Yellow Paper

Every family has a story, 
Then this was mine,with my grand mom
Nineteen Eighty Six,I hold her Hand 
I hold a polar ice drop on the other one.
I'm just a boy-
A yellow strings flew downward 
They tied in every trees 
We just walked on the picket line of this
Tired democracy, warring for freedom 
I smelled her, my grandmother 
Her strong sweet odor of old age 
As we adrift on angry protester.
She wore those skirt of the 70's 
Big flowers imprint on modesty
That brought me on sadness 
Every time I remembered 
Our slippers worn, soaked the dust
Our tired feet was blacken in dirt.
We laughed every time the crowd laughed 
As they understood
The satire of young activist
Who hold a squawking megaphone 
"Enough is Enough!", he insist.
The sun was fierce 
The wind dry in a yellow sky
Yet our fist in unison, hammered the space above our head 
Dances like a thousands butterfly.
"Go down now!Go down now!",I said innocently as a child.
"Go down!Go down!",we've shouted.
I don't understand what's going on around
People who are tired are now faced these battlefield.
Then there's coup d'etat, 
Silent news in the capital 
Rumored that he will step down 
'Si Apo ay ibagsak' 
'Patalsikin si Apo' 
Hundreds are already missing or are they dead?
Young idealist, 
Painters and poets
The whole country go out on the street 
Face the canyon and the barrel of guns 
From friend and foe they
Put a garland instead at EDSA.
People Power was the rock of democracy
It sprout and everyone seek shelter on her shade
Then Apo, flew toward the sky 
The old man who once good and great
He'd died without seeing his native land
Still we are mad, and for what for
Can't we forgive and forget?
Offered our love instead of hatred
I'm in my 30's now yet I still
We still, (my grand mom and I )
Holding each other 
Praying for hope and deliverance.

Copyright © Herbert Siao | Year Posted 2014

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