Quotes about carabao, page 3
These Memories Of The 80's
i
Teacher entrusted me the key to the classroom
I lost it
That night I could not sleep
How to open the room tomorrow morning
My friend called he has the duplicate
ii
A lanzones tree full of fruits
I am up there
Eating all that I can
iii
On the beach I forgot to bring my trunks
I finally decided to dive
All naked with you.
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poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Remembering The Simpler Days Of Your Life
it was when your excitement
was only the strong wind
for the ripe mango to fall for
you to pick
it was when your sadness
was only about a failing grade
on a math quiz
it was when your happiness
was the carabao ride
from your nipa hut to
the public school
it was when your sweetness
was tasted by your mama
like an icing from a cake
it was when your escape
was the plunge in the river
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poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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What Mother Tells Me
she is always the first to wake up in the house
as she prays the rosary
and father follows to check the carabao on the side
of the hill and transfer it to a greener pasture
while we their children are still asleep
always wanting more sleep on those cold days
curled in our bed covered with thick blankets
and soft pillows on our heads and our ears all covered up
against the sound of the kitchen
our eyes hiding from the light of the morning sun
and mother pulls my blanket
and takes my arm and hugs me and tells me
wake up! wake up! the night is over
go to the river and take your bath
there is no one on your side now
the rest have gone to their respective tasks
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poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Filipino Poem 3
The Filipino poem as written by Bimboy
A college student of the Ateneo de Davao
University taking up BS Chemistry on a
Cocofed scholarship grant:
The sun rises on the two hills in my barrio.
You cannot find Papa and Mama there anymore
They always quarrel over their extramarital affairs
And the nipa hut is just too crowded for the two of them.
My sister had two sons but you cannot find them there
Because they live in another nipa hut on the other
Side of the river while the ricefields are dry and did not
Yield any harvest because of drought and the carabao
Is also not there in that scene because it died, butchered
And sold as meat to the hungry neighborhood.
The sun sets on the hills like a bunsen burner turned off.
The two hills protrude like two empty glass flasks turned upside down.
You cannot find me there I am here still writing this poem.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Simple life I live
An afternoon walk
Seeing the white birds again
On these green ricefields
And the carabaos wallowing
Refreshing their skins in mud holes
It is the beginning of the
Planting season again
The weeds are uprooted
The plows run again
To make this land arable
The rain comes and too
The sun and the wind
The hills are greener
The trees are blooming
And so are the flowers
Along the footpaths
My dog walks with me
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poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Glance From The Past
…. And the music played… and so the lyrics moved….
This heart… and in this heart, I am living in the past:
I saw not my father's heart or his arms around me;
Neither his hand dug into morsels of rice to my lips,
Nor his belt to my butt or bamboo whips to my skin,
But his fingers ran through my hair when I had sinned.
His path to follow his love which I knew not then,
His strength to stand with feet in muddled ground,
It's not how he walked barefooted on a slippery-road
But to carry me from dirt, on his shoulder, he would.
His voice, when authority spoke, either high or low,
To command his carabao, it wasn't his power to show,
With no fear under rain, lightning, or thunder's sound,
I am this farmer's son and his valor for me was unbound.
It wasn't all of what he knows best that I must learn,
Toil a soil, drive a nail, paddle a raft, or centavo to earn,
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poem by Efren Petalver Carranza
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Back To Childhood
i pay a visit to Apolonio today
now on his 60th year as tenant of my grandfather's farm
on my 50th year i begin to see the strangeness of the place
where i spent my childhood
the field of plain grass opens a view of a chase
of memories
coconut trees tower to the heights of my dreams
and the winding paths been converted as a wide street leading to the city
of progress and change
Apolonio's teeth are black and broken like a knife with jagged edge
his body emaciated his speech choppy
beside his wife who is already too forgetful about faces
he heaves a sigh and then tries to remember my mischief
hiding his hat and pushing him into the river
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poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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an unhappy childhood of this man who names himself 'I'.....
i've seen this picture of you
on that far corner of the world
land of snow and you are inside that very thick
winter clothes
there is that smile in your face
and i am taking a closer look
it is sour.
i know what sour is. I've been one for forty years
wearing that
sour smile, and i have many reasons why a smile must be sour
for forty years
the reasons are sour
very sour
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poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Gloom And Doom
it was when your excitement was only the strong wind from the forest
the ripe mangoes fall for
you to pick them up
you run for excitement, the thrill of ripe fruits falling to your hands
it was when your sadness was only about a failing grade
on a math quiz
it was when your happiness was the carabao ride
from your nipa hut to the public school
it was when your sweet face was kissed by your mama
your hair caressed by a friend
simple memories
it was when your escape was the plunge in the river
with your naked friends
it was when your conversations are about fairies and princesses
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poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Have You?
have you ever experienced walking
just walking away without having any destination in mind?
just seeing the place where you always pass
the trees along the path
some weeds and stones and carabao dung
no conclusions
just observations
the clouds hanging on the side of the hill
the sun shining above a tall coconut tree
you take shade
and some streaks of light pass thru the leaves
sometimes i drive the car
but i do not have any place in mind
or name
or purpose
i just keep driving following the road
and slowly i see the ordinary things
and people and
structures
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poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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