Remembering Papa Poem by RIC BASTASA

Real work is plowing the fields
clearing grass, tilling land,
growing corn, raising chickens,
grazing cows, pasturing carabaos,
fetching water, repairing roofs,
sowing seeds, fishing in the
river, killing birds,

past time is drinking tuba,
killing dogs, eating snakes
dancing in the barrio halls,
smoking tobacco, womanizing,
boxing, shooting, hunting,
scheming gains, expanding
territories

i did not like it. I carve my own
path of stones and pebbles.
took up law, write a lot,
compose poems, write short
stories, exposing our wrong
traditions, the limited views
of decadent ancestry.

i hate what we did. But just the
same he made me what i am.

I visit his grave. Light candles
for him. Less the flowers which
he never liked ever since he had
seen the first light.