Glimpse

It was like a whisper- My wife delivered the sad news- "Your grandfather was dead."- And so he was- Her eyes was awfully sad- Touched me gently on my back- He was old- The time I started to noticed him around- He was a relic- He talked about the war- The warring in the land- Dispute over religion- The greatness of the past Presidency- How Marcos summary killed young idealist- How my uncle survived the bullet- And wrote a letter to Imelda to help him- The hospital bill in exchange of his ideology- How he comes on this land- Answered the migration call- In the Southern Philippine- He was young- He loves democracy- He went to street and joined the protesters- To end up injustices- He tilted the land- Grow coffee and Avocado- He sniffed the salty wind of the Celebes sea- As he stood at the cliff of Matutum- Sometimes they sale fruits in the public market- Those years of the early 60's- While my mother was just a kid- Then we came- My cousins and us- We sat at the table- Trembling in the dark of dawn- That was during our summer escapade- While grandma prepared for us a hot milk- Then he walked near beside- Staring on us- Preached the narrative of his life- As I perceived- He was a learned man- Our pillar collapsed- My knees gave up- I sat on a bench- My body drenched by my cold sweat- My eyes drawn beyond the wall- Like I search things on the mirror- Tears lined on my eye- An innocent face- Stared back from the reflection of the clear pond- "Eat it..eat it..eat it..",my older cousin whimpered- We wore straw hat- And a checkered polo- And the place was cold- That morning, we went into a brook- We forgot time went by- It was already two in the afternoon- "Let's go home!", I don't recall who said that- We walked briskly- Hold a big salmon on our hand- We were afraid- The sky was slowly given up from the dark- The rain started to pour- Then we saw him- He was there signaling us to halt- Tending his carabao- At six- We gathered on the sofa- Only the flickers of the light glows- He sat on the dark corner- Listened the radio transistor gibbers- The mountain loomed in silence- The radio announcer talked about the cold front- The wind outside whistled- At school he asked on us sometimes- How things going on- He bragged about it- To his neighbors- On his house at Tieza- There was this book rack- I sat there often- Read carefully- Those stories about the Greeks- The Filipino contemporary authors- Because of that I love to stay in the library- Hand gripped the yellow mongol pencil- Scribbling some words on crumpled papers- And hid it somewhere- At college he went to our house at Silway- He watched the television- I read silently the Doveglion- Near beside him- He was weak and knew his end was coming- I touched his head always- He breath weakly and coughed- How I love my old man- My son likes to play beside him- He was on his death bed- Then my wife- Was standing right in front on the workplace- She looked at me on the eye- And I knew the smile of there is something- Isn't right- I knew he was gone-