The Roots Of My Papa.... Poem by RIC BASTASA

the mountain man
named ronnie once invited me
for dinner in his
hut up the Bulawan Peak
and we walk the whole day
as i manage every five steps
upon such a steep walk on
the cliff
resting once in a while gasping
for air and this
made the difference between our
two lifestyles, as he attuned
to the ways of the wild
and the silence
has learned the patience to
take me there
as i figure out how i must
have forgotten
the roots of my
father.