Subic Strings

The humid air, Subic Bay's soft sigh, Seventies' sun beneath a turquoise sky. Within those walls where laughter used to ring, My young heart found where melodies could spring. The polished backs of bandurrias gleamed, A constellation where our fingers dreamed. Octavina's deeper voice, a steady friend, While laud's bright notes would gracefully ascend. Remember Mang Tino with patient, knowing hand, Guiding our chords across that vibrant land Of music born from plucking strings so fine, A tapestry of sound distinctly thine. The smell of wood, the rosin on the bow, The hushed anticipation soft and low, Before the vibrant arpeggios would start, Unlocking melodies within each heart. We played for events beneath the paper bright, For TV studios in the sparkling light. Our youthful passion poured into each strain, A sweet, nostalgic, sun-drenched, gentle rain. The camaraderie, the shared, unspoken glee, As harmonies entwined so perfectly. The nervous thrill before a watchful gaze, Lost in the music of those bygone days. The echoes linger though the years have flown, Of bandurria's whisper sweetly known. A cherished chapter in that coastal town, My Rondalla days, a memory's soft crown. Subic in the seventies, a vibrant, youthful scene, And in that music, I was truly keen. Those strings still vibrate in the chambers of my soul, A nostalgic Rondalla making me whole. ©bfa040925