I dwindle like a disturbed memory,
My disintegration, a grain of sand that shifts through the crevices of a hand in vain.
These hands that test the waters
And recoil as the shallow waters murk the face
Of an image who clung to conviction as if time had chiseled its sensibility into a mortal fiber—
Into ripples of waves pulsating farther.
Not a single word was tossed in waves that have not reached the shore,
As they become one with the depth—
Blue, deep, lost, sinking.
Not a word was spoken.
In the rush of things—
There’s only the dipping,
And to rise in wholeness,
Extending a familiar hand again.
Cedrick John Ventula finds meaning in words and motions as a BA Communication and Media Arts student from the University of the Philippines Mindanao. His roots trace back to a tranquil village in Hagonoy, Davao del Sur.