|
| Thursday, August 12, 2004 |
| Kite |
More of my old poems
It was the last harvest we shared our hut together.
I remember a speck of plastic white
in the expanse of blue as it swooped
toward the corn fields- the deftness of
each fold, the accuracy of angles, its proper
height and breadth even the strength of string
my Kuya maneuvered it with.
The breeze is finicky he said.
There would certainly be a storm.
Clouds began to form and the wind swept the ground
of its fallen leaves. Low rumbles of thunder gave way
to sheets of rain that tumbled from the sky,
splashing in muddy streams at our feet.
He hurriedly tied the string to a tree
as the wind howled and whipped it
around in circles.
Father called us off the fields,
waving his arms like branches of Acacia.
The wind laid waste half our crops.
The palay stalks are still dry,
The soil, cracked by the sun is now barren.
We had planted our lives
to the earth we love,
rooted ourselves like the trees
and still the kite was severed from the trunk.
|
|
posted by Rax @ 09:27 |
|
|
| knowing but not intervening... |
| About Me |
|
Name: Rax
Home: Makati, Philippines
About Me: I am many things: aspiring poet, advocate, lawyer, with a good grasp of reality. I am also passionate when it comes to chasing dreams. After all, a childlike imagination is just something I cannot outgrow. Which is why I write(...and refuse to give up anime, fantasy novels and video games... :P)
See my complete profile
|
| Previous Post |
|
Links |
Afterglow
Intelligent Ash
Extraplanar
Soul's Phantasm
Unguarded Utterance
|
| Archives |
|
| Shoutbox |
|
| Powered by |
 |
|
