When Streets Were Playgrounds

The sun dripped gold on dusty lanes, Where bare feet danced through chalk-drawn plains. The air alive with shouts and glee, A world of make-believe and free. No screens aglow, no buttons pressed, Just laughter ringing unsuppressed. Remember taguan, hide-and-seek's delight, The whispered counts in fading light? The breathless chase, the sudden leap, To touch the base and softly peep, "Taya!" – the thrill, the joyful sound, On hallowed play-road, dusty ground. The clatter of holen, marbles bright, Each flick a battle fierce and tight. Knuckles scraped, a focused stare, Aiming true beyond compare. A lost holen, a mournful sigh, Beneath the vast and endless sky. The rhythmic beat of patintero's lines, A weaving dance with cunning signs. A hand outstretched, a daring dash, A shout of triumph or a crash Of bodies meeting caught and bound, On that familiar street in town. With sticks and bottle caps we'd vie, In pikyaw's throws beneath the sky. Or trade our Teks with eager hand, Each hero's power close at command. A swap, a bet, a joyful plea, Lost or won for all to see. The can our "preso," target bold, As slippers flew, a story told Of daring throws and guards so keen, A race to free those caught between. Then backs arched low for "luksong baka's" flight, Each lofty leap a pure delight. The soaring flight of paper kites, Dancing like dreams in airy heights. A tangled string, a sudden tear, A moment's sadness hard to bear. But soon another bright and bold, A story in the wind unfolds. We spun in circles dizzy free, Playing bahay-bahayan you and me. Imagined feasts and whispered roles, Building worlds within our souls. A king, a queen, a doctor kind, Leaving grown-up cares behind. The echo fades, the sun descends, The magic of the playtime ends. But in our hearts a warmth remains, For those sweet joys, those sun-kissed lanes. A longing for that simple grace Of children's games in time and space. ©bfa040725