THE TOWN OF ANGONO
In my reminiscences
of yore, Angono was a little town,
With only three main roads along which came a river down,
Its waters flowing, rippling from the Sierra Madre foothills,
Clear and clean for bathing and washing, safe for cooking our meals.
Most of the houses then had nipa-thatched, pyramid-like roofing,
On straight yakal or crooked posts, some bamboo, firmly standing,
On others ipil-ipil,
almost all had flooring of split bamboo,
The townsfolk lived simply and to one another were kind and true.
Various native fruits could be had, fresh vegetables aplenty,
Palay was growing
in the fields, fish were thriving in the sea,
My town then was a picturesque haven of beauty and abundance,
That even with my silver strands, will still be in my remembrance.
WHERE THERE'S PAIN, THERE'S GAIN
MEMORIES OF YEARS GONE BY
(REMINISCENCES) (English version)
Memories of the past serenely come to mind,
Creative imaginings turned into poetic lines
Of past experiences that rise continuously
One after another they come back vividly;
To be always remembered and mentally kept,
The ways of life then in my beloved hometown,
Never to be forgoten, once they're written down
THE RICE PLANTERS
Planting rice is
no fun, bent from morn till set of sun,
Feet and legs soaked in muddy waters one cant shun;
Guitar accompaniment of lilting music,
Fingers plucking the seedlings have to be quick.
precisely into the soft ricebed,
At the same time, in straight lines, not late or ahead,
In the vastness of the ricefields in rain or sun,
Its their means of livelihood, though its never fun.
Gently the fingers
play on the piano keyboard,
Of the inspired Composer creating what he should,
In his compositions, other works that abound,
With corresponding notes he catches each sound;
Far into the stillness of night a song is born,
A sweet Kundiman is heard at the break of dawn
His face glowed
truly with serene happiness
At sight of the sculptures emerging loveliness,
Truly shed be a goddess of beauty, from her lips
To the slender waist, to the tapered finger tips.
Shed be the
Pilipina, maiden of this race,
Come to life by this sculptors skill and expertise,
With inspiration from his model unmoving,
Standing still in the gaze of his eyes scrutinizing.
THE GREAT ARTIST
the great mural that was larger-than-life,
Was the battle in Mactan, in Limasawa a strife
That goes down in the history of this land of our birth,
Of which the traits of daring and courage, there was no dearth,
Between Ferdinand Magellan with his Castillian men,
And Lapu-Lapu, the brave, freedom-loving Chieftain,
Whose peaceful life with his subjects suddenly seemed threatened,
But ready with his right, his countrys honor to defend.
Churchgoers filling the church to capacity,
Children craning their necks, waiting expectantly,
With big wide-eyed, wondering orbs filled with love,
At the three huge lanterns hanging high from above.
In innocence, we
are awed by each twinkling star,
And how each moves forward very gently from afar,
Oer undistracted, serene grown-ups in prayer,
At the altar with Baby Jesus in the manger.
At the choirs
crescendo Peace on earth, goodwill to men!
All at once the stars glow, the bells ring, we listen;
The last midnight Mass, the Bisperas ng Pasko-
Christmas Eve yearly, grandly done in Angono.