the white winged Pegasus and the dreamer....
writing most likely as felt (by me) is more of a travel in the past,
you reminisce, your nostalgia bloats like a trouble in your kidney
you wish to filter all dirt from clean memories, hoping that what finally must be written are only those good and health ones, those that can propel you to a better destination,
sometimes Pegasus comes and lands on your writing table to the size of a pen, blows his nose, waggles it tail telling you that he is now ready to take you to that wasted patch of your past,
and you take heed, ride on its back, taken by his wings to one segment of your life
with mother, in her birthplace, somewhere in Mindanao, before the war broke out,
she was with your Aunt Olang, whose U.S. army husband succumb to the bionets of the Japanese platoon,
and who for just a short time finds the substitute of the local guerrilla named Magno, who sharpens his bolo to gather coconut wine,
in the kitchen you cousin Panit is opening a can of sardines to be cooked with some yellow noddles for supper
wood is scarce and so is water, but laughter is innumerable,
it seems that people laugh for no reason at all, in the middle of that war
you look at the roof with leaks, rain comes at night and everyone is transferring places since the pillows and blankets are all wet
there is suffering then, but laughter is always there to cure all the
lapses and insufficiency
harshness, hardships have no place for people whose hearts are attuned to being contented with what is available for the moment
you want to settle there but the winged Pegasus is already restless
he has to serve other clients who still want to go back to their pasts
you wonder if this white winged horse understand people who want to live
and bury their future in the past, accepting the fact that in there
they are happier....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Added by Poetry Lover
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