Bus Ride

Poetry by | August 9, 2009

Slumped on this bus seat
beside the window,
the rain outside
pelting the nipa houses,
naked children with bloated bellies playing,
their ginger-like feet stomping
on puddles,
I had lost track of my destination.

Only the whistles of the wind
sweeping through the talahib
and the giggle of small voices
echoed within me a dream
I have never lost:
to be a naked child
under the gray sky,
hands of water crawling on sunburnt skin.

I had lost track of my destination,
had forgotten mountain trails,
red flags
the world.

Then the bus lurched forward.

Cherry Alcantara believes there is more to art than aesthetics and social realities. She is a graduate of UPMin.

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