2003 Poetry

The bus was running in moderate speed

passing along the asphalt road of Pangasinan

scents of the good ole days

My eyes were squinting to the milieus,

which reminded me of my childhood.

Fusion of sadness and bliss crept at a snail's pace;

they sought my tears to fell on the ground,

be left as a remnant and nutrients to the lawn

I refused to get off the bus, not for anything else,

but for something I know I would miss again

My vacation was very swift and brief

another vestige has occupied my anamnesis

written 10/21/03

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