A Thread Of Rags And Patches Poem by Chester Maynes

Heading towards Alzate
Through the harmless bushes
On a Sunday morning long time ago
I heard the water buffalos and their voices
Echoed from a nearby farm
Our feet have walked distant kilometers
We were oblivious of the sun and sweat
I saw my little sister in her dress
She was tiny and I was thin
The walk was not a leisure and picnic
It was a walk to the local river
A river we called with a name
Where Lam-ang bathed
It was where we were heading
To do a task and a toil
We carried bundles of dirty clothes
The river was a place for a public’s wash
It was an enormous stretch to another town
It divided regions and barrios
When we reached the bank
We heard the roaring currents
The blue sky was hard to reach
But we reached it through seeing
Our eyes did see the proof
On the pristine waters we lay the clothes
We started to wash and touched the river
My skins had one thing to remember
It was the element that triggered
It was the cold spirit that aroused
My childhood had been spoiled
I grasped the idea that we need to toil
Poverty has caused us to labor
And save our mouth from hunger
On that day at the waters of Amburayan
We washed the dirty clothes
We waited until the afternoon
I felt more than a gloomy bone
Each Sunday had a particular mood
A disposition filled with seclusion
It was far from a rich man’s recreation
Ours was not a series of gold and diamonds
It was a thread of rags and patches


(written on July 5,2011 Singapore)