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Poem
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-
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