chrysanthemums, yellow, white, purple during autumn

to be attune to the memorial celebration to honor the departed

Is a sight to behold, a picture perfect structure that gives

dignity, honor, color to a glorious southern town.

The house has seen the reign of the conquistadores

who called the Malayan forbears "los indios"

The house has catered to the chinky eyed nippon soldiers as they

danced and made merry-making in the airy living area

when they occupied it and made it their quarters

So they could preside in the early morning rituals of the townfolks

as they do their calisthenics in front of the warlords

counting...itcs, ni, san, si... over a speaker

While the owners cower somewhere in fear, powerless over their

priceless abode, fearful lest they get entangled in

the greedy, brutal power of the usurper with

their glistening bayonets and mirthful laughter!

Somehow the house has withstood storms that whirled around it.

Somehow, the house was preserved with all its history of glory,

of pain, of endless buffet of wind and rain

Until one fateful day, with one careless flicker

from the adjacent structure made by an uncaring, mindless

gesture that turned the flicker into a full-blown

hell bent on razing beauty down to ashes!

Now the house is no more. Now the dream has burst into a flame

of nothingness. Now the memories are gone!

Not even a hint of glory remains.

There Was A Girl...Part Two

There was a girl
she lived in the south side of the jungle
There where the plants grow forever green
There where the weeds grow side by side
with the reddening petals of the rose
There where the sun blinks but for a moment
There where the dewdrops glimmer as the sun
rises in the early morning glow
There where the breeze blows gently
and playfully mess up the tiny little curls into
clinging little spirals forever wrapped tightly.
There where the old and the new meet somewhere
near the curb to meet and merge and be as one.

I know this place somewhere in the south
No matter where the wind blows
It shall beckon and it shall wave and revive
The message loud and clear to recall and be reconciled
with the hidden past and the troubled years
Time has a way of hiding the checkered moments
that colored ones life with a rainbow
But the place remains beckoning and re-awakening
memories of days gone by
Indelible imprints, marked and unmarked
written in the leaves of grass and trees
forever stored , waiting to be restored
By a spark, a flicker, a tap from somewhere, from nowhere...

There Was A Girl

There Was A Girl...

A tiny wisp of a girl

Shy, simple, unassuming

Naive? Maybe!

Innocent? Certainly!

Nonchalantly unconcerned with the ways of the world!

Quiet and silent in her own little sphere

Strangely fascinating in her modesty and femininity

Pure in thoughts, in words, in deed

Carefree but not careless

Warm, not lukewarm

Intense

Afire

Aglow

Alive!

When I was small

When i was small...

Steps fascinated me

I'd sit on the step and let the sun shine on me

I'd watch the spider orchids bathe on the streaming light

I'd feel the warmth creeping on my skin

And let the glow permeate my whole being

Till the steps burn and I heave a sigh of relief.



When i was small

I'd try one step at a time

To reach what seems to be the unreachable rung

I'd look up and let my sight catch the gleam of the wavering shadow

I'd close my eyes and let just a flicker of light guide my sight to the top

And i sway as the step goes one after the other

Till there is no more.



What is it in steps that fascinate and catch my imagination?

Why am i lured to glide up and catch the sun

Before it is covered by the misty drift somewhere along the way.

I see the orchids gracefully dancing oblivious of the scorching and searing sun

The steps are forever inviting me to go higher

Till the apex is reached and I can smile.